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***this is just the beginning, the chapter isnt finished either. i would just like to know what you think of it so far***

I’m the very definition of boring. I have lack of words and conversation. How did I manage to last till now, I really don’t know. It must have been rage, and anger. Wonders what the combination of those two will do. Thinking about this really wasn’t worth my time. I had other things that I grinded my teeth over.

I was sitting in the passenger seat with my feet up and a light cigarette. The cigarette burned to its capacity, ashing all over the place. I took the cigarette and stuffed it into the ashtray. Driving seemed like moving through time, breaking the rules of physics.

My thoughts trailed off into the past. “How does a seven year old have rage and anger, such destructiveness? Could I have possibly ever controlled that much at seven years old? At age two my father had died, and the mother drank herself into her own definition of living. The belts came out and the buckles stung.  Thats a silly play on words there.  It didn’t last long mommy couldn’t handle both of our tears.

When I was old enough to figure out how to open the door, that’s the very first thing I did when mommy passed out drunk. I’d crawl out from underneath her arm, slowly walk to the end of the hall, and stand on my tippy toes until it hurt, just to reach the lock. It was for my own protection.

At all hours of the day I wondered the streets and let nature do the nurturing. I was Russia’s wild child, and Mother Russia has its own unique way of creating such children. Most of the kids like me grew up deep in the woods, the only civilization for miles were the wolves. But by the end of it, we all ended up being in the same place, the orphanage. The difference was I chose to be in an orphanage. Seven was the age I decided to run away. Most seven year olds wouldn’t think of leaving their parents, and if they did they would come home after two hours. No, I didn’t stop after two hours. I just kept on running until I ended up in America. And now more than fifteen years later, I’m back in Russia.


I didn’t respond

“Baby, are you with me?” Andre broke the trance I was in. I was barely paying attention, zoning out, lost in thoughts. Which was never a good idea; I end up going deeper and deeper into my head, digging at thoughts that don’t need to be resurfaced.

I massaged my neck and moved my head side to side, then looked at him. He was better off driving the car anyway. He didn’t get absorbed easily into thoughts like I did. Andre was my support system at the moment and a lot more than that. He was someone I trusted. He handed me his IPod, “Pick something to play” he said. I looked through his playlist and picked Bob Marley.

“Good choice.” He said

“You can’t go wrong with Bob Marley” I replied.


We drove until a fork in the road appeared; the left side destined to a village, the right one went on infinitely. It’s been hours since we’ve seen any people around. We turned for the village. The bushes slapped both sides of the car. The road seemed hardly used in recent days.

The setting I hardly noticed: a lineup of shacks and a playground off to the side. Andre parked and got out of the car.I fussed around for a few minutes trying to get my crap together.I looked up at him, “Can you grab my cigarettes and wallet?” I heard him say. I grabbed them and got out.

The fresh air hit my nose in a harsh way, my head got clearer instantly. I walked around and handed them to him.I followed him to the first house that was on the right; first impression, it didn’t have a door where there should be one. I didn’t question this oddness or what he was doing. At this point it didn’t matter, we were already here.

No one seemed to be in the house. As I was done observing that; someone appeared at the window, and walked up to the entrance before either of us budged.

We were expected but it didn’t work the other way around, we didn’t plan to be here. A guy stepped out about my age. He stood in silence squinting at something in the distance. He molded his face into a blank expression, first looked at Andre, and then me. I stared back at him trying to understand what I saw; as if I was some robot trying to identify and process my facts. White curly hair, red eyes, pale wax skin, and lifeless lips, sharp features- he was exotic, like something new discovered by the eyes. The boy, who I’d soon call Jon, pointed his finger north, and didn’t make a sound.

Out in that direction we could see a curved road hidden slightly behind a house. Further up were a shabby hotel sign and a building to match, both blended in with the woods making it hard to notice. The hotel was rectangular with few windows.

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