Chapter 3 - Friday evening drama.

Third chapter of the story.
Audio at the bottom.

First chapter
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/chapter-1-friday-evening-drama

Second chapter
https://steemit.com/writing/@ralph.clayton/chapter-2-friday-evening-drama

Chapter {3}
{The Trojan Horse}
Pure white Snowflakes fall on the landscape, covering everything from rocks to trees in an icy unescapable mantle. The empty hole in the ground is ready, a nameless funeral with no guests is about to take place. An innocent victim lies almost next to the hole, it’s Grandma Mary. She’s unconscious, and what little life is left inside of her is slowly being drained away, drop by drop of blood in to the ground.
“Just push her over in to the hole, she’s next to it.” Viktor says. He’s restfully standing next to an old birch tree, he feels the urge for another cigarette. Blue Skyes is his favorite brand, only three left inside the box.
“She’s still twitching, should we put a bullet in her skull?” Igor asks.
Viktor is slowly puffing perfect rings of cancerous smoke in to the air. “Don’t waste the bullet, just bury her like that, she’ll eventually suffocate.” He says.
Mary is violently shivering on the ground, she has the desire to live. Deep inside her unconsciousness she still remembers her promise, Misha needs her and she cannot die just yet. Not like this, not in the hands of these brutal animals. She gathers the little strength that she has left and reaches out to grab Igor’s leg.
“My grandson he needs me, you cannot do this” She says.
Igor vigorously shakes his leg forcing Mary to let go off him. Two seconds later he powerfully pushes Mary with his foot in to the darkness of the grave. The hole must be approximately one and a half meters deep, Mary’s old body can’t take such fall. One graceful second is all it took for Mary to snap her neck as she hit the bottom of the grave.
Her lifeless body lies in the dirt, slowly getting covered by the falling snowflakes. The poor old woman finally stopped suffering on this wretched earth. For so long she wished her misery to end, yet at her very last moments all that she could think of was, Misha. He was her only hope, they both mutually needed each other to survive.
Now it doesn’t matter, she’s forever gone.
Igor finished covering the hole with dirt, and then for appearances he starts shoveling some snow on top of it.
“Not even a bear could know what happened here.” He says.
Viktor throws the cigarette butt with his index finger on to the snow as he replies, “Don’t count on it, some animal will come and probably eat her remains in a just couple days. This is the wild Russian forest you know.” He then gets black in to the truck and starts the engine.
The magnificent view of the starry night sky is the only thing visible, in the distance only boundless darkness and ghostly shapes of dry birch trees can be seen. The land of nightmarish fairy tales where anything could happen. This is the place where a little boy named Misha lost his grandmother to unscrupulous wild beasts. Grandma Mary was just an innocent bystander, whose only wrongdoing was to be poor and miserable.
On the radio the football match is on, “Damn it, we are late.” Igor says. Both men sit quietly on the moving truck as it slowly goes on the dirt road on the way to the highway. Roads in Russia are absolutely horrendous, bumps and cracked asphalt are just the ordinary. The only place in the country with good roads is Moscow, capital city.
Rublevka, the complex for the mega rich is just right next to the city, five kilometers away. Viktor and Igor calmly sit on the truck as they go back to the mansion of Mr. Popovsky. Tonight they are rather calmer than usual, perhaps the last remaining humanity in their souls was taken away by the death of an innocent old woman. This was the last drop in their brutal murderous rampage that their life is.
Viktor holds the steering wheel firmly with both hands, he wishes he could be having a smoke right now.
“What are we going to do about the boy?” Igor asks. “I hope we don’t have to get rid of him also.”
Viktor turns his head and looks at him, with a judgmental look on his face. “We are professional thugs, not random psychopaths, always remember that.”
Igor nods his head in sign of agreement. “Damn right, we are professionals.” He raises his palm in to the air, “High five.”
Viktor gives him a stone cold look in absolute disapproval. “The boss will decide what to do with the boy.” He says as he continues driving on the road.
The mansion where Mr. Popovsky lives, is a place of limitless luxury. His personal fortune stands at approximately 111 billion dollars, everything stolen and pillaged by his own dirty hands. He came to Moscow from a small rural village in Ukraine with nothing in his hands, now he’s one of the wealthiest people in the country. Like his peers, he’s as corrupt and decadent as they come.
Misha is in the basement, he’s being consoled by one of the maids. He keeps crying, and asking for his Grandma. He really doesn’t understand what’s happening, because he’s only five years old. Regrettably at this tender age all he knows is suffering and sadness. Perhaps losing his Grandma will not make a difference, yet he feels something’s horribly wrong.
Some footsteps are slowly getting closer, coming down the old wooden stairs. It’s Mr. Popovsky in the flesh, he’s finally showing his face. He approaches Misha, and firmly grabs him by his shoulders with his old big hands.
“What is your name, boy.” He says while attentively staring with his silent blue eyes.
Misha is still crying, he cannot stop. He feels like something is wrong, yet he doesn’t understand what.
“I’m Misha, who are you?” The boy says.
Old Mr. Popovsky smiles with a very satisfied expression on his face. He then puts his left hand on the boy’s head.
“You’re wrong boy, your name is not Misha anymore.” He says while playfully scratching the boy’s head.
Misha finally stops crying, and now he looks somewhat puzzled. “I don’t understand.” He says.
Mr. Popovsky looks straight in to the boy’s eyes with a menacing look.
“Your new name is Dmitry, and you’re my loyal dog now.” He turns his back and then slowly starts to walk away. He goes up the stairs and the room is calm again.
The boy is finally silent, no sound comes out of his mouth. He’s utterly puzzled, and he doesn’t comprehend what is suddenly happening. All he wants to know is… where his dear Grandma is. Perhaps cruel destiny is now atoning itself. The life that Mary could never have, perhaps little Misha will get.
Mary and Misha, both nameless victims of history. Unknown victims of fate that were never in control of their own lives, and now they have both ceased to exist.
A new magnificent life awaits for little Dmitry.
All in the hands of Popovsky the pig.
Remembrance is not for everybody, but necessary for some.
Remembrance is the key.