Fall: Russian Veil

by tocreateaworld.thestoryteller

Before britain fell in 1951, the chimera seed was sown in russia and spread; but it wasn't out of their control. This is a the story of the young scientist named Adrian Borya who wrote the paper out of rage in a strange attempt to grief over the rape and execution of his beloved wife, Klara in Moscow. I am writing each chapter with as much care as possible, please give feedback.

1. Chapter 1

Fall: Russian Veil.

1

In the beginning.

Russia 1928

In Solntsevo, Moscow, snow started to fall. Every flake was like a piece of light puffy cotton. Snowfall in Russia is a silent beauty; it brings a sense of life to Russia's desolate landscape. The concrete jungle of apartment building are just almost invisible now with all the thick snowfall. A young looking man stares blankly into the snow fall from his musty apartment window. His pale complexion matches the look in his eyes. A man that has lost everything. Someone void, overflowing with emptiness and grief. This is Adrian Borya, a bar man with a Phd in molecular biology. His father was a solider in the first world war, but he never held high hopes for his son, so academic training became his escape from being more of a man, as his father would put it harshly.

He turned from the window to his small space that he could gracefully call home. A room with a bed and a mattress, covered in beer and vodka stains that smell of his many drunken nights of mourning. His armchair thats equally as dirty as the mattress, is just covered with more cigarette ash living on the cushions. A small table fit to dine one person, covered with multitudes of empty beer glass like bowling pins. Every wall in the room is practically black, but that's the off white wallpaper stained by lack of care and strong cigarette smoke. Adrian wanders through the haze till he finds his armchair pressed up against the wall opposite the only window in the room; and then slouches into his normal shape. The lightbulb hanging in the centre of the ceiling manages to create some sort of glow to the whole room, but only just through all the thick lingering smoke.

Adrian rests his head back into his grimy throne, goggling into the clouds that make up his room ceiling. Caught up in deepened though. Although Adrian lives in one of the most dangerous places in all of Russia, it's more quiet here than any amount of silence one would soak up in a countryside. A while later, he droops his stick-like arm beside him and lifts ups a small silver hand gun from beside his chair. He rests it in the palms of his hands, just gazing through it like it where glass and you could only just make it out. The room is so quiet, caught up in a suspense of ambience. Adrian cradles the gun knowingly this is the start of his end. His awareness of time and days and tomorrow are gone, he only has burned memories that make him ache. His guilt and shames have grown so bad wondering if he could have saved the only one that cared about him. The delicate nature of his graceful wife Klara; always thinking he could have been stronger for her. The emotional pain is just an agonizing stomach pain constant with every waking moment of his bitter existence. Looking at this gun wondering if he will really go though with his long thought upon decision; is he a strong enough man. No one will come looking for him, somebody might find him but Adrian knows that it's very unlikely. What's another gun shot, only to be connected with another that has flashed off somewhere else; it's a perfectly normal thing of life around the concrete jungle.

His heart is thumping against his chest like a jackhammer; he opened up one of his hands and tried rubbing it against his jumper to dry them as best as he could for a best grip. The pressure of suicide was really heavy on him now, but he was violently fighting against the fear. Adrian opens up the window of his room, to point the gun shoved inside his mouth outwards into the snow; to make sure nobody becomes a victim of his pain across the hall; the walls are extremely thin. After pausing himself for a moment, braced for pull his trigger, he cry's; all his barriers broke down, choking like someone moaning with food in their mouth completely powerless to hold back his long empathetic whines and whimpers. Still with this gun lodged in his mouth, rhythmically weeping, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Oh Klara, please look away, don't watch this," he said helplessly. He pulls the trigger... Click...

Adrian opens his eyes. Nothing happened. Everything is left majestically silent; a soft breeze strokes against his back through the open window. Adrian stares into space blank with tears still covering his burning blue eyes. For a moment he gets jolted with a revelation of confusion over what has just taken place. Not only did his gun fail to work, but he was still alive. For the first time in two years he felt a strange refreshment looming inside; his pain and fear gone. It's like a new leash of life and in his head he felt an intense significance over life again. Suddenly the phone interrupts his bliss.