There was rubble everywhere. Ash and smoke smothered everything. Bits of wood, metal, furniture were hanging in crazy angles in dilapidated walls. It was a devastating sight. What once used to be a house was now a pile of dust. Sirens could be heard faintly in the distance. A few people glanced at the pathetic scene but turned away with indifference.
A figure moved. At first glance, it could've been a piece of rag fluttering in the wind. But the rag became a hand attached to an arm, that was miraculously still attached to the body. It struggled against the weight of the smashed refrigerator on top of it. Then the figure emerged. He was clearly a boy. However his age was obscured by the dirt that covered every centimeter of his body. He sat in a daze for a moment; his eyes were glazed over. He briefly glanced at the shredded mattress by him, collapsed and bawled as memories came flooding back.
The day had begun like any other day; the sun rose, the alarm failed to ring, and the boy was still asleep. "Ivan! Ivan!" a voice pierced the silence and tranquility. The boy groaned and pushed his pillow into his face. He fell asleep again. Stomping could be heard as a stout, middle-aged, stern faced woman came crashing into his room. "Ivan!" she shouted. The boy groaned again. This time he stuck out a hand and tried to wave his annoying mother away. The mother ruthlessly ripped away the blanket from Ivan and threw him on the floor.
"You will get up this instant!" all this was said in Russian. This was sort of obvious since the tortured boy's house was located in Omsk, the second largest city in Russia. Currently he was going through this agony of not being able to sleep because he was late for school. Very late. Ivan mumbled a sleepy yes and slowly got up to walk towards the bathroom. His mother, satisfied, stomped downstairs. Ivan unsteadily washed himself and dressed in a plain white polo shirt matched with casual blue jeans. This was against the dress code since a uniform was required. To hell with the uniform. Then he remembered his mother's threat to attack him with whatever was in her hand at the moment. In a good day it would be his exercise book. On a bad day it could be a kitchen knife. He sighed and put on his school blazer which was an ugly grey with a strange way of making its wearer look deformed. He was not wearing the rest of the drab grey uniform. He studied himself briefly in the mirror. He was a boy of 14, had fair hair, almost feminine eyelashes together with piercing blue eyes. His body was well toned, perfectly proportioned and had an air of a professional dancer. He grimaced as the fabric of his shirt brushed against his latest bruise on his chest.
Last night had been difficult. He was almost caught by the police. It was close but he managed to get away. If it wasn't for the bullet proof vest he would've been dead by now. He shook his head and went downstairs. His mother, Anna Kushnir, was making breakfast. It smelled as bad as usual. His father, Sergey Kushnir was intently studying the newspaper held almost lazily in his hands. Ivan slipped into a seat. When his mother saw he had dressed casually again she frowned dangerously. Ivan gulped and wolfed down the disgusting scrambled eggs in front of him. A silence fell upon the three as the oil stopped spitting in the frying pan. Anna coughed. "Sergey? Aren't you going to say something to Ivan?" she said casually implying that Ivan needed to be disciplined.
"Yes these are some very bad scrambled eggs," said Sergey absent-mindedly. Anna fumed.
"I didn't mean you to comment on my cooking!" she shouted. Sergey's head snapped up.
"What? I wasn't listening," after that his eyes were once again fixed on his newspaper. Anna sighed and held up her hands that clearly said I give up. Ivan fought to stop a smile tugging at his lips. The way they acted you would never know they worked for a top secret division for the government, researching in ways to use newly discovered chemicals to create lethal weapons. Of course they were bound by secrecy even to their families. How did Ivan know? Well, let's just say he has his ways. He hid the last spoonful of eggs under the plate and stood up.
"Well I'm going to school," he snatched up his bag. As he was hurrying towards the door his mum caught his arm.
"You forgot your tie," she forced the tie around Ivan's neck.
"Not the tie! It's the ugliest thing in the uniform! And besides how do you suppose I wear a tie with a polo shirt?" he complained. She ignored him. She tugged with surprising strength as she adjusted the tie. Ivan winced as her hand connected with his bruise. Anna noticed immediately. Her face darkened.
"Ivan. Where were you last night?" she asked. Ivan avoided her gaze.
"I was out with some friends," he muttered. Anna's face darkened even more.
"Ivan what have you been doing? Those friends... are they forcing you to do this? Because if they are, you don't have to do it... is it the money? We will give you some. Our job does pay us very decently..." she was about to continue when Ivan put his hand gently on her mouth. He smiled apologetically.
"I'm sorry mother. I can't tell you the reason. It will only make you worry more..." with that he turned his back on her and walked out of the door. Little did he know that this was the last time that he will see his parents again.