Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)Journal: Entry 61. Date: 2033, April 11th.
"I remember the day as if it was only yesterday. Funny, seeing as though I was only a young boy of six. And yet, my memory's of later years draw a blank. But that day... The fire's, the screaming, the sirens... Yes, I remember it just as clearly as my own voice... Yet, my mothers face is just as distant a memory as anything else I have forgotten. If I were to leave the metro. I can see nothing but a ruined Moscow. And only through the plastic, and glass lenses of my gas mask. I remember lush green grass. Large, prefect buildings. And crude, selfish people. Whom in this new world are even more selfish. Sometimes, life is so hard. I wish I died with my mother when the bombs fell. But alas, here I am... Life only get's harder down here. And, even worse up on the surface. The things I have seen. The creatures... Would give any man nightmares. I drown myself in vodka, to no avail. The nightmares come every night. Maybe there is no hope for humanity. Was there any hope ever? We destroyed our own planet. And now, the Metro that protected us. The Metro we call home. Is becoming uninhabitable it'self. I ponder at times, whether or not we are alone. Are we really all that is left of humanity? Or is there some other station, or place in the world. Maybe even here in Russia, just like us. But, to know such things is a far off future. One, that I would never live to see. For it is well past my life time. Maybe, it is not. One may never know. Until then... Next drink is for you mother..."
Dhemytri clicked the button at the end of his pen. Placing it in a sleve on his note book. Then placing it into his pack. He sighed, as he listened to the young men across the bar. Shouting and hooting. Singing and drinking. 'Oh the singing?... Why sing? Who cares. Just drink, and be done with it.' Dhemytri thought to himself. As he poured another round of vodka. "uhh... Well, to you mother." He said, true to his word. Then, downing down the shot. "Uuugh.." He grunted, as the smooth liquid burned it's way down his throat. He pulled a handful of military grade rounds out of his pocket. Setting them onto the table in preparation of his bill. Ten rounds for the Vodka, and two for the waitress.
Dhemytri was a tall 26 year old man. Well built, from how active he was. Constantly working, fighting, and killing to make a buck. In Dhemytri's case, a bullet. Since it was the currency these days. He had black hair, and brown eyes. Not to mention almost perfect teeth. In his own right, he was an attractive man. Well, at least compared to his competition. He is a keeper most would say. Despite his dangerous career as a gun for hire. He had his own fair share of scars though. Some deep, and painful. And some, were mental ones. He doesn't remember much of his life as a child. There was a time, of complete darkness. Ever since his mother fought her way through the crowds, just to have him even enter the metro. She, was left behind as the doors closed. And Dhemytri was then left all alone... "Ah! Stop your singing!" Dhemytri shouted at the drunken group of men. As he was tired of reminiscing, and even more tired of them.
"What did you say ass hole?" One asked as he began to stumble to Dhemytri's table. "I will have you know. My comrades and I are trained soldiers!" He said, as he slammed his hand on the table. Dhemytri scoffed. "Huh, what army. You wear no colors." The man then got more fired up. "The red army! Show some respect! I was a respected general, you know." Dhemytri was tired of this loser. "Oh ya? Seems to me your nothing more then a drunk. I am not one to pick sides. And hate communist's like you. But, what's worse then a communist, or a Nazi? Drunken swine like you." The man's face grew red, "Why you!" He shouted as he swung at Dhemytri. Dhemytri grabbed his hand, twisted it, gripped the drunks hair, and slammed his face into the table twice. Then a third time for good measure. Letting his head bounce against the wooden surface. The man made a sad, squealing sound before he grew unconscious. "Take your friend out of hear." Dhemytri ordered the drunk's comrades. As the man fell to the ground. Not wanting any trouble. The men complied. Dragging their buddy out of the bar. "You will pay for this." One of the men said as they made their escape. "Pussy's." Dhemytri retaliated. He then sat back down pouring himself another glass. "I think that may be my queue to leave." He said before downing another shot. He then pushed his finger against the rim of his glasses, pushing them up and correctly onto his face. "Great, had to make trouble with the reds."
"I remember the day as if it was only yesterday. Funny, seeing as though I was only a young boy of six. And yet, my memory's of later years draw a blank. But that day... The fire's, the screaming, the sirens... Yes, I remember it just as clearly as my own voice... Yet, my mothers face is just as distant a memory as anything else I have forgotten. If I were to leave the metro. I can see nothing but a ruined Moscow. And only through the plastic, and glass lenses of my gas mask. I remember lush green grass. Large, prefect buildings. And crude, selfish people. Whom in this new world are even more selfish. Sometimes, life is so hard. I wish I died with my mother when the bombs fell. But alas, here I am... Life only get's harder down here. And, even worse up on the surface. The things I have seen. The creatures... Would give any man nightmares. I drown myself in vodka, to no avail. The nightmares come every night. Maybe there is no hope for humanity. Was there any hope ever? We destroyed our own planet. And now, the Metro that protected us. The Metro we call home. Is becoming uninhabitable it'self. I ponder at times, whether or not we are alone. Are we really all that is left of humanity? Or is there some other station, or place in the world. Maybe even here in Russia, just like us. But, to know such things is a far off future. One, that I would never live to see. For it is well past my life time. Maybe, it is not. One may never know. Until then... Next drink is for you mother..."
Dhemytri clicked the button at the end of his pen. Placing it in a sleve on his note book. Then placing it into his pack. He sighed, as he listened to the young men across the bar. Shouting and hooting. Singing and drinking. 'Oh the singing?... Why sing? Who cares. Just drink, and be done with it.' Dhemytri thought to himself. As he poured another round of vodka. "uhh... Well, to you mother." He said, true to his word. Then, downing down the shot. "Uuugh.." He grunted, as the smooth liquid burned it's way down his throat. He pulled a handful of military grade rounds out of his pocket. Setting them onto the table in preparation of his bill. Ten rounds for the Vodka, and two for the waitress.
Dhemytri was a tall 26 year old man. Well built, from how active he was. Constantly working, fighting, and killing to make a buck. In Dhemytri's case, a bullet. Since it was the currency these days. He had black hair, and brown eyes. Not to mention almost perfect teeth. In his own right, he was an attractive man. Well, at least compared to his competition. He is a keeper most would say. Despite his dangerous career as a gun for hire. He had his own fair share of scars though. Some deep, and painful. And some, were mental ones. He doesn't remember much of his life as a child. There was a time, of complete darkness. Ever since his mother fought her way through the crowds, just to have him even enter the metro. She, was left behind as the doors closed. And Dhemytri was then left all alone... "Ah! Stop your singing!" Dhemytri shouted at the drunken group of men. As he was tired of reminiscing, and even more tired of them.
"What did you say ass hole?" One asked as he began to stumble to Dhemytri's table. "I will have you know. My comrades and I are trained soldiers!" He said, as he slammed his hand on the table. Dhemytri scoffed. "Huh, what army. You wear no colors." The man then got more fired up. "The red army! Show some respect! I was a respected general, you know." Dhemytri was tired of this loser. "Oh ya? Seems to me your nothing more then a drunk. I am not one to pick sides. And hate communist's like you. But, what's worse then a communist, or a Nazi? Drunken swine like you." The man's face grew red, "Why you!" He shouted as he swung at Dhemytri. Dhemytri grabbed his hand, twisted it, gripped the drunks hair, and slammed his face into the table twice. Then a third time for good measure. Letting his head bounce against the wooden surface. The man made a sad, squealing sound before he grew unconscious. "Take your friend out of hear." Dhemytri ordered the drunk's comrades. As the man fell to the ground. Not wanting any trouble. The men complied. Dragging their buddy out of the bar. "You will pay for this." One of the men said as they made their escape. "Pussy's." Dhemytri retaliated. He then sat back down pouring himself another glass. "I think that may be my queue to leave." He said before downing another shot. He then pushed his finger against the rim of his glasses, pushing them up and correctly onto his face. "Great, had to make trouble with the reds."
