wwiii || вσσк тнιєƒ || ¢ℓσѕє∂ яρ
One small fact.
You are going to die.
Despite every effort, no one lives forever.
Sorry to be such a spoiler.
My advice is,
when the time comes, don't panic.
It doesn't seem to help.
I guess I should introduce myself properly.
But then again,
you'll meet me soon enough.
Not before your time, of course.
I make it a policy to avoid the living.
Well, except sometimes.
Once in a very long time...
I can't help myself.
I get interested.
A small child was coughing, its face pale and white, barely parting from the white tone of the cold and bitter snow. Hands were small, enough to hold a small sparrow within them, yet, they hand no life, they were laying besides his body and so was his book. A motherly voice was quietly soothing the smaller being, a Russian lullaby. It was a nice melody, even caught the ears of the ones near the three people. Her wrinkled hands, her old, sore hands, worked their way to his hair and gently pet him whilst his eyes were finally showing something; eternal sleep.
By the time her daughter had realized the true pain of the truth behind the still body that belonged to her only brother, she knew she had no other way to hide, to camouflage this. She freely cried along their way to where they headed, and, truly, not even the sleet petite could hide away those rusty tears of hers. Had she known what the fate had in store for them she would have left these children away, somewhere, farther away. Baring the pain and grief of losing a child was not something even the strongest could bare.
They arrived and the coldness of the Russian air was stronger than it already had been in the train. At war times, no one would seem to yet care for by passing civilians and lend them a hand, no one would stop to ask you if you are cold, hungry...Only the soldiers get that, but then again, its not necessary, Sonists have always had the pleasure of getting a comfortable life and killing to earn money. Their lives rolled smoothly, unlike most. The mother paced towards the occasion she agreed on burring her sons dead body, watching that her daughter comes along. "--------Hurry up." She would know to say, still walking in fast steps. Passing by soldiers was never the most confident thing you could have, they know to be violent even to their own people. They were only but built machines to ruin and destroy their surroundings. Ah, thank goodness, they were here. The mother rushed to the other two Sonists and smiled at them kindly, settling the body of her son down to help with finishing on digging the hole for his burial. It was deep enough, and, even for the last time seeing him, being with him, she decides its best to show him her respect. A burial it was, though was it even proper?
Who knows. The only thing left behind his small being was a hardback, black book.
By the time her mother decided it was best for her to do so, she didn't even realize that the only possession after her son was taken by her. She sent her away, far away, back to Moscow. The town was so respected, especially it being the place their current president, Scepan Pyotr Khodokovsky, lives. It was the cleanest place in all of Russia, especially since littering and much more was illegal to do, it was charged way too much even if one dropped a cigarette in the snow. The car the little girl was in was a small taxi. It was common for taxi's to be here and there non-stop. Everyone was rushing around these few busy, and handful war days.
The snow around them soothed everything, the falling flakes were a sign of peace and silence. They were what brought more cheerfulness in these lands than knowing that Russia is winning war. There were little animals. A bird or two. But they made no sound, it gave more atmosphere for concentration, it gave a more secure feeling. Not even the taxi driver spoke a word, he was only there, driving his car to the place the girl was supposed to come to.
The whole town was painted white and silver, with the only lively colors being the Sonist flags. The red was deeply impaled to the material and the black lining for their country's symbol was a pitch black color. We can only assume that those were the only two colors most known today, at all. They were the only thing breaking the peace. Two people, an elder woman and man were already outside awaiting their new visitor that will be staying for quite some time. The older man had a smile on his face. He was half bald, with the little hair he had being a grayish blond. Eyes were like crystals. Two blue sapphires that were still young, unlike what his age says about him. The moment the taxi stopped, the male approached the door and opened it slowly to not scare her.
"--------Hello there, dear." His voice was raspy. A spider's web stuck to his throat. The man put out his hand for her, letting her take her time in getting out. "--------My name is Sergei Medvedov. What do they call you?" He was attempting to make her comfortable, and the moment she was out, he payed the taxi driver the money, then, turned back to the smaller girl.
"--------We're happy to have you here, dear."
