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| Ruminations on the Past; ~The Feeling Coming From My Bones Says 'Find A Home'~ | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 30 2018, 02:01 AM (74 Views) | |
| Hell's Overseer | Apr 30 2018, 02:01 AM Post #1 |
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[Under the back-alley lamp of some bar or convenience store or other location of ill-repute sits Dmitri Kalashnikov, squatting on full heels under the harsh light of a dull lamp, his features obscured by the hard shadows of his forehead and browline, giving off the appearance of some hollow skeleton rather than the full human face hidden by the darkness. Leaning against the wall, he takes a long pull from a bottle of amber liquid, the label all but removed save for the remaining bit of thin white plastic held together by adhesive to the side of the bottle. Finishing his drink, Dmitri lets out a hearty sigh, pausing to let the drink slide down his throat before clearing his throat.] “For years I’ve wondered where I truly belong. The place that I’m from doesn’t exist anymore; the constant presence of a radioactive haze makes it pretty hard to really find any semblance of home. For a few years, I found one in the war; for four, I fought with my brethren against the Russians, repelling those bastards back to where they came on the borders of Kiev. Then, I had an epiphany; the guys I was fighting with didn’t seem all too concerned with brotherhood or home or anything like that. They didn’t see what I saw, an encroaching darkness from the center of the living room spreading ever further to the battle-lines. The children were hungry, and the people were dying, and all these men could concern themselves with was how much money the blue berets were sending their way for arms. Seven magazines of 7.62 ammo meant more than a month of formula, a bandolier of pineapples meant more than a pallet of painkillers for the elderly. A week’s worth of rations meant more than a year’s worth of housing for the people we were fighting for.” [Dmitri takes another pull from the bottle, which already looks half-empty. Sighing, he holds it aloft in the fluorescent light, pondering it for a few moments before addressing the audience.] “So I switched. Joined the separatists, decided to see the world from the other side. Didn’t change much for me, the only difference being that my meals were coming from the land of the bear rather than the land of the bull. My gun, my armor, my bullets weren’t any more different than they were before, only the targets that I was aiming at had changed. The flag I was carrying was different. The gun I was holding was different. That’s what I told myself, anyway. This went on for two years, as I fooled myself into thinking I was making the world a better place. Thinking that finally, here would be a utopia I could carve an existence out for me and my family, ignoring all the while that the woman I loved and the child we raised would be long gone from my life. I don’t know where they are anymore. I haven’t known since the day I came back from America with a measly thousand to my name and a few trinkets on my waist, to an empty house full of what used to be.” [Looking down, Dmitri tips the last remnants of the bottle into his gullet, setting it aside on the ground. The camera hovers over it for a few seconds, highlighting the fact that it is not the only one he’s had today, as five more lay next to it. Taking a deep breath, Dmitri lets out a long huff, still staring at the pavement beneath him as he speaks.] “I’ll never know the fullness of life anymore. What my daughter’s first words were, what her fears were, how I could make her feel safe, what could have been. I’ll never hear the laughter that made me fall in love with the woman that was my wife for a few precious years, nor will I fully remember every little word we shared, what we hoped to be by now, what was next. All I have now are the screams of men that woke me up in the morning, and the clatter of gunfire that lulled me to sleep at night. All I see are the men I called my brothers laying limp in my arms as the last ounce of their lives drained from bullet holes and bomb fragments.” [Dmitri, still supported by the wall behind him, slowly lifts himself up off the ground. In the frame of the camera, he looks almost deceptively taller than what was indicated before, his head nearly hitting the light that is now completely shrouded by the hood covering his face.] “All I know now is war. The endless fight. The sweetest science. Comrade James brought his best, but it just wasn’t enough for what I’ve learned over the years. I need something greater, something beyond what I dealt with eight years ago when the revolution was still strong and not a distant echo of years gone by, before a Painkiller was something I took for combat trauma and Demoltion was a job description rather than broadcast television. I want a fight, I want blood and sweat and the tears of fear of something beyond the corporeal, beyond even the metaphysical. I want to fear death. I want to hate life. I want a goddamn war.” [Having stated his case, Dmitri makes a guttural sound before spitting straight on the ground in front of his procession of bottles. Wrenching his shoulders back, he stretches soundlessly, before walking off frame, the empty glass bottles lines up near the dumpster the only focal point of the camera as it slowly fades to black.] Edited by Hell's Overseer, Apr 30 2018, 03:29 AM.
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3:40 AM Jul 11
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3:40 AM Jul 11