Finally publishing something after a long time, and I'm all nervous again. First time writing something Russia-centric and I think I blew his personalities again (no yandere!Russia I'm afraid, just very sentimental!Russia :P). Still, please enjoy this random fiction of mine, and reviews are much loved~ ^^


What was it that he thought when he opened the door?
What was it that he thought when he walked along the carpeted corridor, leading towards the only sunlight in the room?
What was it that he thought when he gazed upon the wood chips out of the coffin?
What was it that he thought when he pulled away the nails, barehanded?
What was it that he thought when he pushed aside the lid, letting the body inside basked in warmth?
What was it that he thought when the man inside opened his eyes and blinked to the overwhelming light?
What was it that he thought when he took the man's hand and pulled it to his forehead and he prayed?
What was it that he thought when this nation was finally his?


The door was once more opened
And the ritual started again.

There were two men standing in front of the temple
As thousands of their subjects stood behind the gate, looking at them with pressure in their eyes
The taller of the two, without even the last glance at the observing crowd, gave a push at the heavy door
And it opened instantly, with noisy creaks that sounded unpleasant to the ears
Unpleasant enough to be the last sound of anyone's life
The two men quietly walked through the slit, inside the cold air of the room
And closed the door behind them
Closed their fate behind them.
The men, without words, walked along the only corridor
Without candles, without torches,
Without a single sound from their feet
Without a single thought of what to come
Because this was already predetermined
And they both knew this.

In the middle of the temple was a lone coffin
Laying there since god knows when
An extremely old coffin, with woodlice inside,
And maggots and the creepy crawlies
The sophisticated carvings on the sides and the lid were already fading with time
Now it looked just like any old human-sized wooden box in a junkyard
Inside was lined with a red satin cloth
Which was equally old
It was torn here and there, some corners were burned, others were bug-bitten, all over there were dried-up bits of blood
How unfit for a man like him, people would have thought
But for the two men staring at it
Now and then
It looked just right, the perfect royal bed for a fallen king.

Then, the taller man stepped forward
To the awaiting coffin, where he would be from now on
Once reached the altar, he turned around
And looked over his companion
Who was already kneeling on the floor, like a man about to be knighted
There was no holy sword on his shoulders
But a burden about to be lifted off
And another burden about to be carried
The kneeling man started praying
Thanking the lord for his guardian
Thanking him for all he had given and forgiven
Thanking him for the seventy-four years of watching over them
When he was done, he raised his head
Watching for the last time his heart and soul, standing in front of the blazing light from a lone window high above
He seemed to be radiating light, a lonely and cold stream of light
His expressions could not be fathomed, but they both knew what they were going through
And with a slight nod, too little to acknowledge all the things they had gone through, the standing man turned back to face the truth
And he smiled to himself
As this was already getting old.


It was already a tradition, wordlessly passed down from generation to generation
From one ruler to another
From one government to the next
It was a secret rule that was bitterly announced on the day the reign belonged to someone new
'If your world was ever to be destroyed
Concealed your history inside the heart
And seal him in the temple
Between the red satin that lined the only coffin inside
Nail the lid and give him your prayers
Shut the door behind his slumber, and tow the bells for all to here
So that another day when the door was opened again
It will be the birth of your new nation.'
Nobody knew who made the rule
Nobody cared who made the rule
Once you are on top, you are bounded to fate
Keep your symbol alive for as long as you can, before you are forced to bring it down
Burn it on a stake, and tow the bells for the requiem
Everyone silently obeyed the spell, enchanted and blinded
Last time, a man had opened the coffin lid and released the sleeping monster inside
This time, his descendants closed the lid and walked away
In wait til another time.

Which was just what they were doing
After the man had climbed into the coffin and laid down the satin mattress
His companion rose from the spot and walked towards the coffin
He slammed the coffin shut
And started to nail it down
There were multiple nail holes on the lid and there were old rusty nails lying on the floor
The nails shook when the man hammered down the new seals
Bang bang bang
Making sure the lid was well-shut
Making sure not a single light or sound could get through
And when it was done, the man walked away
No turning back, no last look
Not a single fragment of memory still lingered in the temple
The temple of Birth and Death.


When he dozed off, he often went back to the time when he was little
Back to the first time he faced the temple
Back to the first footsteps into this isolated prison
Back to the first sight of a brand new, mahogany-scented coffin
He was young and he had never done this before
But somehow, in the corner of his mind, he knew what it meant
He had known it when he saw them invaders galloping through his house
He had known it when he saw bloodshed and tears
He had known it when he held his wounded sisters in his arms
He had known it when it was time to be refreshed
So he did not hesitate, he did not waver
And he descended into the satin mattress inside
And he closed his eyes.

What did he think of back then on his first time?
The wheat fields with the heaving backs of his sisters
The marketplace full of hustle and bustle
The endless taigas with unreachable conifers stretching to the other side of the hill
The frozen river with a fishing hole in the middle
The sunshine dreamland that was so far away
At first, it was thoughts like these
But it hurt, to think of them
Because he started to cry
Because he missed his sisters and the hay-filled barn
Because he missed the colourful yarns his sisters bought
Because he missed the snow-covered fir branches
Because he missed the small fish swimming on the other side of the ice
And the sunflower fields he would never ever see

So he stopped thinking about them
Instead, he started to think of what would happen
Who would free him from this coffin?
Who would be in reign when he was finally out of here?
What would happen to his people?
Would they get enough food this winter?
Would there be another great snowstorm?
Would the traders still come in spite of the bad weather?
Would the puppy he secretly kept in the barn finally find its mother?
Would it be spring, summer or fall when he opened his eyes again?
Would there be a future and would he be happy?
Would it not be better if he just slept forever and never waken up again?
But these thoughts made him sad too
Because he started doubting his own existence
Because he started worrying about the children living next-door
Because he started looking forward to the future
Even if he did not know whether it was coming or not
And what if he failed to see such a future
And the next time he woke up, the world would have crumbled to pieces

So he stopped thinking altogether
Instead, he started to tell a story
Even though no one else was listening
He started with a slow and calm voice, because he had all the times the world had to offer
He started it like a fairy tale
Once upon a time there was three siblings living on the snow field
He talked about how they were living in peace
He talked about their daily lives, the things they did
Even though it was not special at all
But it was what he held dear
He talked about making bread and pulling cart
He talked about riding horse and being free
But there was always something sinister lurking at the doorstep
He talked about how the siblings were poor and cold
How they did not have enough to eat
How they had to fight for survival
How they stuck together against all odds
The story continued on and on
Until when the coffin lid was opened again
And there was a man praying to his lord in the temple, his soft voice echoed in the spacious room
The story stopped
For now.

So he, already a grown man, once again succumbed to his fate and laid down onto the soft mattress
When he heard the door close from afar again and knew for sure that he was all alone
He started the story again
He talked about October Revolution
He talked about the Great Patriotic War
And the men whose corpses he stepped on as he advanced
And the women that cried silently on the news of their beloveds' death
He talked about the Yalta Conference, the Berlin Wall, the Cold War
He talked about the smiles and the tears that had never once been shown
Only for himself to hear
When outside, a tide was raising
Like a tsunami, sweeping away the remains of the past
The Union no longer lived through the ages
The crimson flag no longer inspired
No longer shone in glory for all men to see
It had reached the end of its lifespan
This lifespan
And while the revolution fire raged on the other side of the door
He continued to tell the story
But it was no longer a fairy tale
It was the chronicle
The history of his life
The history of a country named Russia.


'There was no ceremony, only the tolling of chimes from the Spassky Gate, cheers from a handful of of surprised foreigners, and an angry tirade from a lone war veteran.'
(When the Wall Came Down– Serge Schmenmann)


What was it that he thought when he heard the door creak opened?
What was it that he thought when he heard footsteps muffled by the carpet, coming closer and closer every painful minute passing by?
What was it that he thought when he heard the old piece of wood falling apart?
What was it that he thought when he heard nails being scraped out of the lid?
What was it that he thought when warmth seeped inside the space, heating him up?
What was it that he thought when he opened his eyes, to the bright light from beyond the sight?
What was it that he thought when someone took his hand and pulled it to his forehead and he heard him pray?
What was it that he thought when history just repeated itself one more time?

What do you know,
Next time he wakes up, maybe there will be sunflowers blooming outside.