Russian revolution || journal entry four
The scratch-scratch of the inked pen is all that can be heard in the room.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratchhhh.
It’s almost like we’re frozen, air held back tightly in our throats and our eyes staring in bewilderment. Pairs of eyes that stretch wider and wider in recognition of the pen scratching against the paper.
The scratching stops.
A stoic blank faced man with a cropped square mustache straightens up and nods tightly. My breath pushes against my mouth and my lungs plead for me to breathe, but I do not dare to make a sound.
“You agree to give us Poland, yes?” I turn to my right to look at Stalin while he speaks and I spot his left eye twitching in agitation. He’s weary. I’m weary. No. I’m terrified.
The man with the mustache huffs out a quick breath, which can either be a sigh or a laugh.
“Half of Poland”, sweeping his eyes at the other officers as if sending a silent threat. “I trust this will be confidential?”
Stalin replies through clenched teeth, “obviously”.
I can’t really walk, let alone stand after the meeting. Stumbling down the streets to my little flat that I share with my one sister, Elize, who goes to help the Kolkhoz nearby sometimes. We’re polar opposites, she goes to help the peasants while I do service to the one’s who put them there.
I can see peasants even on the street in front of me in ragged, mangy clothing. My sunken blue eyes rake over their faces. Despair and grief glistening on their wrinkled faces, despair and grief on too many. Too many.
I push past them in the heavy crowd, disturbed, as all their faces become little flashes of colors, like little city lights shining in rain. I fumble on the keyhole of the murky brown door, and I hear a little squeak. A scratch.
No more scratches!
Hot waves of anger seethe through my body, a red aura outlining my shape. Whipping my body around, I snarl and scream as the sound echoes through the alleyway. I search for a figure to release my anger on and I find one within seconds.
“You! I hate you so much.” Expressionless eyes stare back at me, a bored frown on his face as he blinks disappointedly but I don’t listen. I charge on, screaming.
“You promised me a life! With my parents, a good life for being a loyal soldier”, my voice cracking as I grow louder with tears that well up in my eyes, “I don’t want this. I never wanted this.”
I charge my way toward him, my hand turning into a fist, ready to feel the satisfaction of the hearing the crack of his cheekbone.
He merely stares back, indifferent, no sign of agitation. Not even the tell-tale sign of his left eye twitching.
“You gave me a meaningless life. I know that you sent my parents to the Gulag, to get them beaten, to get them killed. You sent my brother of to the army, because you wanted him dead. Why? We’ve been so loyal, do you not care about how I helped you draft up the five year plan? How I brought the men of the show trials together for you! I did it all! You made me stop practicing my religion, burn my own god!”
He lifts the corner of his mouth, a sort of smile? “It was fun.”
“What!” I screech, my fists clenching and unclenching, nostrils flaring.
“I killed them because it was fun. I do have immense power. Hitler is merely the asset, I need 0to sustain it. I killed them because I could.” He walks toward me, giving me an opportunity to squeeze the life out of him, my eyes shine brightly at merely the thought. “Come on, go ahead. Kill me.”
Red is all I see as I clasp my hands tightly around his throat, feeling his pulse fading away by the seconds. I close my eyes, squeezing his neck tighter and tighter. Until he’s no longer there.
Until all I see is a small black cat, that I cornered against the wall. It sprints away and I realized I imagined it all. That I am never going to get out of this.