Mikah

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"You see, boy, our ancestors were mighty strong men. Your great dedushka, my deeushka, he went into war against the evil men. They were more powerful than us, you see, but we were all a family, we couldn't possibly let go of this bond. But your great dedushka, he was forced to go into war, and he hoped to win. The enemies, you see boy, sent a fire to his head. His head caught flame, it kissed his scalp and caressed his brain. But that is okay, because that is how us men of the family got our hair. You see?"

The man who was talking to me turned my chin to the mirror, as I looked at my body figure.

I nodded at him, looking at our buzzcuts.

"Yes, papa." I murmured.

His cheeks lit up in a smile, as he scrunched his dark brown mustache.

"Look at those muscles of yours, Mikah! You are so strong, just like him! Just like me! All because we won that war that day, aren't you proud? Your great deeushka won that battle for us, for you, and gave you great strength!"

He held my arms and told me to squeeze, as I flexed my abnormally large muscles for someone of my age.

"You will protect us as he did, someday, Mikah, you will be king! Just as I was, and I shall pass it down to you, for you are my oldest son," He turned towards me and smiled, "You will be Mikah Milkovich, king of Vadanovia, once and for all!"

I jerked awake, my eyes wide open and the feeling of sweat running all over my body started once again.

Not this again... not the dreams... I thought to myself, but that didn't help. The dreams were back, whether I liked it or not.

Phoebe placed her fingertips on my shoulder, and looked at me, squinting her eyes and murmuring,

"Are y-you... okay?"

"Yes," I groan out, "Go back to bed, it was just a bad dream."

She then murmured something I couldn't understand, and then drifted off back to sleep.

Sitting up, and realizing I probably wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, I began to look at myself in the mirror. Even though I couldn't see myself all that well, considering the sun was just rising, I could still see my buzzcut, my familiar muscular arms.

Your hunch better be right, Angus Monaghan, I told myself.

Falling back onto the bed, I fell into the deep slumber I was in before, dreaming of what life was possibly like in Russia.

***

The next time I woke, I became aware of the smells of bangers and eggs somewhere close. It smelled like the closest thing to home, quite honestly. But then, my nose caught something funny smelling. Namely; smoke.

Opening my eyes, I looked to see familiar figure of Phoebe sitting at the table in our spaced out room, eating bangers and eggs and smoking at a cigarette every other chew.

She turned towards me, smiling,

"Good morning, sleepyhead. I wasn't sure how long you would sleep, so I got you a plate from breakfast, enjoy it if you'd like, and join me at the table."

She had her journal open wide open, which made me tempted to get up. But truly what motivated me was food, and I hoped that the food was good.

I stood up, and walked towards the table after making the bed, and as I rubbed my eyes and yawned the loudest yawn in the world.

I'm sure even the whales in the ocean could hear my yawn, goodness gracious.

I sat down across from her and began gulping down the food, as I noticed Phoebe staring at me, almost beginning to laugh.

"Don't choke, Angus." Phoebe giggled.

I held up a single finger, and once I swallowed, I spoke up,

"I'm fine, I won't choke."

She looked like she was about to start cracking up from laughter, but held it in so I wouldn't get angered.

"How much longer till we get to Russia?" I question.

Her faced turned serious, as she looked at me with her eyes that turn emotional whenever I ask anything serious.

"It's going to take a while, Angus, but eventually we'll make it there." Phoebe replied.

I shook my head,

"N-No. That's not what I asked. When will we get there?"

She looked at me, almost as if she were scared for her life.

"The other passengers were talking of the arrival time being around two to three weeks... I'm sorry, so sorry, Angus."

I shook my head, and hit my fist on the table lightly,

"Why can't we invent quicker technology! Come on, it's 1946 for goodness sakes! I don't understand this world at all. Olsen didn't even tell me I had family in Russia, if I'm right. H-He's so evil, and yet he was the closest thing to a father to me."

She shushed me, placing her hand over mine and looking at me comfortingly, nodding slowly and smiling a comforting smile.

"Shh... It's okay, Angus. Olsen is an evil man, we know that. But now, you'll be reunited with your biological family. That should make you happy, right?"

I shook my head,

"I-It should. But what if my hunch is wrong... what if we're heading to Russia for nothing? Wh-what if I'm wrong... and what if.. what if the family... supposedly my family, what if they hate me?" I questioned, "We're different people. The king, or whatever, he's different than me. And so is my mother... I grew up in mostly Ireland for the gist of my life, I must look like a foreigner when it comes to Russia, don't you think?"

She shushed me once again, placing a single finger to my mouth to stop it from moving.

"Now, Angus, they'll accept you. And you say you look like a foreigner? What do you mean, Angus? Look at yourself for a moment... you are Russian, just look."

I looked at myself in the mirror as I did earlier that morning, flexing my muscles and looking at my buzzcut once again.

"I guess you're right... Phoebe...." I started, "But I'm Angus Monaghan..."

She shook her head,

"That's where you're wrong. You are Mikah Milkovich, the missing Russian prince."