HOME | DD

Description

Alexi Dikul is an idiot.

I know it.

They know it.

Dikul, somehow, doesn't.

As we sit and watch the camp, he stands and struts about like a particularly proud rooster. He hands out orders to armed men, satisfied with their slurred "yes sirs". He stops on me, and looks me over. My eyes are determinedly fixed ahead, on the distant smoke stacks, during his scrutiny. He stares me down, trying to get me to give in and put my focus on him. He seems content when I do not, and walks away with a bit of a smirk.

"He wanted you to look a' him." Kutzow puts his hand on me, as if I am his only means for support. "B-b-but you di'int. Thas good. He'll like you now."

My face twists as his face grows nearer to mine, to a point where I can smell the drinks on his breath. The stench is over-powering. Slowly, I move away. A more sober Marov offers me a smoke with an apologetic smile.

We all breathe smoke. Smoke is everywhere. It rises in plumes from smokestacks on factories. We inhale it from white tubes to be warm. It's an unavoidable part of our surroundings. Even the bags under the starving prisoner's eyes are creased and shaded with smoke. Their brittle bones snap under the weight of it.

Description

Alexi Dikul is an idiot.

I know it.

They know it.

Dikul, somehow, doesn't.

As we sit and watch the camp, he stands and struts about like a particularly proud rooster. He hands out orders to armed men, satisfied with their slurred "yes sirs". He stops on me, and looks me over. My eyes are determinedly fixed ahead, on the distant smoke stacks, during his scrutiny. He stares me down, trying to get me to give in and put my focus on him. He seems content when I do not, and walks away with a bit of a smirk.

"He wanted you to look a' him." Kutzow puts his hand on me, as if I am his only means for support. "B-b-but you di'int. Thas good. He'll like you now."

My face twists as his face grows nearer to mine, to a point where I can smell the drinks on his breath. The stench is over-powering. Slowly, I move away. A more sober Marov offers me a smoke with an apologetic smile.

We all breathe smoke. Smoke is everywhere. It rises in plumes from smokestacks on factories. We inhale it from white tubes to be warm. It's an unavoidable part of our surroundings. Even the bags under the starving prisoner's eyes are creased and shaded with smoke. Their brittle bones snap under the weight of it.