XP: I like, just throwing out the old stories I still have in my files, which never continued to a second chapter. I'm not sure if any of these stories will be continued. But still, I hope you will read it, and perhaps get some inspiration. If you'd like to adopt one of my stories, you can PM me and we'll see what can be done.

***Start***

(Tala's point of view.)

Hello. I am three and a half years old. My name Is Yuriy. I know how to speak basic Russian. I live with my mum, my dad, and my older brother, Mikhail, who is eight. We're quite poor, but we're happy together. Even though both me and Mikhail never went to school, we never resented our situation. Mother taught us what little basic knowledge she knew, as she also came from what they called a lower class family.

Mother was a frail, thin woman with a kind, motherly smile. She had long, crimson red hair tied into a bun, and warm, loving blue eyes. She looked very fragile, with her thin bones and small build. A small woman, who tried her best to love us. She sewed our clothes when we tore them, always cooked for us, gave us a kiss every morning and night, and she always told us a story before we went to sleep.

When Mother cooked and cleaned, Mikhail would play with me. Sometimes, he would bring me out, not too far, though, to play simple games like hide-and-seek or chasing. We would go the the nearby forest where there was a river, and play in the water, sometimes catching fish. He taught me how to swim, how to climb trees, while I stared in awe. There was a time he caught a frog and chased me around with it!

Mikhail was very, very smart. Not book-smart, but street-smart. He knew how to read people well. He knew when I was tired or upset, or hurt, even when I smiled and pretended everything was fine because I didn't want him to worry. Mikhail talked a lot when we were outside, but he clammed up once we were home, especially when father was there too. I didn't know why, at first. Mikhail protected me from other people. Mikhail was very dependable. I liked following Mikhail around.

When we were outside, on the streets, people treated us with scorn, people of the higher classes. They pretended they didn't see us. Their kids often threw stones or branches at us, laughing. But they never got too close. Mikhail would quietly shield me from the blows, and not once did I get hurt. Every time we got back, mother would look at Mikhail sadly and stroke his cheek, treating his wounds. I would sit quietly at the side and watch as Mother mumbled soothing words to him and praised him. Mikhail would stand with his head tall and proud when he was called a good brother.

Mikhail loved me. He took me wherever he went. Though that was also because he had no other friends to play with. He taught me, played with me, protected me, everything a loving brother would do. Mikhail was my favorite person. I loved his wide smile, I loved the way his eyes twinkled, I loved how he would pull me along and keep on talking, explaining everything we saw, everything he thought. I loved the time we spent together. Mikhail was my favorite person.

Mother said me and Mikhail looked alike. However, I had inherited mother's crimson hair and blue eyes, while Mikhail had jet-black hair and green eyes. Did we really? I looked at Mikhail who chuckled and put his arm around my shoulder then. That was strange. Father had purple hair and green eyes. So where did Mikhail's black hair come from? Mother explained, we were both alike in our behaviors. That made me smile, and made Mikhail beam happily.

Father worked hard. I never saw him at home on weekdays, very rarely on weekends. But sometimes, I would wake up in the middle of the night, around midnight, and hear the slamming of a door when he had a bad day at work. I would tiptoe out of the room Mikhail and I shared, and peek over to see my father shrugging off his coat and swearing in Russian. I would simply run over and smile widely, and Father would abruptly stop all movements and swearing.

He would bend down and scoop me up into his large arms, ruffling my hair, calling me a sneaky little rascal. But he meant no harm, his voice was fond and his touch was gentle. Then he would smile, and bring me back to my room and tuck me in. When I curled up on my side, looking over at Mikhail's bed, I would see him Mikhail at me with an unreadable look in his eyes, before he smiled and whispered good night, turning away.

Mikhail always said that Mother loved him more, and Father loved me more with a sad look. Mikhail said a lot of things. But he stopped talking when I hugged him and said I loved him most, even more than Mother and Father. Then he hugged me back and whispered that he loved me most too. That time, my heart swelled up with the love I felt for my brother. I wanted that moment to last forever.

On a weekend, Father came home early. I cheered and ran into his arms, giggling happily. Mother greeted Father politely, and Father walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek. Mikhail stayed oddly silent, staring at his feet. I tugged lightly at his sleeve, and Mikhail smiled at me, trying to reassure me. The four of us went out together on a picnic, and Mother packed simple sandwiches and tea for us. Father carried me on his shoulder, but Mikhail walked alone at the back quietly, while Mother walked beside Father. Worried, I sat close to Mikhail when we stopped under a tree to eat.

Mother asked Father about his work, and a dark look came over his eyes. Father said it wasn't going too well, before changing the topic to me and Mikhail. What were we doing at home? He asked.

I didn't speak very well yet, so I just giggled and leaned into Mikhail a little, saying, "Play! Mikhail!"

Seeing Mikhail quiet, Mother took over. "They're very active and cheerful, they often go out to-"

"Go out?" Father cut in loudly, a rough tone.

"M-Mikhail protects him," Mother faltered.

"Not Yuriy! They'll hurt him!" Father snarled. "You're supposed to look after them!"

Mother flinches and shrinks a little, looking down at her hands nervously. I said in a small voice, "Not hurt..."

"He's never been hurt before. Mikhail takes good care of him," Mother translates as she holds Mikhail's hand tightly. Mikhail was seating between me and Mother. In turn, Mikhail grabs my hand and squeezes.

Father contemplated for a bit, before hissing, "Never again. Don't let them out to play again, you hear me?"

Mother nods timidly. We ate silently afterwards, then we began our way home awkwardly. Father sighed loudly and ruffled my hair, and I smiled up at him, giggling as he picked me up. Mikhail moved closer to Mother, seeking comfort. She holds his hand, and when we reached home, Father set off to work again.

I was bored, horribly bored at home, and so was Mikhail. We wanted to go out. But we couldn't. Mother practically begged us with pleading eyes, and Mikhail could never reject her. Me, I was more scared of displeasing Father and seeing a frown of disappointment on his face. I was a father's boy, and Mikhail was a mother's boy.

We followed an ant in the house which was spotted by Mikhail. We followed its trail, then found its base. We stared as the little ants moved in order, touching their feelers together. Mikhail explained that it was how they communicated. Then, we spent the day pretending to be ants, crawling on the ground with hands and fingers at our heads, where we touched them together and giggled, wriggling our fingers around.

"What did I say?" Mikhail asked.

"Food!" I exclaimed. Mikhail smiled, and I knew I got his message right, even though it was impossible to know via wriggling fingers.

"Now?" Mikhail challengde as he intertwined our fingers..

I thought for a bit. "Love?"

Mikhail chuckled and nodded.

"Dinner, boys!" Mother hollered. We push ourselves off the ground and rush over excitedly, taking our seats.

Then, when we were having dinner, with Mikhail excitedly chattering away about what we did on that day, Father came in, reeking of alcohol. I was confused when Mikhail suddenly quietened, and how Mother stood up, saying over and over, "Not again, not again...I thought he stopped..." Mother looked at Mikhail desperately, and Mikhail suddenly stood up so fast he toppled over his chair. He grabbed my arm, and ran out of the back door.

"Mikhail?" I mumbled, anxious and confused.

He said nothing, running until we came to the big tree we always climbed up for fun so we could look down at the people below as they went about their daily lives, which was near our house. "You can climb, right, Yuriy?"

I nodded, as he hastily pushed me forward, urging me to climb. I climbed up, gripping the rough bark of the tree. Mikhail followed closely, and we scrambled up to the a big branch. Mikhail held me close, and very tightly, so tight I had a little difficulty in breathing. A scream ripped through the air as Mikhail winced, burying his head in my shoulder, taking shallow breaths.

"Mikhail? Mama?" I looked at Mikhail, then back at the house. It sounded like Mother. Mother was in pain. "Mama?"

"Shh, Yuriy, Yuriy..." Mikhail mumbled, trying to make me stop. He clutched me tighter, as though afraid I would run away and leave him alone here.

I quieten down when I felt dampness soaking through my sleeve. The strong Mikhail that I had never seen crying, even when he took the abuse of the rich kids, was here, sobbing on my shoulder. My strong brother was hurt. I only cried when something hurt. So Mikhail must be hurt. I stroked Mikhail's back awkwardly. "Mikhail?" I asked again, quietly questioning.

Mother screamed again. I shivered as I heard a loud crash. "Mama?" My eyes filled with tears. I wriggled in Mikhail's tight grip. "Mama!"

"No, Yuriy!"

I squirmed, and I broke free, jumping down the tree with a little pain and dashing towards the house, Mikhail hot on my heels. Mikhail was faster, and he lunged at me, pushing me down on the ground.

"No, Yuriy, don't go in, he'll be done in a while," Mikhail pleaded with wide green eyes.

I nod, no matter how curious and worried I was, I would not go in until Mikhail gave the okay. A large slam, and loud sobs, and Mikhail got off me. He holds out his hand, and I grabbed it, letting him pull me up, and lead me cautiously into the house.

Hearing the door creak open, the sobs ceased. Mother sat on the floor of the kitchen, hugging herself by crossing her arms tight around her body. She seemed as though she was trying desperately hard to hold herself together, and would break at a gentle touch.

"Mama?" I call out.

"Mother?" Mikhail rushed over, dropping my hand, and Mother immediately threw her arm around him, holding him close. "Mikhail, my baby. Oh, my poor, sweet child..." I looked at the overturned chairs, at how Mikhail had to help Mother to stand up. I don't understand what happened. Mikhail brings Mother to the couch and laid her down.

"Mama ok?" I asked softly.

Mother turned to me, with wild anger in her eyes. I must have flinched, because her look softened as she held out her arms, and I hesitantly went over and she hugged me. "I'm alright, Yuriy, Mikhail. Father had a bad day, is all."

A hateful look crossed Mikhail's face, and he opened his mouth, but Mother looked at him warningly and he shuts up.

"Come on, Yuriy, time for bed," Mikhail said in a defeated voice, holding my hand as we moved up the steps quietly. As he tucks me in, I asked, "Papa?" I had never seen Father so angry before.

"Same as always, I knew he couldn't hold in it so long," Mikhail said with a bitter expression. I put my hand over the hand that was pulling up my blanket to my chin. I stare into Mikhail's eyes, and he smiled, before bending down to do what Mother had always done, kissing my forehead. "Goodnight, Yuriy." I kissed his hand and whispered, "Night, Mikhail."

I went to sleep without a story that night, and was still confused about what exactly happened.

***End of chapter one***

XP: Poor Tala. Poor, sweet, Mikhail too. I fell in love with Mikhail xD I hope you like him too :)