Talk:Sviatoslav Republic/@comment-24903406-20160712010636/@comment-24903406-20160725001417

Unknown location, ???

"I remember when everything was peaceful". "No battles, war, loss. Just peace."

Krinkov wakes up on a bed in a room the size of a carport. He gets up and sits on the edge of his bed, looking around the room. The walls are painted faded yellow, with multiple words enscribed in Russian, tally marks and faded drawings on the wall with a dark red coloring. Dimitry didn't want to know what the markings were made out of.

The floor were tiles, painted a light grey color, cracked in multiple places. A single battered florescent light is hung from the ceiling, not on at the moment. The room was nicer than his previous one, but still in bad shape. The walls are cracked in multiple places, spiderwebs hang in the corners. A single wooden chair, damaged in a few places is propped against the wall. A urinal is fixed in the far left corner, but is damaged aswell. Sunlight engulfs the room, coming from a solitary barred window fixed on the wall to his right.

He gets up and walks over to the window, and leans on the window seal. He overlooks a scene he didn't expect to see. Below him are endless yellow fields, which must be wheat. Birds soar above. The sky has few clouds but is mostly clear. The morning sun glows brightly on the horizon. He eases closer to the bars, trying to see to the side. He sees a lush green forest, full of healthy trees and plants. The only thing he finds odd is there are no animals, other than the birds.

Judging by the surroundings, he assumes he near the fields of Kursk. He sees a an industrial city in the distance, but the view is obscured by forests at the edge of the field. Dimitry lays his head on his arms, looking out at the surroundings. He didn't want to but he is immediately plunged into his childhood memories. He remembers his childhood home back on his mother's farm in the Ukrainian SSR. He remembers the evenings when his father used to take him out fishing on the lake.

He remembers running through the fields of wheat and crops, chasing birds with his German Shepherd, Kliment. His grandmother and grandfather's home in a small village is what he misses the most. His family used to take trips there frequently and he remembers when he used to go riding into the city nearby, amazed at the buildings and architecture. His grandfather was quite a known figure in the village, always fighting against the handicapped being treated somewhat poorly.

The neighbors often stopped by his relative's house and had parties, Dimitry always playing with his friends Svetlana, Boris and Anatoly. But the painful memory of his grandfather dying last year hurts him the most. His grandfather had finally succumbed to an illness he had been fighting for many years. He remembers being in the room with him, his neighbors, friends and family gathered around the bed. Dimitry laying his hand on his grandfather's forehead. "I'll miss you, papa. I'm sorry we didn't spend much time together. But I will cherish the limited times we spent bonding, talking about cars and me showing you my model airplanes I built. Those were the good times. I'm just guilty I never got to spend more time with you..."

The funeral was a week later, planning was a pain for everyone. They had to drive very far to the city where papa was born. He was buried on a roadside cemetery out in the middle of nowhere. It was like the western cemeteries, dusty and on the side of a road that stretches for miles. Woods surround the graveyard. He remembers holding up the coffin with 3 other men, papa's sons, walking behind a white hurst driving slowly towards a waiting grave.

"How I miss the peaceful days of my childhood, when everyone was still around. But now I see there is nothing to live for, and dark times abound. I will cherish the joyous memories, and the heartwarming times we had. But I fear that there will be no happiness now. Only sorrow, death and destruction. What is the meaning of life now? I've lost everything. I'm losing the will to go on."

Dimitry gazes on into the fields, buried in memories of his childhood. A tear trickles down his cheek.

To be continued...