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Lumi says...



I want to open the entirety of this extensive file by telling the next inheritor my ending and your beginning. My carnation lasted little over seventeen years before our families were taken, but in my ardor to see the breaking land and seas, I refused to leave Russia with them.

I cannot immediately tell you much about myself, but I hope that by inheriting these memories you will gain an understanding as to why I made the choices that I did, and how I absolutely adored the outcome, however lethal it may be. Just look.

The sands speckled among the acrobatic grasses. And the orchestral sound of the ocean lapping and yawning.

This is where I die. But may you remember that gorgeous yawn on the new earth.

If you want to begin our story together, W, then we will take this one day at a time.

____


V will be a single-MC storybook focused around a young boy experiencing his world after great clear walls that divide heaven and earth have been erected to contain the peoples of collective nations. V will require no character templates, and each entry will be no more than 1000 words. Much of his world is up to fellow writers to determine alongside one another, so do use the DT abundantly.

1. First person.
2. Past tense.
3. No backwards writing, though if you find a way to accomplish this in this storybook, I'd be dumbfounded.
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Fri Feb 03, 2017 8:54 pm
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Lumi says...



phpBB [media]


V
one. devils


If I could tell you only the beauties of the earth: the lilacs in bloom, the yellowed prairie grasses waving under the sweetness of the world's breath. If only I could tell you that was the entirety of my life, and stay in my imagination, or behind faded photographs.

I think your story would be much more lovely if you could believe these things.

For what matters, though, our story begins in the gray apartment lines of St. Petersburg. I sat on our second floor airway that we shared wholly with our neighbor, my grandfather, Nicolai, who was very fond of taking newspapers and crossing out words to make the articles say what they did not say.

"It is like knowing a secret language," he once told me. And that morning as I watched him scratch out words in the newspaper, I felt at ease with growing to his age because that, the thought of having a secret language, would keep me entertained, even when my family didn't visit the airway during rainstorms, or when the coffee rations were bad.

As I had finished my breakfast and heard the dryer downstairs buzz with my clothes, I scraped the remainder of the powdered eggs from my plate onto grandfather's and made for the door, stopping only when he called for me.

"I have something to ask you, little hare."

"I have an answer for you, old turtle."

Grandfather grinned a devious grin and smacked my thighs over my briefs with his newspaper. "When will you learn to eat?!"

I ran to avoid another hit because, in actuality, it did hurt. "When you begin brushing your teeth!"

I loved my grandfather. I loved him dearly, but as most people will tell you, there are certain demons that older angels cannot name. And that is important, as you will soon see.

After I had pulled on all of my tattered clothes and sneakers, after I had stood at the sink with mouth rinse burning my tongue for far longer than is recommended, I left my home with a few garbage bags and roamed the streets, as it was no longer time for children to go to school in Russia, and instead father had devised a route for me to collect recyclables to keep me busy and out of trouble.

It was along this route to keep me busy and out of trouble that I saw Alexei, a boy who had been kicked out of school for vandalism. True to form, he was spray-painting The Wall--and I should explain what I know about The Walls.

When something terrible happened to our fragile planet, it was not the world leaders who took charge of the situation, but private men of industry, which my father says is an admirable thing. While entire governments collapsed, these industrious men created what could be considered a housing block in western Europe that extends for what was previously several nations, which were previously a single nation, which were previously an empire. So...when I say that I live in Russia, the truth is, I don't know that I do or not. I live in what is now Russia.

On the other side of this wall, for instance, is England, full of moors and coastlines.

The walls, as I understand them, are to control air quality, climate, and disease spread. There are doors, of course, but they are far away.

But. Back to Alexei, for he had painted something that would remain with me for as long as I lived.

To be free, you must know your devil's name


This shook me, as I'm sure you are aware, but. It seemed to be wrong somehow.

"Da, Alexei? What if you have more than one devil?"

Alexei looked at his work. "Well shit."

For this reason, I decided to know it more accurately.

Alexei sat down against the wall and ripped a cigarette out of his jacket. Thinking again, he pulled out a second, offering it up to me. I sat next to him, and, as he held up his lighter for me, I noticed that we had the same sneakers. I wondered if that could make us friends, but then I wondered what father would think of me being friends with a vandal.

Exhaling and failing very miserably at not coughing, I realized that grandfather would just be happy I had a friend who was not him.

"What're they teaching at the animal farm now?" he asked.

"I think the current lesson is how to have fun and enjoy break."

Alexei grinned. "Smartass."

I sat for nearly the entire cigarette, peering down into the city where the cathedrals and riverways made for a sort of heartbreak I imagined could only belong in Russia, as it was distant, it was lonely, but it was incomparably beautiful.

When it was dusk and I had returned home, I placed my clothes in the washing machine, fetched gym shorts from a drawer, and a book from my shelf. An hour passed, but try as I might, I could press no further than the scene of Phineas jumping from the riverside tree before Alexei's art hung in my mind. I put my book down on my bedside table and pulled my covers back, sitting on my knees.

"Insomnia. I've named you, and by Alexei's logic I should be free, but I know that's idiotic. What am I going to do about your name?"

A knock came at my door before father entered, head turned away in what I guess was anticipatory anxiety. When he turned back, he sighed in...I suppose relief. "I heard you speaking to someone, I thought there might be a girl in here."

"We've had that talk already."

Father sat on my bed and gripped my ankle over the covers assuringly. "V, you've had it rough since she left." He looked away. "You won't let me help. I just think a doctor could--"

"I don't want you to finish that sentence, Papa." I was crying, albeit against my will, and all I could think of was how nothing in St. Petersburg was the color of her hair. It made me sick, it made me sick, it made me sick.

"A doctor could help you name your devils."
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Sheyren says...



Alexei wasn't at the Wall this afternoon. I had avoided going home since my father brought up the devils. I had come to talk to Alexei, but he was nowhere in sight. His vandalism had been wiped away last night, presumably by the dark figures who constantly monitor the Wall. They were pacing in the area, and I shied away when they turned their shadowy eyes at me.

Turning, I began to run down the dirty roadway. About a quarter of a mile away was the city. It was a massive colony of stone structures, with waterways twisting throughout. It had a reputation to be quite beautiful, but I saw it in black and white. I saw all its cold, unwelcoming aspects. The waterways were polluted, and trash filled the riverbeds. The mossy paths were cracked and disgustingly green. The houses were crumbling and empty.

Then I saw the figures. They were patrolling a certain spot in the waterway. Strange. The figures weren't supposed to have authority over anything but the wall, so their being in the city means something, or someone, here had affected the wall. Feinting uninterest, I walked between them and peered into the waterway. They all stared at a pipeline under the water, and I immediately realized Alexei must be down there. Probably they were looking for him because of his vandalism.

For some reason I still fail to understand, even now, I jumped into the water. The figures watched me lifelessly as I swam down and through the pipeline. To my surprise, the pipe wasn't very long, and after a few minutes of breathless anticipation, it opened into a dome shaped atrium. Pipelines jutted out from eight sides of the dome, and in the center was a cement platform. Water poured onto it from the ceiling, but there was still dry space on it. And sitting on that dry space was Alexei.

He sat fearlessly, smoking a cigarette. However, his eyes were dark under the brim of his cap. Looking up, he waved at me. “Hey.”

I swam up to the platform and ran up to him. “Why would you vandalize the Wall in front of the figures?!”

He laughed a bit. “You didn't realize they were monitoring that part of the Wall when I vandalized it?”

“No!”

“Well, shit. Didn't realize you were so oblivious. Wanna cigarette?” He pulled a cigarette out of his pack and reluctantly, I accepted. “Have a seat.”

I sat down. “You didn't answer my question.”

“I did it to be myself. I don't follow rules.”

“But their after you now! Sooner or later they'll figure out how to get down here, and when they do, you're screwed!”

“Yeah, I'm betting they'll find that stairwell you have yet to notice in about three minutes. But I ain't gonna run, or anything, so get back in your seat.” He looked me in they eye. “Listen to me. I'm namin' my devil. If it means death, than so be it. Death never scared me.
“Death gets us all one day, and vandalizing crap till it knocks on my door isn't on my to do list. If I'm gonna die, its gonna be while I'm being myself, a rebel. Now go, unless you wanna watch whatever they do to me.” I noticed the figures creeping down the stairwell on the far side of the tunnel as he pushed me into the water. Hesitantly, I turned and swam away, Alexei's screams behind me.

When I surfaced, the figures were gone. I lay on the ground and wept for a person I barely knew. I lost someone else. That's how it was, inside the wall. Death. Pain.

Then I up made my mind. I was gonna scream in death's face too. Turning around, I began to sprint to my home. Barging through the doors, I went to my father. He sat in a rocking chair in the living room, reading a newspaper from many years ago.

“Father, please help me name my devils.”
Sheyren wrote:I'm so humble, I quote myself in my signature.

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TheSilverFox says...



(997 words)

I couldn’t let it be.

Father tried to ask me what had happened, why I was so panicked, and why my clothes were wet. I ignored him until he finally got up and called the psychiatrist, whereupon I undressed, put on my gym shorts and a shirt, and threw my previous outfit in the washing machine. The stink would last for days. I worried that they would find me, that they would hunt me down for having been around Alexei, so I relaxed on my bed and tried to go to sleep, resolving not to go outside.

My demon laughed at me. I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge to get up and punch a wall. I knew his name. Why couldn’t I kill him? Why was he determined to live?

When father turned off the lights in the apartment, I got out of bed. My hoodie in tow, along with a pair of dirty sneakers, I unlocked the window and crawled my way out over the abandoned and dark streets of St. Petersburg. It was easy enough to grab onto a withered, leafless tree, and make my way onto the ground quietly. Nervously, my eyes shot up to my apartment, but I saw no lights nor heard any sounds.

No figures came to torture me. I sighed with relief.

There was an abandoned building not far from my home. It used to be part of a bathhouse/swimming pool complex, but the government had apparently decided it “unnecessary,” and “evacuated” the owners (it was better not to think about the doings of the Wallbuilders). I came with a packet of cigarettes stuffed in a hoodie pocket that I had gotten from Alexei only a few days ago. He had told me to save it for a rainy day; I had retorted they were all rainy days in this world. Now more than ever, it seemed.

I stood outside the ruined building, spotting Alexei’s graffiti beside a blown-out window. A blindfolded lady holding scales was being tossed inside by three in gray and black suits, one with the distinct toupee of the presiding leader of the Russian District. Sic semper tyrannus, the text read. I had seen it countless times, but this simple design had been amplified by Alexei’s demise. Here was a dead man’s mind painted with a spray can. The screaming lady was permanent, an ironic testament to his existence; how much I hated it. Still, it reminded me of what each man strives to do to leave their mark on the world. Could I ever leave such a legacy? I wondered, climbing the rusty stairs that clung to the wall leading up to the rooftop.

There were the stars. They had long ago decided to forsake St. Petersburg, however much they laughed at man’s futile efforts to barricade themselves, but I admired them. Maybe, for once, they could tell me the wonders and mysteries of the world. Orion and Sagittarius and Libra had been to England, to the Swiss Bloc, the Yugoslavian State, and even to the exotic Canadian Sector, the last neighboring the wastelands of what had once been America. My father and grandfather read old papers and sometimes made cranes out of them; who were they to tell me the sights and sounds beyond the walls?

“Where did they take him?” I called out, grabbing a cigarette and putting it in my mouth. Cursing my lack of a lighter, I imagined a cacophony of voices shouting back at me, each pitching in a different idea. To somewhere peaceful. To somewhere nonexistent. Canada. Past all our hands. Closer to your heart. Somewhere where he can be free. Somewhere where he rules the government. In the stomachs of the figures. In the hands of the Wallbuilders. Hung on the gallows to prove a point. Thrown off a bridge to drown a spirit. He threw himself off the bridge and flipped them off while laughing at their grim faces. Alexei flicked a cigarette at the leader and let the smoke rise into the air. They kicked him out of the Wall, let him fend for himself. Japan. The North. The South. Heaven. Hell. Nothingness. Everything. Everywhere.

I nodded and sat down. “In that case,” I responded, “he’s here, right now, in this cigarette. I will never know what happened to him, but I can at least guess where his spirit might wander.”

There was silence as I dangled my legs over the edge of the building. Sagittarius winked and drew his bow at Scorpius. His counterpart, Centaurus, pursued Lupus. The hunting dogs followed their quarry as their master remained triumphant in the sky. I realized that each and every one of them knew their demons by name – and had for a long time - eternally chasing them in the sky. The astronomy book that I had received a birthday gift when I was 13, and the lessons my grandfather gave me before his rheumatism and bad health caught up with him, had taught me their names. Why couldn’t I have such a clear demon to pursue? Maybe something obscure and simple, like The goose, the eagle, or the fox?

No, I was a child, staring at the stars in the middle of the night. My demon was looming over me again, smirking in that seductive way of his. Was he my demon? I knew his name, but this did nothing against his might. Desperate, I shouted to the stars, “Who is he? Who lies in my heart and tells me lies? If he is here, smite him!”

My eyes did not droop. My soul did not quieten. The stars and constellations were mocking me, I imagined, for my naivety. That I, a pitiful human, should be as certain and majestic as they. My demon was just meant to be vague, mysterious, incorporeal; I would be trapped in his hell.

Screw this. I threw Alexei’s cigarette in their faces and made my way off the building.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
a persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo
non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero,
senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Inferno, Canto 27, l 61-66.
  





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Lumi says...



Because Dedushka had once told me that Russian spirits become ice and snow, firm and relentless, because he had told me that Russian souls imbue the water we drink and walk through when the clouds above are dark, I could think only of one place Alexei would reside. On the outskirts of the city, surrounded by cement and wire walls, there slept an old pond that remained iced over for most of the year.

It was there that I sat on the snowy banks and crossed my arms to feel my shoulders for pain, for wings, for bones jutting out and trying to escape calamity.

"I do not want to talk to stars, Alexei," I called. "They are snobs and think only of themselves and do not make jokes...the way you made jokes." I closed my eyes. "They do not smell like paint and menthol. They do not call me names."

The pond did not respond.

"I bought a lighter outside of the city, Alexei. They did not ask me my age and were generally kind to me. I wondered if they knew you." I withdrew a cigarette and lit it, admiring the amber glow as the integrity gave way to heat the way man's integrity gives way to laws handed down by a bald autocrat. Upon exhale, I studied the brilliance of the billowing smoke and how it curled in on itself as water when having someone dive into her.

I was seeing with his eyes. I wondered, with the water, if I would see or smell or hear him. If he waited for me to be brave and relentless as he had become. In the center of the pond was a hole large enough for a man to fish through, and as I walked towards it, I dropped my cigarette.

I sped.

I dropped my shirt.

I sped.

My pants and shoes and socks and briefs.

I sped before my fear could hold me back away from him and into the souls I plunged.

And the water stung every inch of me, outside and in, and it was dark and bright together; and I reached out to feel him and felt nothing but bitterness the way Dedushka had felt bitterness when Babushka had left, the way Papa had felt bitterness when she had--

You are drowning for a memory that yet breathes.

You are looking for a man who is still a man.

Bitterness.

His clothes. Everything's here!

The dim light of stars who do not want to be stars.

Volody! Volody!

The pull down. The love for the undertow. The warmth of the deep stars.

V
two. run


It had been six days and six point five nights since Papa had found me at the pond, and our nurse neighbor, who had refused me to visit the hospital, had sat with Papa for many nights to ensure everything was safe.

You see, I do not mind this time being watched by my father and Nurse Vanya because, for the first time, I had heard my father offer to trade devils to spare someone pain, and I'm unsure about you, but that meant a great deal to me.

It was enjoyable, like this, until night six point five five, when both Papa and Vanya left my room, and I heard gasping and groaning, Papa's old mattress screeching spring-from-spring. It would be inhuman of me to think ill of him for...needing this thing; but in the pit of my stomach, all I could feel was the color gold and how Vanya was not the color gold, nor could she ever be.

I left my room and sat on the airway, huddled in my blankets, speckled with unwanted tears. And, looking up, I saw a new idea in Alexei's art: fresh and dripping.

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Sheyren says...



“What are you doing?” I asked the girl before me. She appeared to be, maybe, sixteen? She also appeared to be hitting the wall with a rock.

She turned around to me at my voice. “I'm hitting this wall with a rock.” She then immediately spun back to the wall and smashed it with the rock some more.

“May I inquire why?”

“If you want.”

I frowned. “Okay, why?”

She stood up and stepped aside. Then she pointed to the spot where she had been hitting. It was cracked, and had a dent about half a foot wide. The dent was extremely deep, but probably nowhere close to breaking through the wall. “I found a chip in the wall, and because of this tree,” She gestured to the tall tree beside us offering shade, “the figures never spotted it.” There was logic to what she said. At a quick glance, the tree blocked the crack. “So I began hitting it with a rock to see if I could break through. Been doing it for about a week.”

“That still doesn't tell me why.”

She looked me in eye seriously. “You really want to stay here? Confined to these borders? I don't. So I'm trying to break out.”

I avoided her eye for a second. “If it was that easy, how come no one has ever escaped?”

She grinned, holding up the stone. “They didn't have a rock.”

We both laughed for a bit, without saying anything. There was a relief in this. Bonding without conversation, something I hadn't tried in a long time. When finally we had stopped laughing, I said “What's your name?”

She looked up, as though she was trying to remember. “I forgot.”

“You got no name?”

“Oh no, I got one. Just haven't needed it in awhile.”

“Well I guess I'll call you... uh... Sonja,” I stuck out my hand for her to shake, “I'm V.”

She took my hand and shook. There was a tough force behind it, and that force gave me a glimpse into her rough life. You can learn a lot from the way people shake hands. Gentle, and they're cautious, perhaps afraid of you. Firmly but softly, and they're used to the easy life. With force, and they haven't had it easy.

“I should be getting home, V.” She awkwardly turned away, waving behind her. “I'll be here tomorrow, smashing, as well as any other day, so if you ever wanna talk.” She walked off.

There were no homes where she was headed.


I slowly began to walk home, thinking about Sonja. She hadn't had it easy, I could tell from her handshake. And the fact that her “home” had no houses further supported my theory.

Finally I arrived at my house and stepped inside. Pa was sitting at the same chair he always sits at. “You're home,” he said.

“Why did you suggest I talk to her?”

“To ground you. I don't know what's been on your mind recently, but it's time to start thinking about other things. Look at her. She's what happens when you aren't grounded.”

I sighed angrily. “I knew it was a bad idea to listen to you-” I started but was cut off by the doorbell ringing. “I'll get it.”

I pulled the door open and looked outside. Surprisingly, a girl I had come to know very well stood before me. “Natalia!”
Sheyren wrote:I'm so humble, I quote myself in my signature.

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Lumi says...



"I do not think I understand, V." Natalia and I were sitting cross-legged on my bed with a bowl of berries between us. If I had remembered correctly, they were her favorites: blueberries; and, coincidentally, the only berries I ever took at the market.

"It's just a cold, Lia, I'm sure." I nodded and burst a blueberry with my teeth, flush-cheeked. "Very sure."

"I don't mean the little raincloud on you now, babe." She ate two and put a hand on my shoulder. She smelled of lilacs. And she reached into her bag and retrieved a notebook full of history notes, which quickly registered her purpose at my home.

(Was it my home? I felt trapped, suffocated, molested by the place--could such a place be a home? Who would have an answer? I knew who would have an answer, but asking graffiti is not a wise course of action in life after proving to your father to be suicidal...whether you are or not.)

"Natalia, you shouldn't have done this."

"I certainly should have." She put a finger down on the hundred-and-fortieth page. "This is where you left off. I remember...well, I remember the suit coming for you, Volody." Her face fell. "The storming of the Winter Palace."

"Was the text Leninist or revisionist...?"

Her fist balled on the page and her head turned to look at me with disdain, hand grabbing my socked ankle. "Volody, I understand it must be a horrible world. I understand that the stars must be an unbelievably wicked shade of ink black. I understand that everything must roar in your mind at all times and I understand that nothing I say can make it better, but why did you--"

She stopped as Pyotr entered the room with an apple in his hand, flecks of it in his black beard. "Papa, we are okay."

"I am aware, Volody. I could not pray for a more grounding voice than little Natshka." He smiled. "But Natalia, remember that there are always going to be things about Vanya's death that Volody will not know."

He paused.

"And I suppose neither will I."

Natalia shook her head. "I should apologize, Mr. Pyotr. It must be a horrible world for both of you, but at least you have one another."

Papa shrugged. "Fathers and sons are like apples, isn't that the right analogy, son? Some days we are delicious together. Others, too tart to stomach in the same place."

He walked away, and I looked at Natalia with tears dammed back. I laid my head on her shoulder and asked if she had heard about Alexei.

She said yes.

I asked if she ever dreamt of life outside the walls.

She said yes.

And I said, "Yesli vy besplatno nachnete ubegat'."
(If you're still free, start running away.)

"Where will we go?"

"Uvidet' yego."
(To find him.)

"Where do you think he is?"

"Dumayu, on nas provedet."
(I think he will tell us.)

"We will leave tomorrow, then, V." Stroking my hair. "What if we find ourselves in England, yeah? And tell the press about the Autocrat who kills his troubled teenagers?"

I nodded into her shoulder.

"I will go home and pack, then. And I will bring my book of poetry, and I will bring many pencils. And you will bring your camera. And we will make memories that will never be forgotten."
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TheSilverFox says...



(1,000 words)

We were to leave soon. There was nothing more to it.

This place was my demon – it surrounded me, suffocated me, punched into my heart and through my head. I had lost too many people here, and here had come my father and grandfather to heap more onto the pile of bodies. What good was there to be grounded when I lived where the rulers killed their citizens and spat on their graves? Sonja had been right; I wasn’t about to stay here any longer. Preferably, I wanted to take her with me. She didn’t have a safe home or a safe life, given how she had strode off into where there were none, and had been desperate enough to break her way out long before the very thought had truly entered my mind. Perhaps she, the girl with no home, would know best how to survive in the abandoned forests and wastelands that would mark our journey from Russia to England.

I worried that she would not get along well with Natalia; that there would be tension and spats, like those I had seen on my grandfather’s VCRs when I was younger (before the machine broke down - by my carelessness, of course). But I then reminded myself that life was not like the movies, and Natalia had seen enough of me to not be concerned of it. Besides, she had my goal - she wanted to take her notebook, her poems, and her (damning) history notes, and that was all that mattered. Neither of us cared who would accompany us, as long as they were trustworthy and reliable when it mattered. I, and perhaps she, hoped the same of ourselves.

There was but a few left to speak to. My father and grandfather would have to wait until the last minute, as they would otherwise suspect and capture me before my plans were complete. These beings, however, were dumb enough to be looked upon, but never capable of inflict their full wrath in return. I feared not that they would betray me, as they had no means to. All they could do would point, laugh, taunt, and act haughty when there was no such strength behind it, try as they might to hide it. And I had grown stronger than before, now that I was sure I had seen and prepared to slay my demon, and would not fall for such ruses.

Sneaking out proved more arduous than before, as every minute I spent in that apartment made me warier and more nervous. This time, I fell as I climbed down the tree, loudly bruising my knee in the process on the earth and stone. I gritted my teeth and avoided the urge to swear, though it quickly dissipated. There was movement in the apartment above, and I felt my heart and breathing crawl to almost a halt as I heard my doorbell being twisted, the door about to fly open on my ruse. Whoever was up there, however, decided against their better judgment to check; perhaps they assumed I had just fallen out of bed. The door closed, I breathed a sigh of relief, and crawled away, now but a small child hiding among ruined buildings in St. Petersburg.

------

The stars glimmered above as I climbed my way up the fire exit, through darkened and partially destroyed hallways, and stood upon a rusting balcony overlooking the modernist homes of thousands of former residents, stretching in a half-circle in front of and beside me. I knew not any of these people, nor where they lived or were buried now; only that this had been burned down in a night of arson, gunfire, and terror. The people and government blamed it on each other, claiming the other had been looking for new victims to inspire fervor among the rest. I could see which side I took in the way that Alexei had written on the floor, “The first step into madness is a doozy,” with the face of the head autocrat positioned above it, under my heel. It filled me with determination that I was making the right decision, that this land had truly fallen into decay, even as the people (including, once, my grandfather) worked with the government in “public service” programs to preserve order and sanity. They knew no better, and I found it hard to blame them – what choice did they have anymore?

I pulled out a lighter and a cigarette from the pockets of my hoodie, lighting up the cigarette and taking a drag.

The constellations were masked by clouds. Only their feet and arms were left to point at me, like trying to cast meteors upon me, as the remainder of their figures languished in their palaces and avoided my piercing gaze.

“My demon will die soon,” I called out, as I made my way towards the fire exit and climbed higher. “I will be rid of them, as you will see me run, run as far as I can away from here.”

Upon the rooftop, I watched the head of a dragon appears from the sky and snort fire, billowing smoke in the form of clouds across space. “This is not a dream anymore. The men and women live on the bones and ashes left from tyranny. This private sanctuary, try as they might, is becoming Hell for me and them all, and I must leave it.”

Now I stepped on the edge of the roof and continued smoking, coughing for a long minute. The bears and lions and dragons charged slowly across the sky, obscured by fog as they became the hunted, pursued by the hunters and hounds. I felt content; they had chosen to acknowledge my victory and return to their lives, having given up mocking me and my naivete. Perhaps this was but the first of many demons, and the first of many fights in the endless war of my life, but this battle had been won spectac-

“Volody!”
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
a persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma per ciò che giammai di questo fondo
non tornò vivo alcun, s'i' odo il vero,
senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Inferno, Canto 27, l 61-66.
  





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Mon Mar 20, 2017 9:58 pm
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Sheyren says...



Stupid, stupid father, I thought as I sat on my bed and stared out the window. Before me was my father yelling at me, but I wasn't really listening. He knew it, too, and quickly gave up before angrily rushing out the door. I leaned my head into my hands and recalled how he grabbed me by the ear and dragged me all the way home, telling me I couldn't just run away, that running away only teaches you how not to face your issues.

He didn't get it. I wasn't running, I was leaving, searching for a better world. Natalia got it. Then again, Natalia always got it. She was perfect in that way, and I knew I could trust her anytime. In fact, I relied on her to keep me alive, since without her I wouldn't have a reason to live. She gave me life.

Looking out the window, I had a plan. It was a dangerous plan, but I had been plotting it for awhile. Me and Natalia had said we wanted to run away, but in reality, it was crazy talk. Neither of us knew a way out of this prison we named home. But I had just formulated a plan.

Maybe Natalia wouldn't want to come with me, since maybe she only said she'd run with me to make me feel better. But I had to try. Leaping up from my bed, I grabbed a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and put the box in my back pocket. I then locked the door so father wouldn't check on me and see I was gone. Turning, I looked at my bedroom.

Perhaps I should have felt more sentiment. This had been my home for years. However, it lost all the warmth of a home a long time ago. This was place was not a home, it was a place to live. The word “home” meant more than just where you lived. It was where you loved, where you spent enjoyable moments. Most of all, it was not this place. I crossed to my windowsill and hopped out, not looking back.

This time I climbed down the tree perfectly, hit the ground smoothly, and dashed down the stone roads. I felt elated, a new spring in my step. Maybe this was the feeling of a demon dying, because as I left my home and childhood behind, I knew something inside me died, some weight lifted. With this renewed energy, I headed to Natalia's house. By now, she would have expected I had gotten caught, abandoned the plan, and went home, so I knew she was there. The only problem was I needed to get her without alerting her family members.

Looking past her bedroom window, I saw a sturdy vine climbing the stone wall of her house which might be able to hold my weight. Carefully, I tried it out and realized this was a way to reach her bedroom. Quickly rappelling up, I slipped onto her roof, silent as the night. Noticing her lights were on, I tossed the cigarette box through the window. She knew what I meant by it. A few minutes later, she hopped out the window a packed bag on her back and climbed the vines, rolling onto the roof gracefully.

She stood up and regained composure, smiling at me. Her hair shined a luminescent silver in the light of the full moon, and I stared at her. Her green eyes were so beautiful, and her skin had a quality as though it produced light. Brushing the hair out of her face, she began to speak. “So, we're actually doing this?”

I gave a grin. “Yes, we are.”

She tossed me my box of cigarettes. I pulled one out and passed it to her. She looked like she was about to decline, but she changed her mind and lit the cigarette with my lighter. “Do you actually have a plan to get us outside the wall?”

“I do.” I took a deep breath. This was the part I was afraid of. This was the moment of truth, a moment which may change the course of my life entirely. “You know, you don't have to come with me. I wouldn't ask you to leave your home for me.”

“V, this isn't my home. You are my home. A home is more than a place you live. It is the place you love, and spend enjoyable moments.” She smiled. “Unknown poet, 1476.”

So that's where I had heard it.

“I enjoy my time, no, I love my time with you, more than I love the time with my family. More than I ever will. You've met my deadweight family. I'm sure you can imagine,” She said, and we both chuckled.

As if in sync, we lay down on the roof. The sharp edges of the tiles dug into my back, but it was painless. I think, in that one moment of time, everything, my past, my life, was painless. I was with Natalia, alone, on that roof, staring at that green-purple sky glittering with stars. Laying next to each other, she grabbed my hand with her's.

“Do you think there's a sky like this in England?”

I turned my head to her, and we looked each other in the eye. “I hope so.” It was a beautiful sky, one I did not want to give up. I remembered one of Alexei's sayings. Beauty is a universal thing. There was a beauty above us, and I thought maybe Alexei was in that beauty. It was fitting that he would end up with the stars. He more than deserved a place there. I knew he in the stars now. Beauty is a universal thing. It made me think of the girl beside me.

This was the girl who had been my only refuge through the troubled part of my life. I do not know why I ever doubted she would come with me. If I could trust anyone to follow me, it was her. After a long while, we stood up reluctantly. Sliding down the vine was our one last task before we left this neighborhood behind.

I began to walk down the streets, but stopped when I noticed Natalia lagging behind. She looked up at her home, tears welling in her eyes. She still loved this place. I felt a wave of gratitude, that she chose me over this place which she loved so deeply. Turning back to her, I wrapped my arms around my shoulder, and she cried into my shoulder. We stayed like that for some time.

----------


“So, what's your plan? How are we getting out of here?” We were following the base of the wall as we headed to a slum off the side of the city. Our hands were interlocked, and we peacefully took in the sights around us.

“Its a secret,” I said, putting a finger to my mouth. She didn't ask questions, and we continued down the path. Then I saw it. It was barely visible under newly grown vines, but I could make out what it said. Beauty is a universal thing.

It was uncharacteristically optimistic of Alexei, and he had written it in many places. I had always wondered what it meant and why he would say it, but looking at Natalia, it all made sense. He wished to live in a beautiful world. This was a plea for others to make the world beautiful. Alexei trying to teach the world a life lesson. Strange.

I remembered the quote for the future. Even if he wasn't alive to do it, I would make sure his message was heard by the ears of the world.

Finally we arrived at our destination. On the side of the road was Sonja, sleeping wrapped in a blanket made of patched together fabric squares. I awoke her, and she groaned. When she registered me and Natalia, she sat up. “Huh?”

“Sonja, we're getting out of the wall, and we need your help.”

She raised a hand gesturing for me to stop talking. “Say no more. I know what you mean, and,” She held up her wall-breaking rock which she had slept next to and grinned, “I got just the thing.”
Sheyren wrote:I'm so humble, I quote myself in my signature.

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