Hello! What's up, guys? No reviews? Well, I guess CP isn't all that
popular, so not many people probably visit this category. Oh well. I'll
still post. I still don't own CP; all that stuff is owned by Turner and
affiliates. Enjoy!
~~~~~
The move had gone fairly well. Borya, knowing there was nothing he could do to affect the situation, didn't argue and instead tried to look at thing optimistically, like the fact that Vanya was going to come and visit him. But now, find days later, Borya was fervently wishing he had somehow managed to stay home. "I hate this country!" he shouted to no on in particular as he plopped down on his bed. "I don't know anyone, I can't understand English well, and it's too damn warm here!" Frustrated, he buried his head underneath his pillow. "I should have tried to convince Dad to let me stay with Grandmother and Mishka. At least then I'd still be in my own country!"
Dima, who had walked by the doorway in time to hear his son's complaints, said, "Borya, surely you don't truly hate it here."
"But I do, Dad!" retorted Borya, getting to his feet. "This is horrible! I want to go back to the Soviet Union. I want to go back to Leningrad! I miss all my friends!"
"Borya, I'm asking you to calm down; you can't go back. We live here now. And America is a fine country. I sure didn't hear you complaining when you found out just how many McDonald's restaurants there are here," reminded Dima with a chuckle.
"Dad, there's more to life than good fast food! This country is stupid!"
"Boris Dimitrovich Ivanov! I'll not have you talk bad about the United States, especially when my job is to help US-Soviet relations," Dima chastised.
"Forget your job! It's that that got us moved here in the first place!" Seeing the strict look on his father's face only increased his hostility. "I'm out of here!" He grabbed some cash sitting on his desk.
"Borya! What are you doing?"
"Getting out of this house!" He bolted past his father and ran down the hall to the front door.
"Where are you going?" his father's voice called after him, but Borya was already out the door and running south towards the Capital Mall.
* * *
Borya had burst out of the house with the simple intention of getting away from his father, but now, as he ran by the front of the White House, he had to admit to himself that running away hadn't exactly been his brightest idea ever. He paused for a moment to look at his surroundings, wishing he had taken more time in the five short days he and his father had been living there to get to know the area. Though he was just a few blocks from home, he was already quite lost and had no idea where his house was in relation to the Mall. He considered turning back and trying to retrace his steps, looking back the way he had come, but the very same second he turned his head, fresh anger at his father surged anew, and he continued sprinting in the direction he had been heading.
Several hours passed, the sun sank gradually behind the DC skyline until it was completely dark. Borya began to feel panicked as he realized he was probably miles from home and wondered if his dad was worried about him. What he didn't know was that somewhere in his travels he had turned southeast and was now wandering the streets of Anacostia, a notoriously bad section of the city.
As he ran into an alley, hoping it was somehow a shortcut back towards where he needed to be, he heard a sinister voice say, "So, you're new to Washington, D.C." Borya looked around, unsure of where the voice was coming from. "It's hard moving to a new town," it continued. "You want to be cool, but you don't fit in."
By now Borya was starting to get quite nervous and stopped beneath a street lamp, hoping its light would enable him to see his assailant, should the owner of the voice attack him. It turned out that the light did help, as a man, if he could even be called that, suddenly stepped into it. Borya jumped slightly at the man's features: rat-like with pale skin and what looked to be a genuine tail protruding from beneath a tan trench coat. Before Borya could ask who (or what) he was, the man continued, "But once you've felt Bliss, none of that will matter."
He held up a bag of pale green and yellow capsules that almost seemed to be glowing in the light of the lamp. Thinking of all the problems he was having here in America, Borya immediately grabbed for the bag, but it was pulled out of his reach. "Not so fast," said the man, "this is gonna cost ya."
Borya reached into his pocket, closing his hand around the wad of cash he had picked up, part of the money he had been saving up for his trip with Vanya, and he pulled it out and handed it to the man, who took it and gave him the bag full of pills. The young man began to reach in for a pill but hesitated, remembering all the things his father had told him about doing drugs and how bad they were.
The strange man saw his tentativeness and said eagerly, "Go on; get Blissed- out." This simple utterance caused Borya to grow angry at everything his father had ever said, his current predicament, the entire reason he was lost in an alley in D.C. in the first place. Without further pause he reached into the bag and withdrew one of the pills and swallowed it. He was surprised at the quick effect it had upon him. Almost instantaneously he forgot all his worries. His anger at his father vanished, and he began to laugh at how irate and depressed he had been only moments before.
"Nothing can get you down, now," the man said, but Borya hardly heard him as he sprinted out of the alley. In his haste to rush home and tell his father he was sorry, he failed to notice a passing bus until it was nearly too late.
He only realized he was falling when he had already hit the pavement, but strangely, nothing hurt. The revelation merely caused him to laugh harder as he sat up, holding his head, which, despite the lack of feeling injured, clearly was bleeding. Borya could see it on his hand.
The man stepped forward, saying, "Yeah, you're feeling no pain." He laughed as Borya took off down the street, his newly acquired drugs in hand.
~~~~~
Until next time, guys! Review, okay? :)
~~~~~
The move had gone fairly well. Borya, knowing there was nothing he could do to affect the situation, didn't argue and instead tried to look at thing optimistically, like the fact that Vanya was going to come and visit him. But now, find days later, Borya was fervently wishing he had somehow managed to stay home. "I hate this country!" he shouted to no on in particular as he plopped down on his bed. "I don't know anyone, I can't understand English well, and it's too damn warm here!" Frustrated, he buried his head underneath his pillow. "I should have tried to convince Dad to let me stay with Grandmother and Mishka. At least then I'd still be in my own country!"
Dima, who had walked by the doorway in time to hear his son's complaints, said, "Borya, surely you don't truly hate it here."
"But I do, Dad!" retorted Borya, getting to his feet. "This is horrible! I want to go back to the Soviet Union. I want to go back to Leningrad! I miss all my friends!"
"Borya, I'm asking you to calm down; you can't go back. We live here now. And America is a fine country. I sure didn't hear you complaining when you found out just how many McDonald's restaurants there are here," reminded Dima with a chuckle.
"Dad, there's more to life than good fast food! This country is stupid!"
"Boris Dimitrovich Ivanov! I'll not have you talk bad about the United States, especially when my job is to help US-Soviet relations," Dima chastised.
"Forget your job! It's that that got us moved here in the first place!" Seeing the strict look on his father's face only increased his hostility. "I'm out of here!" He grabbed some cash sitting on his desk.
"Borya! What are you doing?"
"Getting out of this house!" He bolted past his father and ran down the hall to the front door.
"Where are you going?" his father's voice called after him, but Borya was already out the door and running south towards the Capital Mall.
* * *
Borya had burst out of the house with the simple intention of getting away from his father, but now, as he ran by the front of the White House, he had to admit to himself that running away hadn't exactly been his brightest idea ever. He paused for a moment to look at his surroundings, wishing he had taken more time in the five short days he and his father had been living there to get to know the area. Though he was just a few blocks from home, he was already quite lost and had no idea where his house was in relation to the Mall. He considered turning back and trying to retrace his steps, looking back the way he had come, but the very same second he turned his head, fresh anger at his father surged anew, and he continued sprinting in the direction he had been heading.
Several hours passed, the sun sank gradually behind the DC skyline until it was completely dark. Borya began to feel panicked as he realized he was probably miles from home and wondered if his dad was worried about him. What he didn't know was that somewhere in his travels he had turned southeast and was now wandering the streets of Anacostia, a notoriously bad section of the city.
As he ran into an alley, hoping it was somehow a shortcut back towards where he needed to be, he heard a sinister voice say, "So, you're new to Washington, D.C." Borya looked around, unsure of where the voice was coming from. "It's hard moving to a new town," it continued. "You want to be cool, but you don't fit in."
By now Borya was starting to get quite nervous and stopped beneath a street lamp, hoping its light would enable him to see his assailant, should the owner of the voice attack him. It turned out that the light did help, as a man, if he could even be called that, suddenly stepped into it. Borya jumped slightly at the man's features: rat-like with pale skin and what looked to be a genuine tail protruding from beneath a tan trench coat. Before Borya could ask who (or what) he was, the man continued, "But once you've felt Bliss, none of that will matter."
He held up a bag of pale green and yellow capsules that almost seemed to be glowing in the light of the lamp. Thinking of all the problems he was having here in America, Borya immediately grabbed for the bag, but it was pulled out of his reach. "Not so fast," said the man, "this is gonna cost ya."
Borya reached into his pocket, closing his hand around the wad of cash he had picked up, part of the money he had been saving up for his trip with Vanya, and he pulled it out and handed it to the man, who took it and gave him the bag full of pills. The young man began to reach in for a pill but hesitated, remembering all the things his father had told him about doing drugs and how bad they were.
The strange man saw his tentativeness and said eagerly, "Go on; get Blissed- out." This simple utterance caused Borya to grow angry at everything his father had ever said, his current predicament, the entire reason he was lost in an alley in D.C. in the first place. Without further pause he reached into the bag and withdrew one of the pills and swallowed it. He was surprised at the quick effect it had upon him. Almost instantaneously he forgot all his worries. His anger at his father vanished, and he began to laugh at how irate and depressed he had been only moments before.
"Nothing can get you down, now," the man said, but Borya hardly heard him as he sprinted out of the alley. In his haste to rush home and tell his father he was sorry, he failed to notice a passing bus until it was nearly too late.
He only realized he was falling when he had already hit the pavement, but strangely, nothing hurt. The revelation merely caused him to laugh harder as he sat up, holding his head, which, despite the lack of feeling injured, clearly was bleeding. Borya could see it on his hand.
The man stepped forward, saying, "Yeah, you're feeling no pain." He laughed as Borya took off down the street, his newly acquired drugs in hand.
~~~~~
Until next time, guys! Review, okay? :)