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Old 09-25-2007, 12:17 AM   #1
43berries
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Default Unredeemed Tears: Marina Yakislokiva

Chapter One
As always as a child and still now as I lay here dieing, I was seen to have the most beautiful blue eyes, like my mother, long blond silky hair like my father I only met once and a beautiful body shape that the girls at school use to be jealous over. But it didn't matter now... It didn't quite matter..

I don't remember the last time I told my parents I loved them... It was quite a while ago, before they died, before the outbreak. My name is Marina Yakislokiva, born of the Yakislokiva on Feburary 2, 1985. I will never forget the day, never forget the day I never lay eyes on my mother, Sonya agian. She had the most beautiful blue eyes which engulfed your soul into a endless ocean. Mother would always get me Yaskiiski's bread which was luscious and sat in my belly well every single time.
She was the tiniest lady, but with a passion of a thousand birds. At times, fierce as a thunderstorm, but as all mothers were, her comfort as a mother fit me even a year before she died, even when I was 31. I remembered that day, it was like poison in my veins that threw me in hell's gate...
It was a desolate winter December. I had just came home from the Bakery I owned where I found mother laying on the ground with a little child biting away at her leg outside our flat. I stood there with my world frozen stiff, the gray sky with little snow flakes slowly descending, seemed like eternity for it to touch the ground. I couldn't scream, I couldn't cry, my body was stiff as a tree... The small child with a hole in his chest turned around with the devil's face... His hair was uncombed, the dirt was apparent all over his body as most of his cloths were teared and bloodied.
Time had shifted back into course and the boy dashed at me, then at that moment, an angel had saved me from heaven. That moment life was not worth living, the only women, the only person I ever loved besides my father was gone. The little devil took her away from me. Darkness loomed over me that day... Clashivok pushed me out of the way and took his working pick from the mines and smashed him in the head. I was on the ground shaken, and then crying. That winter day...... That day is when I stepped into the devil's domain.

December 30th 2006

Three weeks after that day hell's gate had open I had been an empty shell. A frail empty shell. After Clashivok killed the boy... Men armed in suits came upon where I lived. They then shot my dead mother in the head, shot the boy and then my dear loved friend Clashivok who was biten in the head. It was consolidation of suffering which was then built up by what they did. They did not tell me who they were, nor did they care. Nor did I care... I did what they said, I was in plain shock.. They cuffed me and bagged my head where they injected me with some sort of sedative... Then I woke up in a facility where my long beautiful blue silky hair was all gone..... I was stripped of my cloths and then sprayed with some odd chemical which smelt terrible. That made me barf out blood repetitively for the next month..... There in the chamber, I was surrounded by men and women and children who were like me. Shaken, crying, hoping to die from this hell hole. They also injected us with chemicals and tested our blood for the outbreak. At the time we didn't know... We were all confused... We were kept in fine quarters where we barely talked... Even though there was nice quarters the chemicals they injected into us, the things they did to us, deteriorated us... Weaken us, until the end of the week where we could no longer resist. They told us not to talk about what happened after. Like our mothers, our fathers, our children, our loved ones didn't die. As if nothing went wrong and they were not violently met with death's ungrateful arms... We never saw each other again and I never really thought about them much.... For the next two weeks following up to the 30th I isolated myself from the outside world. Enraged in both angry and depression I thrashed up the flat I lived in, self mutated myself and tried to kill myself twice... I failed both times though, the pills were not strong enough, what a miserable irony... I had no longer the lovely appearance that my soul gave off, my image screeched every mirror it reflected off of... despite my misery I still watched the news where time to time they would talk about some sickness that was spreading... I guess the strange men could not keep the story locked from the people who cared...

December 31st, my father had came to visit me... His silky long hair he had kept after the war had now all been cropped off... His lively green eyes which gleamed as it touched the sun, dulled like mine. We were both on the same boat, but me... I was more in the shit hole than him. He was not surprised to see me so destroyed from this... He came in, moved the mess off the couch and ask, "Marina, why don't you just come stay with me?" My attention of making tea shifted to my father's words.... I raged out, " You never really came to see me, well you never did after that one time when I was a small child! What had happen father? Where did you go?!?? Why did you leave us??!... If you were here, mo---- His mellow voice had grown stern "Marina, you must understand, I loved your mother, but we never worked out, as husband and wife and as a family... Now please stop this rash impulsiveness and come live with me in Moscow where the disease has not reached yet. Better than that, let's leave this country bef----- "Do you know what you're asking me papa??.. To leave the very place I grown to adore. To--- "I don't want you to go too, your mother's death hurt me very much...." I was shocked as a tiny tear trickled down his face. I was caught by it to. We hugged and started to cry a bit... After we had tea and talked about the old days I agree to leave with him three days from now... Before he left he took my hand and told me he come back tomorrow to tell me more about the information..... We hugged and he left.... I sat there in tears again has I watched more news of the outbreak which was killing more and more......... It hit me, I had a reason to live now................

Chapter Two:
Papa came around two in the afternoon with that day. Disappointment had struck us when we head of the news of what happened. Since seven o'clock of this morning, Russia had declared military martial law under the major cities due to the rapid outbreak. Even before the military presence me and my neighbors would hear gun shots of police shooting innocent people or infected. Chaos erupted here in Samara, it is not safe anymore... Most buildings are abandoned and some burnt down in the riot that occur a week ago...

"Marina, my dear.... We have to escape this shit hole...", my papa said while scratching his bread. My eyes turned away towards the cracked window where I beamed my vision at the light. "I don't know, we won't make it alive... Soldiers are quarantining the borders of Samara and even if we- "I have a friend who is a Colonel in the military who would help us, and I know we might die.. But I rather die knowing I tried than never trying, mother would of want it this way" I looked back into papa's eyes with sorrow and then with acknowledgment. The next four hours we talked about our escape plan and how Colonel Uslaiv will drive us in his convoy truck to a little village not too far away from here until this is all over. Papa had pulled out extra cash in his pocket and told me in-case in two days he was caught traveling out in the open. He also pulled out a gun he had and gave it to me. The one time when I was a kid, papa took me out to his backyards where the trees would grow beyond the heavens. He taught me how to shoot the gun, even though I was about ten, I still remembered. I told him I wouldn't need this, but he insisted... He got up, threw on his fur leather jacket and had a worried face. Something was the matter, he hugged me and left in a hurry.. I never saw him ever again that day...

The following night I woke up sweating with my hands cupping my face in horror... I had the same re-occurring nightmare, the same one that haunted me since the day I left that facility.... It was an empty specter that casted a shadow in my life.. I don't want to talk about those dreams but about two hours later, I woke up to a loud gun shot across my flat. I opened my door slightly to see what had happened. The hall was stiff quiet, but the strong smell of gun powder. There was no screams, no curious ones except me.. There was one door down the hallway which had open arms to let me in. I knew I shouldn't, I knew deep inside I didn't want to, but curiosity attracted me in. I didn't know whom this flat belonged to, but it was neat, nice mellow green wallpaper, picture frames of families and friends hanging on the wall... As I walked past the small table which was near the door a picture stopped me in my steadily slow tracks. It was a picture of a middle aged man holding his daughter, well I thought she was her daughter... It was sweet, the girl with her cute little blue eyes and the father with that caring loving look on his face.. After a minute I placed the picture back onto the table and precede into the living room. There I found where the smelt came from.....

It was the father in the picture.... He took the barrel of his gun... I covered my mouth and looked away running out the door into my flat and rushed to the toilet. Then of course I threw up... Afterwards I cleaned myself up and stopped sobbing. I heard a bunch of boots meeting the hard ground as they marched into the apartment building. I then shut my door and locked it and ran into the kitchen where I stayed until they left... I wonder what they would do with that poor guy??? Just throw him into a random giant pile of corpse outside the city?

Chapter: Three
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Last edited by 43berries : 09-27-2007 at 08:37 PM.
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Old 09-26-2007, 12:11 AM
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This message has been deleted by 43berries. Reason: eh, moving it up
Old 09-26-2007, 03:19 AM   #2
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It's okay, I guess.
My kind of likings though, dismisses this as "a wall of text" that I frequently associate with biography's.
The paragraphs seem too large... as in it should be split up more I think.
We should have indents more often.
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Old 09-26-2007, 11:13 AM   #3
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Sorry, when I wrote my novels, that was the type of how I wrote... Eh, I'll try to make it more reader friendly next time.
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