"ZAIKA"

CHAPTER 10: KIDS IN MOSCOW

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Taek Joo swung his fist, ignoring his question. That did not seem to please Zhenya. For the first time, since meeting him tonight, what Taek Joo sees is not his usual cocky smirk, but a displeased expression. Eyes quivering, lips pursed.

"You stupid rabbit. Why are you struggling?" He caught the coming fist with ease.

Every words was filled with disorder, speaking for his mind. For what is happening to him, he does not know. The sudden disorientation of his acting, he has never experienced.

He didn't like it. In fact, despices it.

In spite of this, Taek Joo takes iniciative. He intentionally stopped moving, getting his strenght back and waiting for the right moment. If that moment ever came. And it did.

Now!

"Let go!"

Braking free from that man's grip, Zhenya only shakes up a second too late.Taek Joo has already left through the window.

He is left alone, still sitting on the dirty, cold ground. Not to mention, it was a bloody sight all over.

Children often to on adventures to their parents garden thinking they are a prince on a white horse, or play with mud like a circus rat. In both of these activities, children often get dirty. Torn cloth, bloody knees...

Kids in Moscow were taught their discipline, despite their early years. Zhenya was not different. If anything, his father, Vissarion Romanovich, noticed not a peck of dust on his attire. Nor did he ever see his som playing like other kids. The closer thing was walking around the garden, head high, as if looking for something. Usually he found birds, or other animals to play with. He felt am unusual sense of obligation to use the animals as something to spend his time on. By any means necessary.

Anyhow, he was never dirty. Even as a child. He could do whatever, servants of the mansion would never complain to reach their son some manners. Even if they did, it is not like they would even dare to.

Now he sits, motioless. What is going through his mind? None could even hope to know. How could we possibly? Even the man himself is desperate to familiarize himself with what he has been feeling the past couple minutes. For the first time ever he feels...

What do they call it?

Sorrow?

"Like hell.." He shook his head and smirked. Looking ať the scene behind him made him feel a little better about himself.

He stood up, brushing off his fur coat he deeply liked. The back of it was torn. His brows narrowed at the sight. Throwing something je no longer needed was never a problem for him.  Yet this time, for a reason unknown to him, he did not feel the same. The coat in his hands went through a couple years of use. His long fingers brushed the torn cloth. The room was in deep slumber, until the man began.

"Не буду з милым я знакомы

Не буду милым называть"

Each word mouthed slow, as if caressing the wind. His voice echoes through the empty room, singing the corpses goodnight.

Moments of singing pass by, only a bitter aftertaste stayed on his mouth. Not only did he never sing, he hated it. So why? Questions he knew thought of asking or answering. What was going on with him?

He sighed, walking out of the small cabin, opening the door hastly. The door that once held sturdy, were now split in couple more pieces as the man felt the urge to run.

The destination being his cursed little animal. Violent thoughts were all he was thinking about.

As so it happens, the night is coming to an end. Now, just like the sun, both of them are starting to wake up. One for a reason different to the other.