Who: Mikhail Sokolski What: It’s been one year since he’s seen his parents. Where: Charles’ house in Chicago When: Backdated to February 20 Warnings: Mentions of death, language.
Translations: О мой Бог! (Oh my god!)
When Mikhail woke up that morning, it felt like a perfectly regular day. His alarm was blaring at him as the bright red 7:45 glared at him in the dark of the room. He fumbled with the clock for a moment before he managed to shut it off, sighing with relief as silence took over the room. God, he hated that noise. Without a second thought, Mikhail lay back down on his bed, burying his face in his pillows. Just another minute couldn’t hurt after-
Mikhail shot back up and grabbed his clock, squinting at it and what it said. 2-20-11. His stomach dropped, his heart stopped, and his breath caught in his throat. No! It couldn’t be! How had it snuck up on him? He had nothing but time on his hands, surely he should have noticed that this particular date was coming up! He put his clock back on the nightstand, burying his face in his hands as he tried not to remember.
One year ago today, Mikhail had arrived home from school only to find that he didn’t have a home anymore. A crowd had surrounded the burning lumber where his house had still been standing that morning. There had been little more Mikhail could do besides just stand there. The scene before him just wasn’t clicking in his mind. This couldn’t be his house. Something had gone wrong, surely! But a sluggish glance at his surroundings had proven to him that this was his address. His bike fell to the ground as another thought dawned on him. Where were his parents? He pushed through the crowd, grabbing people and turning them to check their faces. No. No, no, no! They weren’t here. They weren’t here. Which meant…
The fireman had spotted him in the nick of time, grabbing Mikhail around the middle as he had tried to launch himself at the still burning building. Mikhail had struggle and screamed, trying to elbow the much taller and older man so he would just let him go but it was all to no avail. The grip he had on Mikhail was like iron, and nothing Mikhail did was going to get him to let go.
“MOM! DAD! О мой Бог! О мой Бог! MOOOOM! DAAAAAD! LET FUCKING GO OF ME! MOM! DAD!”
Mikhail would end up spending the next two hours weeping in a stranger’s arms.
But in the here and now, Mikhail had no one’s arms to cry in. He would never see his parents again. He’d never see hang out with his mom and watch Star Wars from her while she translated what Chewbacca said. He’d never beg his father into letting him drive the car in an empty parking lot, and really he’d be careful, please please, please, please, ever again. No matter how much he cried or screamed or punched at the walls of his room, they were never coming back. So he just needed to get over it and himself, because moping around wasn’t going to solve anything!
But he wasn’t kidding himself with that line of thought. No matter how much he wished it wouldn’t… It still hurt. It hurt that he’d never hear his mother’s voice or see he’s father’s face. It hurt that he didn’t have anyone to comfort or help him right now. It hurt to spend so much time trying to stifle the sound of his sobs into a pillow when he couldn’t stand missing them anymore. It hurt to be alone. It hurt to hurt.
Mikhail pulled his covers over his head, tenting himself so that the sun couldn’t bother him. Personally, he’d rather just sleep through the day so he wouldn’t have to deal with it or think about it at all.