; ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛʜɪᴇf
" Oɴᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟ fᴀᴄᴛ. Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ. Dᴇsᴩɪᴛᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀy ᴇffᴏʀᴛ, ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇs fᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ. Sᴏʀʀy ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ sᴩᴏɪʟᴇʀ. My ᴀᴅᴠɪᴄᴇ ɪs, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs, ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴩᴀɴɪᴄ. Iᴛ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴩ. I ɢᴜᴇss ɪ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ ᴍysᴇʟf ᴩʀᴏᴩᴇʀʟy. Bᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, yᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ sᴏᴏɴ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ. Nᴏᴛ ʙᴇfᴏʀᴇ yᴏᴜʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴏf ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ. I ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴩᴏʟɪᴄy ᴛᴏ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ. Wᴇʟʟ, ᴇxᴄᴇᴩᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs. Oɴᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀy ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ… ɪ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ʜᴇʟᴩ ᴍysᴇʟf. ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛᴇᴅ. “
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I found myself always trapped in Russia. The amount of souls I had to collect here was nearly bigger than back in the forties in Nazi Germany. Humans do tend to say that history does repeat itself, and, suppose this is what they mean by it when they say something like that. I understand the concept of agony more than anyone else. I understand the concept of death. But whenever it happens, that someone’s life dies down, it does not mean I necessarily like it. Its only my job, and I have a right to complain too, don’t I?
It happens very often that I see human life traveling by train, which I’m going to do today as well. It was heading towards Moscow. A city I knew was tainted with the same blood and gore as all the other cities of this vile country. I see people entering inside, thus I carefully follow and make myself comfortable. I can’t sit anywhere, I’m just a floating nothingness. No one even notices I’ve entered. No one sees me. But I see them, and next to enter was a girl with two more people. A woman, which is assumed represents a mother, and another very young child. A baby, as a matter of fact. They caught my eyes because I know something: one of them is going to die.
I make myself comfortable for a while, seeing everyone around me try and keep warm. This wasn’t right. They were all shaking, freezing, and the majority of them were wearing such thin clothes that it was no surprise. I felt nothing. I can’t feel. But sometimes seeing all of these people shake like this is what made me try to share their suffering. In the end it showed worthless. Most of these people were poor. Some were gypsies and others were plainly workers or other nationalities who were possibly refugees of war. But none of the people inside had a calm face. Except for all the children I’ve seen. They were not crying. They were just there, not understanding this horrible world around them. Innocence can really be a blessing sometimes.
The baby I was watching coughs. The mother is humming a Russian melody to it. She knows what’s coming, but does the other girl? The child’s coughing was turning more violent and its face was as pale as the snow outside. But no one was paying attention, except its family. Then suddenly, came my time and I swiftly flew over to the corpse. The baby had its eyes closed, no pulse. No heartbeat. I drag my hand across his body and collect the tormented soul. It has more peace now, where it can go and see God. And not that I know, though people have a tendency of saying that once a loved one dies, they watch you from above. Lets hope that little baby can do that and let his mother mourn in peace, knowing he never left.
The train stopped after four hours of a long ride. The woman that lost her child never stopped crying. The girl besides her? Well, lets just say I got very intrigued by her. I’ve witnessed Russians killing many people and even their own kind sometimes became the victim. Sadly. But I seem to be very caught by this one. Lets hope they leave her alone. I want more time to let my interest die down even a bit. I really don't know what it is about her that made me so eager to explore, but, she caught me.
The family was led by two men in black, who had shovels over their shoulder and a small basket. I couldn’t see the baby. The body was most likely in that strange box that they carried around. When they stopped, I stopped as well. The two men argued weather or not to leave them here after they are finished with the burial, and it seems they came to agreement very quickly. They informed the mother that they’ll get her to a hotel, even for one night if she needed it, but the child should be sent to someone else with a better financial standard. Be sent to an adopted family. What surprised me was when she nodded. That nod was hesitant, but she did accept. One of the men began to dig a hole, while the other one phoned social workers. Things were arranged much faster in today’s life, thus finding her a home took only twenty minutes. She doesn’t know what’s coming, and, somehow I’m happy. A child shouldn’t bare the fact they getting separated from their mom. She didn’t do this very willingly, but she did know it was for the best. With the fact I also sense her illnesses, I can tell she won’t make it within the next week.
The box in which the corpse of the baby lay was put in the hole that the two strange men dug up. I stared at it with everyone else. So quiet. So peaceful. One of them broke the silence when they saw a car driving towards this area. A taxi. The mother I could see almost burst into newly formed tears when she saw the vehicle appear. It was like she saw the KGB come to shoot them all down, and not a ride that’ll lead her only child to a sanctuary. It was pain staking, I can tell, but I feel no emotions. The two men slowly push the child to go inside of the car, and the mother waves, eyes filled with deep blue crystals. Her heart aches, and breaks in half when she saw that the girl was almost forced inside. She’s down on her knees at the sound of the door shutting, and only now she knows she can scream, when her child is no longer besides her. I listened to her cry out repeatedly, and it made me scared to continue. I turned away, flew, and reached the child that was settled inside the car. I can also see a man besides her, who was there, I assumed, to watch she either doesn’t escape or maybe as a social worker who is going to give out the family some adoption papers. I’m not sure, but he was very annoying. Constantly trying to speak to the younger. To me that seemed like nagging. I really didn’t like that man. And a strange one he was, he had a red banner around his arm with something black drawn on it. A hammer and sickle.
ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪɢ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs syᴍʙᴏʟ?
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I see workers use that. But why? I’m not sure. Wouldn’t they rather be at home in this dead winter? Instead of constantly working and saying stuff like: “Comrade Khodorkovsky is always right!”, “Work harder, Comrades!”
They were called something. A wired word: ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪsᴛ.
And even now that we’re driving through Moscow, I can see a lot of things, which I didn’t expect since all I mostly monitor is people spilling blood around here. I see a big building. Its colorful. Looks like something I once saw in India. Maybe these people collaborate with Indians. And all these flags. All I can see is white, red and yellow. White is the snow that never ceased to fall. Yellow was the hammer and sickle, and a little star above it. And lastly was red. For the flags. Honestly, that was really ugly. Why did Russia want that sort of a flag? I would’ve made a much better one. I don’t think yellow and red works very well, It stings my eyes even if I don’t have any. Not just the flag but I see people hanging pictures of a man constantly. Grayish-ginger hair. Brown eyes. Wrinkles. Why did they like the same man so much? I keep wondering if he’s the one called Khodorkovsky because that’s a strange name too. Strange names go to strange people. Russians and those Communists are really wired people, I hope this girl agrees. I feel like we’d be great friends if we were to see each other live.
The car stopped, suddenly, and the one driving and the man besides the girl got out. I stared at them for a long while, until a woman and man came out. They were old. Was he a Communist? I still don’t know what those wired people do exactly but I hope he isn’t. Usually whoever had a banner with that ugly symbol on it was very mean and violent. I don’t like mean people. I want to watch this child longer and let her live long enough to die my interest down. I didn’t really like how the man that sat besides her spoke to her. He slightly raised his voice at the child to go out. Yeah, he was definitely a Communist! He’s being very mean. I really didn’t like him. And luckily the new dad didn’t like it either. He told the Communist to let him handle it, thus I saw the man put out his hand to the girl through the car door. "--------Privet, dear." He greeted her with a gentle smile.
The dad had a very kind voice. He was nice. I conclude he’s not a Communist! I hope the mom isn’t a Communist either. I don’t want to deal with her if she is.
