𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Short Stories

Volha / Belarus

Same tw's as last time, and no new names! :D

Primal fear, an emotion commonly associated with her father. The man who she regretted calling her father, her tata, her own flesh and blood. If she could, she'd rip out every single feature they shared.

She'd watch with her eyes, the man's movements, the bunsen burner, and the grabbing of the candle. She was confused, for obvious reasons. She was scared.

She was scared for her brothers, Dmitri, and more importantly, Arsen. She wanted Arsen to get out of here alive, she needed for all of them to get out of here alive, if not, she'd prefer it be her who died down here. They had their entire life ahead of them, they had jobs, ideas, dreams, and she had nothing. Women were only supposed to obey, and she disobeyed. She went into his office, for a damn pencil. This was all her fault, in the end.

If she never went into that office, she would've never found the battle plans. If she never went into there, she would've never told Anna those plans they had. IF she never went in there, Anna would be alive. Anna would be able to pet her cat. Anna would be here with her, able to comfort her, comfort her youngest sibling. She could comfort her, tell her it'd be okay, tell her everything would be fine in the end. That they would all make it out alive, and okay.

This was all her fault. All her fault, that her brothers were suffering, not Arsen, not Anna's, and not Dmitri's fault. None of them deserved what was happening. Arsen didn't deserve to have his wings ripped from his back, a bird without wings was a tragic sight, more tragic when the bird learned it'd never fly again. Dmitri didn't deserve to have a hammer crashed down on his middle phalanx, then his fingernails ripped off. Poor Anna didn't deserve to have her head held under boiling water, until she died. Whether that death was from drowning or being boiled, Volha didn't want to think about that, who would? That was a terrible way to die, no matter which it was.

She should've been the only one experiencing this, fucking hell, none of them should be in pain, only her. All these torture methods, all the screams, all the blood, all the oozing, horrid smelling blood, the blood so thick it was drying brown, all of this should just be her, all of this should only be happening to her.

She wished she could sob, sob this away, let everything wash away in her tears, that none of this would be real, she'd wake up, after sobbing herself awake, Anna gently shaking her, asking if she was okay, and why she was crying. Laughing softly at the youngest reply of nightmares, and telling her they weren't real, telling her it would all be okay, and the monsters our minds created would stay in our minds. But she couldn't cry anymore tears, the malnourishment, the lack of water intake, all of it left her without tears to cry, dry eyes, and dried mouth, from all the screaming she had done, like a weak little puppy. A crybaby of a dog. She would've given any part of herself for these feelings to go away, for her family to be a normal family, one you'd see on an American show, where they made breakfast, went to school, cried in their mothers arms, and got help with math from their fathers. She would give anything for that life. American's didn't realize how lucky they were. The freedom they had in their own homes.

She felt panic creep up her spine, as she watched the man, the panic in her thoughts, why wasn't it just her, why why why why why. How'd it feel to have your nails yanked from their nail beds? How would it feel to have your wings pulled from your back like you were some meat for food. How would it feel to be Arsen or Dmitri at this very moment? How would it have felt to be Anna? Her breath would begin to quicken some more as tears streamed down her face. Nothing was ever going to be better again, Anna was gone, Dmitri and Arsen were probably next. They were all going to die, over a fucking pencil.

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Then she smelt it, wax.

One of her favorite smells, she loved how wax smelt, she never knew why, it was calming. She felt her mind slowly come to a halt, as she focused on the smell, she'd open her eyes, and look to her father, confused. She would have smiled if it weren't this situation. It seemed like a kind gesture for a moment, before the molten liquid poured into a large cut on her arm, one made prior. It reminded her so vividly of her situation, the cut, the wax, her father, the knife, the bone breaking, the screams, her screams. The cries and terrified screams she let out, rhythmically her heart would thump in her chest, filling her ears with the sweet sound of pure terror. She'd panic and try and pull away from what held her arm, the sharp metal stabbing into her flesh, tearing at it, "ТАТА, КАЛІ ЛАСКА, СПЫНІЦЕ! БАЛЬНА!" She'd shout, crying out in horror as he yanked her head back by her hair, she'd open her eyes wide, and stared up, she couldn't bring her eyes to shut quick enough before the wax landed inside, causing her to scream even louder.

Blood curdling

Bloody murder

Human

Screams

She'd cry and beg, but the pain didn't stop, her vision filled with darkness, before she stopped being able to process anything visually, there weren't even the little lines you'd see from pressure on your eyes, just nothing.

All she could use to tell the man was leaving her was the footsteps, the heels clacking gently against the floor, as if he hadn't done anything. She'd breathe heavily, as her head hung, feeling the pressure against her eyes, pulling on them, the harsh pressure on her eyes, pulling down. She'd angle her head back quickly, the feeling of the pulling was far too much for her. She struggled to keep her body from passing out, her eyes would've shut if they could, but the last thing she heard was bones crunching, and Kazakhstan's screams.