Broken Mirrors (Chapter 7)

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The soft tapping sounds of bare, dirty feet was heard between his heavy, panting breaths that as simple an exercise as walking could cause from his weak, worn body. The corridor was otherwise completely silent and empty, but his paranoia still sprung high with every step he took. It was only a matter of time, he knew, before the USSR would find him and catch him and take him back. There was no escape from this building, what was it that the Soviet states called it? His Russian wasn't very good, he understood it on par with a four year old and his speaking ability was even worse. Soviet wanted him to master Russian and speak it fluently but didn't bother to teach him. The Baltic states were trying to help him with learning the language right now, though, since they'd been in a similar situation as him when they became states under Soviet's power and that caused them to feel empathy towards him.  

He thought the Soviet states were calling it a prison but there was what sounded like an adjective before it. He wasn't sure.

But he knew that there was no escaping it.

The only thing you could do was run through it and try to hide. But then what?

He still needed to eat food and drink water which Soviet provided, even if it wasn't much, and he knew that his sneaking abilities weren't good enough to steal food from the canteen, even though it was the least guarded place here.

Ukraine and Belarus could probably succeed at the sneaking bit if they wanted to, he'd seen them sneak before. They were small and quick and good at keeping themselves silent. Sure, he was small too, but he wasn't quick and he always started panting and squeaking when he was scared. It was a pitiful habit he had, Soviet had made that clear to him.

He doubted that Ukraine nor Belarus had any interest in helping him, though. He was weak and small and stupid. 

Soviet had ridden him of all confidence he had in himself. Now what was he? A miserable hunk of paranoia and doubt, easily malleable to fit whatever Soviet wanted.

The USSR had this all planned out to make him as submissive as possible, didn't he?

A sound that wasn't his own broke him out of his thoughts and he whipped his head around immediately to check his right hand side. He was always looking towards the right, turning his head and getting panicked. He wasn't used to it yet, the inability to see through his right eye. There was still some stinging pain there, particularly at night when his mind would spin even more than during the day or anytime he tried to use it before inevitably realizing each time that he couldn't do so anymore. 

He pinpointed where the sound came from- behind him, from where he'd been traveling, trying to escape Soviet's grasp- and ran in the opposite direction. His mind finally went blank for once as his fear overtook his thoughts and pushed him into instinctual responses and actions. Although it didn't stay that way for long. He ran even though his legs were shaking from their weakness and soreness. He hadn't used his legs in how long before trying to run away? A few days, at least, he'd lost track of time. He still was lost in time, was it day or night? How long had it been since he escaped his chains and ran from Soviet until he'd reached this dark corridor? Hours? Days? Time had no meaning anymore. 

His mind once again went blank as he skidded to a halt from his sprinting, nearly slamming into the person in front of him. A scream ripped through the once silent air followed immediately by the chilling sound of shattering glass. 

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