blonderussianspy: (pic#2580651)
[personal profile] blonderussianspy
It was a deceptively sentimental activity. Natalya sat on the low, wrap around porch of her hut, improbably sized wolf friend stretched out over the cool wood and similarly oversized snow globe in hand. She was turning it over to crank the key at the bottom and start whatever song wanted to play next, a seemingly endless, she'd found over the years, medley of Russian melodies and anthems. Then she would right it and set it on the railing to watch the snow fall on Red Square.

She felt sometimes as though her entire world could compress down to fit inside the glass, and maybe if she focused long enough, she'd wake up there instead of the island one day. The question would ultimately be, of course, if she did, would it be to a living Rodya or a dead one? Would it be to the world she'd left or the one that had existed before?

The questions weren't helpful, really, they didn't make the days less lonely or more compelling. If anything, she recognized her dependence on the maudlin little ritual as being, probably, a bad sign for her mental state. She wasn't sure she knew how to interact with people in a meaningful way, any longer, and that should have made her sadder.

Instead of letting that particular emotion bloom, though, she pulled the snow globe down and wound it again.

Date: 2013-03-29 04:36 pm (UTC)
manwithoutfear: ([ba] with the stilts?)
From: [personal profile] manwithoutfear
The music is incongruous to the surroundings, tinny and small -- almost lost between the rustling leaves and the bird song-- but it tells me all I need to know as I make my way up the path to Natalya's home. She hasn't disappeared. There was a brief moment on my way here that I'd convinced myself she had, just one more friend vanishing into the ether, and I'm surprised by the palpable sense of relief when it's clear she hasn't. Everyone around me has trickled off these past two years, leaving me alone with Ellen and a host of acquaintances and old friends who don't quite trust me anymore. It's selfish, perhaps, to find relief in Natalya still being trapped here, but after so much loss, it's just nice to know I still have a friend.

Even if I could really do without that wolf of hers.

Folding up my cane once I reach the edge of her steps, I offer a smile. "I wondered if you were still around."

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Natalya Zamyatin

March 2013

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