You wake up to your alarm clock. It has a very harsh beep to it. Louder than a fluorescent light, but quieter than the single elevator in your block. The sky outside is still dark, of course. It's 4 am. You need to get ready for work. You less rise out of bed as much as make a half-effort to pull yourself up by the window. There is a single briefcase computer in the corner of your bedroom, it was a gift from your parents back in 1990. As much as you would love to check Dvach to see the newest bullshit that <а>* has gotten up to, you squeeze into the shower in the hallway between the Kitchen/Entryway and the Bedroom and pray for hot water. It's cold. Opposite the Shower is where you've piled some (recently laundered) clothes. You dress in the hall then walk into the kitchen. You find your pocket television on the table (where you left it yesterday) and eat some cereal while watch-listening to the News. Nothing that concerns you, mostly just military posturing by the Soviets and advertisements for Confederation food and American products you couldn't afford to buy. After you finish with your breakfast, you throw the bowl into the sink next to the window. The blizzard is still going. You put on a thick army duster and Lenin cap, and leave your apartment with the TV tucked away in one of the coat's inner pockets. You walk to the end of the hall and punch the elevator call button, and wait for it. As usual, the door opens and the Elevator is a floor below you. You're on the 8th floor. You open the door to the stairwell and walk down the flight of stairs, avoiding Jänkarna on your way down. After many steps, you make it to the ground floor- the best kept floor of the entire complex- and walk past the statues of Marx and Engels flanking the entrance. You're now outside.
The Blizzard has only gotten worse, but it doesn't matter. It's not like you're going anywhere you haven't been before. Lights struggle to pierce through the snow and illuminate the courtyard of your microdistrict, and make the miniature playground/park in the middle look like anything other than a childhood graveyard. You walk across the redbrick center towards the edge of the residential district. Although there's a school embedded in one of the buildings on the other side of the courtyard, you never went there. You lived in Hogkulla until you moved out from your parents'. You walk along the roadway towards the Trolley station, recently repurposed into a bus stop. The lamps above you buzz uncomfortably, but the light metal structure keeps out enough snow while you wait. You eye around to find one other person leaning against a political campaign ad for Anastasija Zotov. He's looking into his pocket TV. You pull yours out and do the same. Eventually the bus arrives, and you get on, showing your work pass then finding a seat towards the back. You're never bothered for sitting at the back of the bus. You take out your TV and turn down the volume, watching something or other. You consider buying a CD Walkman after work so you could listen to that Kino album your friend bought you last week. Your briefcase computer has a floppy drive and an old CDi drive you salvaged from an abandoned Onyx with the help of some Basovniks online. The computer can't play the Kino album.
Eventually the bus makes it to your stop, next to the gas station at the intersection of Ļeņina Iela and Zvejnieku Līcis. You idly wonder what Ļeņina Iela was named before Wumoria fell while you walk through the snow to unlock the convenience store. You turn on the lights and review all the machines to make sure they look like they're in working order. You make yourself a cup of coffee and grab a Belyashi- and show the cameras that you are, in fact, paying for them- as you get comfortable upon your mighty throne behind the register. You grab a newspaper- the Sun- and half-read through it as you wait for customers to wander in. Apparently Blockbuster is planning to open up a location in Latvia, no where near you, but it's something to know. Today is a regular day, only five customers before lunch, as you go through the motions. All French cigarettes today, normally it's American and German brands. You just lay a Pravda in front of you and go to look at the comics, they've been getting better lately, though you miss the days when you could read Garfield. It was your favorite comic. You glance at the clock throughout the first half of the day. At 1, you lock up the store and go on your lunch break. The blizzard has eased up a little, you can see across the parking lot and see the off-brand McDonalds you always have lunch at. You walk in, warming your hands, and chat with Jaakko as the cooks in the back make your fries. Jaakko thinks that Kurlassianism wouldn't have failed if the Jewish Trotskyite deep state didn't stab Kurlass in the back. Jaakko has a thick Finnish accent. You want to talk to someone else soon. Your fries arrive. You leave the shop, and walk back to the Convenience Store. You unlock it and eat your fries in there. The Convenience Store's heater is the best of the four businesses nearby. Their employees shuffle in occasionally and chat while they eat lunch. You don't mind.
After you finish your fries, you return to your routine. You read through the newspapers waiting for someone to come in and buy something. The Sun continues to insist that Churchill caused everything to go wrong in Britain, and that the Conservatives were planning something in the next election. You don't know enough about Churchill to care. You wonder if you could get away with watching TV, but decide against it. The Camera on the other side of the store watches menacingly. By the time the sun sets, 12 more people have wandered through the store. They mostly bought sunflower seeds and bottles of Club Cola. You never liked CC, it tasted like rubber to you. After the sunset, a handful more people passed through. Mostly truckers and blue collar workers. You like them the most since they never tried to chat. You notice that there's a fan above you. It's off, but you never noticed it before. You imagine the person who designed the store and where they lived. You soak in the imaginary sunlight on a Crimean beach. Eventually, the clock crawls past 11. You turn off the lights, lock the store, and walk back to the bus stop at Ļeņina Iela and Zvejnieku Līcis. You decide that you'll swing by the electronics store tonight. You watch your TV, it's mostly European and British shows. You watch the Simpsons. Your high school friend was an unapologetic amerinetchik†, and he would have congratulated you for embracing "true culture". You feel a sense of shame creep over you. Eventually the bus arrives. You pay the fee to get on. You sit in the middle of the bus, there aren't many people on the line this late. You take out your TV and watch Gomer strangle Bart. It isn't very funny. Eventually the bus makes it to the downtown commercial district. An American contractor propped up a mall here a few years back. Only apparatchiks could afford what was in it. You get off the bus and walk towards the Mall.
Entering the mall, you hear corporock. You never liked it, it always sounded like a party official tried to invent new-wave. There's two floors, but most of the stores are closed already. It's a little past midnight. You stand on the escalator and ride up to the second floor. By some miracle, the Electronics shop is one of the last stores still open. A comic shop next to you is closed. You see the latest copy of Chekists‡, you consider coming back to buy it for your brother. He liked that type of comic. You walk into the Electronics shop and look around. The woman behind the register glances at you as you enter and limply welcomes you. She has one of those Cellular Computer Phones from America. You feel a pang of envy, but go back to browsing. The prices are too high for you to buy anything, but you like to pretend like you know what's new in the world of consumer electronics. You lightly wring your Lenin cap at your hip as you pass the Discman. You ask the Woman behind the register if there's discounted electronics- broken or defective ones- she says that she can't sell them to you. You leave the store. You get back on the bus and ride back to your microdistrict. Everyone is either asleep or wishing they were asleep. You get off the bus.
You walk back into your complex, and call for the elevator. It clunks against the bottom of the shaft, then the doors open. You get in, and punch the 8 button. The Elevator approaches your floor and you press the 7 button. The elevator abruptly stops. The door opens and you get off on the 7th floor. You walk up the stairs to your apartment, and sit down at your dinner table. You prepare sausages and cheese with some brandy your hungarian neighbor gave you. You sit down and connect to the ARPAnet. Dvach has been up to nothing new today. <ат>** is still full of degenerates and <ят>⁂ is still a bastion of culture. You find a few good memes, and post on a few threads you've been keeping an eye on. Eventually, you decide it's time to call it for the night, and turn everything off. You strip to your underwear then fall onto your mattress. You fall asleep not long after.
*<Assorted>
**<American Television>
⁂<Japanese Television>
†"Ameriboo", a portmanteau of Аме́рика ("America") and мине́тчик ("Cocksucker")
‡A Soviet Comic. Similar to Hellboy, takes place in the 20s/30s.
YOU ARE READING
Have We Not a Right to Live?
Historical FictionA Series of Stories involving the fictional Baltic Island of Wumoria.
