Chapter 1: Damned Fate
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12th December, 1942
Dear Rurik,
Does mother fair well? Has she gone and ringed her final end for what she lost? After what she did to me I cant imagine what she is feeling. I don't blame her, but did she do what was right? Is this really the destined end for my life? I feel her putting me in a cell was not the greatest of her thoughts but probably the weakest choices of her mind. I seem to find it easier and easier to accept what has happened but the situation at hand doesn't make me feel all too confident.
What is the worst a colt could get for espionage? Life time? Death? Probably the last one. However, I hear sending a man to the front is a greater punishment. Knowing when you are gonna die seems more peaceful then wondering if it will be your final day. I cant harness a gun. I cant even nimble a trigger after hunting those years ago. Either way, don't worry about me. Make sure mother doesn't hang herself.
Also, If I am to tell you I might as well tell you now. Promise me this.
On the day I die, when you dont receive another letter, go to the bristling valley on outskirts of town that glows with the dandelions of the summer calm and go down near the bristling creek. Go to the bright pink bush that blooms in the winter and welts in the summer. Once I die, on the day I die, wait for me there. Wait for me.
Yours Truly,
Iban
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Dazing off into deep thought, sitting on a cold jail floor, loathing in my self regret and remorse, I can't help but feel I've been stabbed in the back. Does such a feeling deserve pity, or does it deserve the opposition? I doubt there is anyone to blame. Mistakes aren't easy to explain, especially when your life that hardly has any to little life left depends on you conjuring up a bullshit explanation for such more bullshit.
I do hope and pray this tangled ragged mess of lies does not affect the lives of my family. I doubt Joseph Stalion would even bother or heed a head in my predicaments direction. The leader of a doomed country is probably as ravaging and degrading it may seem to be. As I sit here nailing these cell walls with my sight I cant help but think I am to blame. Should I have been fully aware that such actions would lead to a misunderstanding or is this all the cries of a colt falling on deaf and non existent ears.
"All right, rise and shine sleeping beauty", yelled the guard in a very groggy, sarcastic, and mellow manner as he trotted down the narrow jailhouse hallway corridor, eyeballing his vision in my cells direction.
As I lie on the floor, wallowing in my own despair of regrets that I dont even think I should contemplate, I hear the guard halt and slowly and cautiously open the rusted steel cell door that has imprisoned my freedom. The guard looked rather tall. A sturdy and muscular colt that seemed to have been through hell and back multiple times.
The guard look down at me with a look of distaste, but no hate, and shouted,
"Do I need to tell you again or do you want me to get them to ring a noose around your deteriorated neck now before we even reach them."
Them...
I didn't here court, nor law. I simply heard, them. Either this is a godsend from a other worldly being or my fate is more royally fucked then I first imagined.
We exited the cell, with me struggling to keep my balance. I slowly trotted down the hallway, looking up at the half broken lamps, the cracks that show the wear of such a broken hell hole such as this. Looking into the empty cells that rowed my previous neighboring cell I noticed some movement beyond the blackened dim light highlight of the room that scarcely showed through to a cell. Peering in for the few moments that I did, I saw the cyan eyes of a mare. A very beaten, broken, and old mare. Nothing to think, or do, this sight that I slipped out of my mind would not leave my thoughts for the slightest of any reason.
I looked forward and graciously, in what coherent words I could produce asked the guard, "Who was that? That mare?"
I simply got a feeble reply full of grumbles with a strong sense of resistance in reasoning from the old guard.
As we walked out of the jail cell hallway we entered a dim lit, congested concrete room. In the middle hung a lamp illuminating over a wooden table and 2 chairs. On the far side of the table a shadowy figure arose and marched towards me in a military fashion.
As the shadow got closer, the details began to emerge off of the figure. A very young Russian officer with a stance that would make Stalion proud. He looked down on me with his deep dark red eyes and whispered,
"Well now, aren't you in a heap of shit. You know I know this is a misunderstanding, I really do. But, thats not up for me to decide, so I guess we all lose in this, now dont we."
The cold and heartless words just haunted my mind, as if a taunt to paradise was slowly burning away. The office walked over and sat at the rugged table and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as I was forced over to the cold, hard barren chair. As I was thrown into the seat I looked up to see the face of a colt that could either be my savior or the colt that would doom me to hell.
"So.." whispered the officer, "I am going to skip the drama, the bullshit, and the orders. I was given to do one thing and one thing only to you. To have you shot outside in about 5 minutes." He talked on in a mocking manner and slowly leaned over the table, looking me in the eye whispering, "However, I see your predicament and honestly, I found it quite humorous. I pity you, so I will give you, two options." The officer pulls out his pistol and puts it in front of me. "You can either, blow your poor little brains out now and save me the hassle, or, you can join the Russian Army and be sent on a nice little vacation to a special city that graces your leaders name."
The realization of my fucked predicament finally came to a conclusion. It all came together like a perfect puzzle, and honestly, I was glad and breathed a sigh of everlasting relief that it turned out this way. Looking down at the pistol that could end it all and coming to that realization just did not make its setting so easy in my simple brain. I then thought that I could live on and maybe if I survive, then I would have a chance to see my longing family, my graceful brother, and my caring yet backstabbing mother again. However, from what I have heard, the thought of being sent to Staliongrad is no different from facing a firing squad.
I looked up at the officer, looking him dead in the eyes and without missing a beat, took the pistol and threw it far across the room. I stared at the mans face and said,
"Thank you." I sighed, "Now send me to hell."
