Children's Games: A Story of Modern Punishment

Chapter 8 - Nadia

~Nadia~

The house was made with brown brick, white paned windows, a slanted roof covered in snow, and a large black door. It stood within a row of identical houses, standing wall to wall, continuing through many streets throughout the entire neighbourhood. The house at the end of the row was different to the others. Its door normally bare except for a few scratches, now marked with a large red X.

Nadia opened the door and looked inside the abandoned house. She had the urge to remove her mechanical oxygen mask to see if it smelled the same, but she fought against it. The disease still ran in these parts, and the small oxygen tanks they gave out to aid travellers was always low enough to dissuade people from leaving forever. Removing the mask would likely kill her. Not immediately, but in four days when she succumbed to the symptoms of the infamous TB84.

It was night, and hardly anyone would still be living in the area, but still, she padded through the house like a cat. Quiet, soft, and gentle as she manoeuvred around broken floorboards, broken bricks, and discarded toys across the floor. Her torch was weak and flickering, adding to the eeriness of the abandoned house.

She looked at the family pictures on the mantle. They were all broken and lying down, disorganised as if everyone had left in a hurry and hadn't decided whether they wanted to take them or not. The proud flag of Russia was still hung taut over the fireplace, pinned so tightly that there were no wrinkles across the fabric, ready for inspection. The red was just as vibrant as Nadia remembered, just as red as the X on the door.

Nadia's mother was smiling in one of the family photos on the floor across the room. Nadia kicked past the rubbish, forgetting to be quiet, in order to get to it. The woman, her mother, had her arm around everyone and was smiling widely. She was beautiful with dark hair and eyes and offered the most comforting hugs and kisses. One arm was around Grandma, who had a colourful scarf around her frail hair and a similar charming smile. She stereotypically made the best cookies for the holiday seasons, something that Nadia had never agreed with but never got the chance to say it out loud. A child, Nadia's little sister wore a fox pelt around her neck, refusing to smile, not liking her picture taken. She was a brat at times, and always accused people of wanting or trying to steal her childish things. The three were dressed in their festival attire; colourful and approachable, perfect for the celebratory seasons.

In the middle, probably kneeling on the ground, was Nadia. She stuck out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair and tall figure, always made to kneel in order to make it in the picture. While her features were light and pale, the others were dark and rooted. She took after her father with brittle hair and stupid blue eyes. As far as Nadia knew, she was the only one that was bothered by the lack of resemblance to her remaining family.

She picked up the photo and placed it in her bag already full of forgotten meaningless things to hold when she slept far away. A dusty hand-sewn pillow, a homemade ceramic with their thumbprints, and now a family photo from a day that she couldn't remember... that kind of sentimental stuff.

A bomb exploded in the distance. Nadia remained standing in the centre of the front room, not flinching at the chaos reeking in the distance. She allowed herself only a glance out the window to see the fire and smoke fighting against the light snowfall. Rebels were everywhere, but if they weren't on her doorstep, they weren't her problem. She continued creeping through the house, collecting other photos that were burnt or smashed to bits from the nearby war zone... she ended up with very little.

She only got to the first bedroom, the only one with the door closed. She got her weapon out. Nadia took a deep breath, feeling the air in her lungs and the pulse in her chest orchestrated by the fear in her head.