SHORT GLEB FANFIC BECAUSE I'M NOT NORMAL ABOUT HIM
TW // Contemplating suicide
Gleb had gone outside into the cooling heat of Paris. It took him a while to get there. At first, he had rushed from out of the anteroom with concerning haste to try to break himself from the melancholy of not being able to fulfil his duty as Leningrad’s one and only Deputy Commissioner. But then there was a time when he had ground his pace to a halt, reminiscing on Anya’s face and not wanting to even leave the same building as her if it meant being in vague proximity with the person he yearned for. But still, he came out.
Gleb looked to the sky as the horizon swallowed the sun. He could’ve sworn it was midday a moment ago. But, he supposed that’s what being lost in the eyes of another would do to him. He was almost glad that the night crawled forth; the glimmering sun would’ve reminded him all too much of the glimmering crown atop Anya’s head. He was similarly glad that the skies were clear. It would’ve meant rainfall, and the way the water would have clung to his ill-fitted suit would have been too reminiscent of him being held close, just not held by the one he wanted.
That didn’t stop the turbulence from expanding within him, though. He hadn’t realised he’d been walking, swaying into the road, until a honk snapped him out of his stupor. It was followed by French outrage, which he didn’t understand. That sharp noise that cut through the air quelled the storm for a moment, but it quickly swirled within him again. It was a horrible pressure that wanted to explode forth, and if he didn’t keep it in check, especially right now, it would shoot forth like the bullet he failed to fire before. And like a bullet, Gleb had the premonition that it would change things in one moment, one sound, followed by silence.
Gleb had finally made it to the train station. St. Petersburg, Track 7. St. Petersburg, Track 7. The officer sighed. They hadn’t changed the name of the city in the announcer records yet, he guessed. Something so simple as the different registry to the city he lived in reminded him how hard he had worked to get here, but more so, how it had amounted to nothing. If he couldn’t change the way his city was seen, then how could he expect to change the world? Gleb stepped up to the platform. Then he stepped forward again. And again. And again.
Before he knew it, he was on the train tracks. His eyes were hazing with tears, regret, and want, and it felt like he couldn’t see even straight ahead of him. A blinding light encroached from the distance. Did it matter? Going back to Russia would mean an admission of defeat, how he couldn’t find Anastasia after all, and how he couldn’t follow through with what he figured was his destiny. Could he bear going back to the land of yesterday if he didn’t even want to live in the land of tomorrow? He thought about it for a moment. The lights came faster. A pigeon landed on the tracks and pecked at the metal. It made a slight, hollow ringing noise. The light was blinding and shot through Gleb’s eyes. He had made his decision.
The pigeon didn’t get out of the way in time. In a swift explosion of feathers and blood, it splattered on the front of the train and burst onto Gleb’s shoe. The train came to a halt. …I’m glad I did not wind up like that bird. The man thought to himself from the side of the platform. When the train doors opened, he entered, having thought that the people who intended to disembark had fully done so. He ended up bumping into a woman. Her eyes glanced at him, and an ice melting brown. Her hair was gold, and her skin fair. She looked up at Gleb innocently. A sharp twang hit his heart as he was instantly reminded of Anya. He went to apologise, but even managing a word seemed impossible; so, he went to the back of the train car and sat alone.
Gleb looked out the window. The sky was fully dark now. It would be light again when he got back. He would probably have to give a report to his comrades back at home immediately. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. He just wanted rest. Respite. Calm in the silver storm. So, he sighed, wallowed, and figured he would attempt to catch rest. Then–and only then–he would go from there.
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