Red Blood White Snow
READER X (depressed[slightly suicidal?])SOVIET! RUSSIA
Chapter One: Bleeding Sunflowers
“The wisest thing in the world is to cry out before you are hurt. It is no good to cry out after you are hurt; especially after you are mortally hurt. People talk about the impatience of the populace; but sound historians know that most tyrannies have been possible because men moved too late. It is often essential to resist a tyranny before it exists.” –G.K. Chesterson
‘They left. My family, my friends, Gone. What have I done to deserve being alone? I don’t understand. I just wanted everyone to become one with me. A big, happy family; no fighting, no war; Just peace and love. That’s all I ever wanted. Nothing more, love was all I ever truly wanted. Now I will never get that chance.’ Ivan thought miserably as he walked through his now bare, cold, empty shell of a house.
He walked through each room, noticing how everything that was essential had been taken, save for a lone silver locket that belonged to _________; Ivan knew that it was ________’s favorite locket, her only keepsake of her deceased family before Ivan had taken the orphan into his home. He picks up the small locket and gently runs his thumb along the engraved surface, pocketing it as he continues through the house. The beds of his sisters, his friends, his secret crush, all lay in messy, unkempt heaps upon the floor. Their pictures still hung along the hallway, their forced smiles shining back at Ivan, mocking his pain.
Ivan paced throughout the house, finding no sign of life, all that remained was a single dried sunflower, resting in the open doorway, coated in a layer of frost and ice. Gingerly, he tries to pick the frozen flower up, only for it to shatter in his slender hand. In a way, he was glad they left, so they could not see the tears forming in his eyes, to see his composure shatter.
Ivan stormed to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of near frozen coffee, half of the black mixture mixing in with his favorite vodka, watching the snowstorm blowing snowflakes through the dead trees outside.
“It fits, da? It makes sense that cold, bitter people should drink beverages that reflect who they are” He mutters, downing the cup, the harsh alcoholic liquid burning his throat.
“After all they left for a reason; they were miserable! No one could love a monster like me, forcing them to stay, like a selfish, petulant child,” his heart aching as he thinks of everyone leaving in the middle of the night.
He hurls the cup at the nearest wall, shattering a picture frame. Regretfully, he goes to clean the mess, wiping the glass remnants away from the picture of you. Not caring that the glass cut into his pale skinned palm. The tears burned his eyes as they threatened to overflow, exposing his emotions to both the world and to no one at all.
Reflexively, he grabs the bottle of vodka and starts to drink the clear liquid, trying to ebb his pain. Bottle after bottle, he feels there is no sense of escape, no sense of relief, so he downs yet another, hoping the next will drown his pain or force him unconscious. When the alcohol doesn’t work fast enough, he shatters the closest bottle of vodka, and toys with a long slender piece in his hand, drawing the jagged edge along his long, pale arms, contemplating his next move.
Pink lines appear along his arms and wrists, drops of crimson welling up from within; again and again he draws over these lines, more and more blood trickling down his arms.
“Not enough. This isn’t fast enough…” He slurs through his drunken haze. He looks over to his coat, his favoriteTT-30 pistol hanging from the side holster, “That’ll work, da? It’s much faster, much faster.”
Ivan staggers over to the gun, wrenching it out of the holster. He looks around his home,
“I won’t leave them a mess if they come back.. Even if they do, they’ll never miss me, da?”
Ivan grabs a random piece of paper and scrawls upon it as neatly as his drunken hands will let him: “_-_(your name)_, Ravis, Toris, Eduard, Katyusha and Natalya, I’m so sorry. I won’t hurt anyone anymore. I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize how you all must have felt. All I wanted was for everyone to be happy, the house is yours. Please forgive me. ________, I’m especially sorry you are to read my confession, but I love you,
I always have. I’m so sorry, my sunflower.”
He sets your locket down on top of the note, regarding it solemnly. He shakily aims the gun at his own chest and fires, missing his heart, grazing his lung. He gasps in pain as he stumbles forward, heading for the door, pistol still in hand. His white scarf falls onto the floor behind him, soaking up the blood leaking from his chest, draping over the crushed sunflower in the doorway, the blizzard partially obscuring his path away from the house.
You walked with your friends out of the prison-like house you called a home, into the storm filled winter night. Your fingers shaking and your toes seeming to form into ice chunks in your thick, wool sock filled boots.
“Hurry! Once he’s awake he’ll come looking for us! It’s nearly dawn!” Ravis called out in a chilled, terrified tone.
You then noticed your favorite locket was not around your neck. “Oh, no….”
You searched frantically with numb fingers, through your coat and bag.
“What is it, _________?” Natalya called out impatiently.
“M-my locket-” you reply, “I-it’s gone!”
Katyusha looked on sadly, touching your shoulder, “It’s lost to us then, dear. I’m sorry.”
“NO! I must go back for it-” You cry out.
“That’s suicide! Ivan will kill you!” Toris tried to convince you.
“I’ll have to try, Toris. It’s all I have left of my family, I have to go back.”
“_______.” Eduard warned.
“I’ll be fine, I promise! I’ll sneak in and back out before he realizes I’m even there.” You reply before running back towards what everyone felt was certain death.
You reached the house sooner than you expected, hesitantly you edged through the back door, ready to run for your life at any moment. You heard nothing, the only sound you could hear was the pounding of your own heart and the breath you let out in whispering gasps.
You silently dash up to your room, frantically searching for the locket. When you don’t find the locket you begin to search the house warily making your way down stairs. You notice smashed vodka bottles strewn from the kitchen into the living room where the front door had been left open earlier that morning. There seemed to be a red cloth on the floor, it looked like it was starting to become rigid with the arctic wind.
Upon closer inspection you realize its Ivan’s scarf, soaked through with blood, you jump back in shock. Your hand grasps at a smooth yet sharp object on the table, a piece of glass slicing open your hand; you yelp in surprise, praying he didn’t hear you if he were nearby.
When you begin to cradle your hand you notice your locket beside the glass, resting upon a sloppily written page, blood splatter making some words hard to read. Curiously, you decide to read the note. It had been Ivan’s last words to whoever found the note, to whoever dared come back. Horrified, you snatch up your locket and his huge trench coat and race to save your former tyrant from himself.
‘He may be cruel, but he doesn’t deserve this… ‘ You thought as you ran out into the winter storm, following the red patches in the pure white snow.