"I always thought that the first time I'd be on my knees I'd be praying..." I held my breath lowering myself to my knees in front of him,
"Then worship," he smirked, "what do you desire?"
Being loved by the king of Socrates Academy is haunting, espe...
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I've never been the birthday girl.
I grew up in a home that didn't care much for celebrating the days their children were born, my parents had rather traditional minds. They celebrated good grades, challenging each other but never ever effortless things like being born. So yes, I have never known blown out candles and frosting smears on noses. I have never made a wish at midnight or cut a cake with my brothers.
I'd rather not spend my time dallying on matters that cannot be changed. I am the furthest thing from religious but I am a firm believer in the idea that our destinies have already been written for us, already set in stone and that no matter how many twists, turns or shortcuts we take, that we'll still end up at the same destination.
We are born, we exist furiously and then we die.
Perhaps I was dying too because apparently, I'd caught a cold or the common flu. My nose was stuffy and my mind was even stuffier.
I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, it's a Friday morning but there's no school today because we're snowed in. I turn to look at the picture on my nightstand, I look into Dmitriyi's eyes, my eyes. It's his twenty-first birthday today, I bet he didn't tell anyone where he is stationed in Germany. Nikolai and Andrei didn't care much for birthdays other, It was always my job to make everyone realize that the day they were born is truly a cause for celebration.
I trace my fingers over the frame, realizing how similar we all look, we'd hate when people would comment on it as children but eventually, we all came to terms with the fact that above all we were our mother's sons and daughter, we had her deep brown eyes and souls that rushed like the Congo River her sisters and her would sail across. We were our father's too, we had his heart that was like a stone sinking to the bottom of the sea, his drive, his selfishness, his determination, his insatiable hunger for power.
What a pity, that now Dmi is out there in the cold cruel world, doing his life-threatening job, on his 21st birthday all alone without me.
But he was all grown up now, and he was strong and not easily swayed from his duties. It worried me sometimes, that perhaps if he stayed long enough in Germany guarding the wall that split through west and east Berlin, that he would soon adapt to his company. That he too would become an impenetrable wall, devoid of feeling like our father.
