Shell of a City

Prypiat, Ukraine, 1993

It was a shell of a city.

Newspapers still sat on racks outside the train station, ghost cries of the newspaper boy trying to sell his load before the day is out. The shops that had not been touched by looters had products lined dutifully up on the shelves like disciplined soldiers, waiting for the next customer. A few cars lay lifeless and dirty in the middle of the street, rats nesting in the hollow rubber tyres. Mark half expected someone to come rushing out from one of the huge block of flats that were scattered messily around the city.

“Квапливість нагору!”

Mark looked round at the three of boys in front of him, and saw that it was the boy in the middle that had spoken. He bit his lip and picked up the pace. He had never been to the birth place of his parents, the deserted city that was once crawling with life. Nor had his parents, ever since the Chernobyl disaster. They didn't know he was here, back where they once lived, where they first met, and he intended to keep it that way.

The boys, all larger than Mark had stopped in front of an old building. The window panes were missing, as was the front door, the bolts protruding like bones from the doorway. Mark eyed the building, looking uneasy. The sign above read Центральній Сирітство. They were going into an orphanage? Mark grimaced. Peter, the oldest of the group, and about a head taller than them all, motioned them in, stepping carefully over the debris of toys that covered the floor.

Mark entered last. The air was still and musty, the stone floor scraping against the soles of his leather boots. He stopped at the bottom of the stairway that the rest were already climbing and looked around. There was a bookshelf in the corner, colourful spines advertising their content. He found it strange that the whole city was still practically intact, and ever so slightly creepy. His skin prickled with goosebumps, a shiver working it's way up his spine.

He could hear the boys up stairs, shouting out at each other and laughing. The clatter of metal hitting stone rang out, bouncing off the wall a few times. Mark started up the stairs, surprised no one had yet yelled at him to get moving. He reached the first doorway, opposite the staircase, and looked in at the young men, throwing things into their bags. He hesitated at the doorway. Peter was near the door, picking things up off the floor, while the other two boys stood at the other side of the room, mostly taking things that lay on the beds, but occasionally throwing a heavy object at one and another. Peter looked up, in the middle of grabbing a pair of trousers off the floor.

“На чому ви чекання на?” he growled, narrowing his eyes at Mark.

Mark shrugged uneasily and passed through the threshold, setting his own bag down on the floor to fill with stuff. Peter went back to what he was doing.

“Вони поїхали більш як Я припускав.” Mark commented. Peter grunted in agreement.

Mark was placing a child's toy into his bag when he noticed the other two boys were stuffing sheets into their bags. Mark frowned, at looked towards the older boy.

“Навіть простирадла?” he asked.

“Бум?” The other boy didn't even look up as he answered.

Mark shrugged again, and started to remove the thin sheets off the metal bed frames. Some of the wires were broken, sticking out, waiting for him to drag his hand along the springs. He cried out as one caught him, drawing blood from his wrist. The other boys raised eyebrows at him, but said nothing. He gulped down any more curses he had in him and returned to work, though not before tying one of the sheets around his bleeding wrist tightly in attempt to stem the flow.

He moved over to the next bed, noticing something brown poking out from under pieces of cloth. He brushed his fingers across it, making sure no one else was watching; they were all too preoccupied with their own things. It was leather, and he pulled it out from it's hiding place, opening it careful. The inside was covered in a childish scrawl. He flicked forward a few pages, and read a little bit. He was halfway down the page, having difficulty making out some of the characters, when a shadow blocked out the light from the windows.

"Які просив кошти при?"

Mark looked up to see the towering form of Peter over him, looking at the journal in his hands. Mark quickly tried to conceal it under the sheets, though he knew it was little use.

“Це нічого,” he mumbled feebly, trying, and failing, to look nonchalant.

“Гадаю Президенту щось,” Peter demanded.

Mark paled, saying nothing. The other boy snatching it from beneath the covers.

“Що це?” he asked, looking at the middle pages, “Деякі політичний дитина щоденник?”

“Мабуть.” Mark whispered before clearing his throat.

Peter looked at it disdainfully and dropped it into his bag.

“Ви що ми можемо просто лишити його?” Mark said, a pleading tone to his voice, rising from his kneeling position.

“Ну, скінчити існування так кривавої ностальгічний, Мітка.”

“Я думаю що...”

Peter shook his hand, interrupting the younger boy's sentence. He looked down at his almost full bag, and shoved it into Mark's torso. Mark caught it just before it fell to the ground, a small shoe falling out. He hastily bent down to pick it up.

“Це я замовч Італії та візьмуть це матеріал внизу сходи,” Peter grunted, turning from the boy as if he wanted nothing more to do with him.

Mark nodded, even though he couldn't see him. He sighed, and began to make his way out of the building. When he was out on the street again, he saw that the sun was shining brightly. He checked his watch. Midday. He looked around, even though he knew there would be no one around.

He stood just outside for a second, before setting down the bag next to the door and putting on a cap he had in his pocket. He pulled the peak down over his eyes and dipped his hands into his trouser pockets. He scuffed his shoes against the steps and waited for the other boys, so he could just go home – away from this ghost town.

-----

A/N - I know what your going to say. I should have put the speech in English. But, I did this at first, and realised how unimportant the speech was. But to keep it moving, I decided to keep it in there - just in a different language. I personally am not a big fan of dialogue anyway, and never use it much. If you understand what's going on even though you don't understand the speech, it doesn't take much away, right?

Anyway, feel free to rip this apart. I look forward to critiques.

[spoiler]

Translations:

Квапливість нагору! - Hurry up!

Центральній Сирітство. - Central Orphanage.

На чому ви чекання на? - What are you waiting for?

Вони поїхали більш як Я припускав. - They left more than I expected.

Що фальшивий із це? - What's wrong with that?

Навіть простирадла? - Even the sheets?

Бум? - Why not?

Які просив кошти при? - What are you looking at?

Це нічого. - It's nothing.

Гадаю Президенту щось. - It must be something.

Що це? Деякі політичний дитина щоденник? - What's this? Some kind of kid's diary?

Мабуть. - I think so.

Ви що ми можемо просто лишити його? - Don't you think we should just leave it?

Ну, скінчити існування так кривавої ностальгічний, Мітка. - Oh, stop being so bloody sentimental, Mark.

Я думаю що... - I just think...

Це я замовч Італії та візьмуть це матеріал внизу сходи. - Just shut up and take this stuff downstairs.[/spoiler]