An Event in the Depths of Moscow
Embers flew up into the dark concrete above as soft cracklings filled the ears of the dying man.
A once crisp uniform now hung on his body in tatters. Blood stained and torn. The man’s face was filled with painful nostalgia. Tears fell down his unshaven face but he kept smiling. The unholy creatures that had done him in lay several feet away. Dead.
“We sure showed them didn’t we, Alder?”
Another man sat across the fire from the dying man. His head in his hands, black hair spilling through his fingers.
A pistol lay in the dirt by his feet. The slide locked back. An empty brass case lay in the dust next to the gun.
“Those were great days. Remember them like yesterday, don’t you Alder?”
The black haired man shook his head. His gloved hands shaking.
“Better days. Better days.” Muttered the dying man as he tossed a photograph into the fire. The image of a group of friends climbing over each other to get into frame in front of a historic surface building cracked and fell to ash.
“It was bound to happen someday Alder. There’s no need to feel sorry for me.”
A bloodstained satchel lay next to a slowly growing pool of blood. The dying man reached into it, drawing another photo.
“Oh Alder. Look at you in this one. You were so young. Your hair was so short back then.”
Alder gripped his hair, trying to pull it out.
“So it was... I... I’ll keep that one.”
“No Alder, it goes into the fire too.”
The dying man’s hand flicked the portrait photograph of a smiling young man posing in front of a tall white building into the flames.
Alder flinched, almost trying to grab it out of the fire.
“You aren’t that boy I once knew anymore. You’ve changed so much. I almost couldn’t believe that you were the one who came out of the shadows to my aid. Ah, too little to late eh?”
Another photo was drawn from the satchel. This one showed the same group from the first picture. This time there was no pushing and squeezing necessary to get into frame.
“Didn’t care for the cold up on the surface. Still, we all had each other back then.”
The dying man tossed the photo into the embers. His nostalgic smile never failing.
The next photo he drew from the bag was another group photo. This time there were only a few friends in the center of the wide photo.
“We still had each other even then.”
The man sighed, his life pooling around him. He then dumped the rest of the satchel into the fire. Hundreds of photos burning up as tears ran down his face.
“It’s just you now Alder. Isn’t it?”
Alder was crying with the dying man. He looked into the man’s fading eyes.
The dying man grinned. He reached into his pocket, pulling out an ornate revolver. Intricate geometric engravings inlaid with gold wrapped around the barrel.
“Here, I want you to take this.”
The man said softly. Alder crouched next to the dying man. He cradled the gun in his hands.
“That pretty thing got me through the tunnels when I was young. It’ll get the job done with only one shot. No need to watch a friend die from hungry nosalises again, eh?”
Alder stood, wiping tears from his face. He held the gun out, aimed at the dying man’s head.
“I’ll make you proud. I promise.”
Alder turned his head away as he spoke.
A small flash of fire ended the dying man’s suffering. A thunderous echo rattled through the dark tunnel. The light of the fire slowly faded into the night as the sound of soft footsteps faded just the same.
janainaart
stormborns
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
kianamaiart
izzy806
snowghoul
