CITY OF THE DEAD ✓

VIII. NIGHTFIGHT

Alexey held his hand to my skin. One fingertip stroked the same section on my cheek.

"Vasilisa, are you okay?"

I strained to answer and my hand went to the sight of his wounds. I let the blood from his wounds fall to my skin. Trying to distract myself didn't work, and I shook my head.

"No. Seeing this city, our city, it hurts. Everything is painful. Nika's early departure, being left with a scar on my arm from a brutal assault, and seeing you reduced to something much less than you are."

"I said not worry about me. I've kept it contained. It helps to write if you have a pen and a blank page so you can bring whatever is inside to the surface. I'd be writing for Tol. Yet, who can mend their problems in such a desolate place?"

I forced myself to my feet and knelt by a pile of rubble mere meters away. Sifting through it was an ashy ordeal, but I finally reached the exposed part of the instrument case which I had spotted earlier.

"A disorganized musician carries his or her music and a pencil in their case- at least Nika did." I opened it on the floor and a flurry of crinkled pieces jumped out.

Alexey gathered them. Flipping them onto their blank sides, he searched the dark blue velvet cavity where the violin laid and removed it, finding the stout pencil which hid beneath the instrument.

"Someone is lucky her sister isn't the only unorganized musician in Stalingrad." He latched the case shut and slid it across the floor to what remained of the wall.

"Alexey, you said is." I sat across from him on the other side of the moonlight that streamed through the shattered window. "Like she's alive."

His response was the pencil on the backside of the music sheet. Alexey apologized and pushed the paper into the glowing white light for me to take. He slid the violin from its case, put his fingertips against the strings with some variation on the pizzicato technique.

It was a light melody played the softest of volume. Alexey tried to get lost in it, closing his eyes to play the rhythms. The notes intertwined into a haze so thin because of the piano dynamic. It wasn't a heavy sound, instead, it was a simple background melody to compliment the stillness.

The strings wavered to create a sound so innocent in a city full of guilt. Alexey packed the instrument into the case and apologized once more. I placed the paper on the floor, avoiding his gaze as the latches locked within the sound of the pencil scribbling words.

He pushed himself back into the corner of the wall with his rifle across his legs. I was in the other and took periodic glances at him despite my writing. The script was dark and heavy, unlike my usual handwriting. He turned to look out the window without a conscious knowledge he often did every few minutes.

I was halfway through a sentence when Alexey brought the stock to his shoulder.

"Don't."

He turned once the barrel was in the sill's corner, hidden yet operational. Alexey's narrowed eyes spoke for him as did the shake of his head.