FOOD FOR THE WOLVES » fyodor dostoyevsky

6. 在 ─── jester, clownish prank

chapter six, jester, clownish prank
﹑♥︎ fyodor dostoyevsky

You had remained muted, pondering about each of his words. And now that you examined his words from another point of view, you comprehended that he was subserving you, steering you along a path of prosperousness, deliverance and acceptance. A glorious path.

Afterward a few moments, you relent your shoulders, which were fraught. Shortly after going to the desk and opening a drawer harboring papers, you patiently grab it and position it on the table. Proximate to the papers in the drawer, there is a fountain pen and a pitchy black ink that came in a small glass jar closed with a lid. You determine to just grab the fountain pen, since you were sure it already had a refill of ink inside and there was no need to smudge your fingers with ink. You take a seat and prepare to write. You take the pen in your hand and proceed to write today's date, next to a paragraph:

This is like a new beginning in my life,
mom. Meeting Fyodor again can change  my life once again, changing it for the better. These days were normal and I moved to Japan with him, staying in an organization that calls itself the "Decady of the Angels".  I am glad to know that I  will soon be freed from my sins that stained my heart, as well as eliminate the guilt that resides in me for having killed you, but I guess I did right, I freed you from my sins, the ones that infected you. I wouldn't know what else to tell you, so I'll write to you another day, Mother, goodbye.

You sigh. You put the pen aside and recline in the chair, unburdened to have already terminated your note, which may be your last and only one. You take the paper and stare at it in your hands, it brought back the melancholia of your infancy, where your mother drew mammal on paper and you had to color them. So many memoirs lacerated your mind. You put the paper inside the drawer, along with the pen. You close the drawer and stand up, rubbing your sore sockets.

You walked over to the switch and turned it off, leaving the room in utter semidarkness. As you descended the ladder, you closed the trapdoor and grabbed the ladder to store it on the side of the closet, positioned well enough that it wouldn't get in the way.

You let out a foxed sigh. You didn't quite comprehend all this billow of information that agglomerated in your mind. You were chapfallen and didn't want to think about it too much.

You wanted to go to doss, your body demanded you to, but you were athirst for some tea, to drink a chamomile to fall asleep better.

Your eyes hollow from absence of slumber. You open the door and walk down the stairs, smoothly.

Now that you cogitate about it, the Decady of the Angels was distinct from what an organization would have. It was like a house where the members reside altogether, while continuing to labor in the establishment.

You shake your head rapidly, returning back to reality. Your eyes search for the cuisine someplace. Night was initiating to plunge, but it was not quite night yet. You sensed that if the place had bedrooms and elements typical of a house, the rest had to be there.

You stroll through spots you didn't think you'd seen, and as you do so you can't prevent but think that the organization surely has hidden tunnels and passageways.

For a moment you think you see someone hustling past you. You swivel around but there is no one and you get bewildered. You sigh and return to your pristine direction, that's when you startle when you collide into a tall man with lengthy white hair tied in a braid, he was clownishly fetching. You take a step back and frown.

He heightens his gloved hands slightly, as if you were going to arrest him. "Don't preoccupy! I'm not going to impair you or anything. I just want to greet you to our beloved super duper covert organization!" He bows exaggeratedly while grinning naughtily.

"Ah... whatever. My name is (First name) (Second name)."

"What a beauteous and welcoming face you have, (First name)... My appellation is Nikolai Gogol, it is an enchanting and privileged delight to become acquainted with you."

"Nice to meet you too, Gogol," You nod, calmly.

"By chance, weren't you thirsty to drink a chamomile?" He inquires. "Here, for you!" From a portal, he sticks out his hand holding a freshly brewed cup of tea and with a smile. He invites you to drink it.

You take the cup of tea with an amiable smile. Your hands promptly warm from the porcelain. A thrill of pleasure runs through your body when you take the first sip.

"Thank you," You say. It doesn't take long until you sense a heat more severe than the tea originally had. The heat established in your head and you felt odd, dizzy. "What's wrong, Gogol...?" Your eyeleids feel weighty and you feel too somnolent. You tussle to remain awake as your body incline slightly, weakened.

"It's just the effect of the tea, dear dove!"

"What have you put in my tea?" You inquire in a feeble tone, confounded. Behind you, Fyodor proceeds to approach.

Before you can complement anything, your sight blurs and your entire mind goes into a daze. Your body collapses and the cup slips from your hands, tumbles to the ground and shatters, your body falls too and you end up passing out.

The last thing you hear while lying on the ground are murmurs.

NOTE: I wanted to give the
DoA a different look, making
it a little more like an underground
house. I hope yall don't mind!