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Description
A single bedroom seemed thrashed, the bed disheveled and several pictures were knocked off the wall. All over the place laid bottles of alcoholic beverages, mainly high-quality vodka. The walls looked like someone had taken a lead pipe and beaten the walls, leaving dents and holes. The curtains were torn from the pole that once held them, exposing the night sky.

A man sat down on the bed, staring blankly into the window. He clutched a half-finished bottle of vodka. His wavy straw colored hair was a mess; his green eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles. He took a heavy swig from the bottle, almost finishing it entirely. He gave the bottle a blank stare, his eyes darkening greatly before quickly throwing the bottle, causing it to shatter against the wall. His pale lips formed an enraged snarl, his teeth bared in a form of warning.

"You sonuvabitch!" He suddenly screamed, his voice thick with a Russian accent, " Why!?" He stalked over to one of the fallen pictures and picked it up, removing the shards of glass to gaze into the picture of a dark haired man. He seemed a bit younger than the enraged man. He wore a soldier's uniform, a helm equipped and a gun in his hands. He had rather goofy grin going on, seeming optimistic despite being surrounded by debris and a blizzard. The man wanted to tear the image in two, he tried to, but he could not bear to bring himself to perform the deed. He quickly threw the image to the ground and turned from it, looking at his hands as he trembled violently. He held his head tightly, biting his lower lip as a voice echoed within his mind. His pupils dilated, breath quickened, and face paled as suddenly he heard an argument going on in his mind.

"Mortos! How could you betray your people like this!?" Screamed the man, seeming more cleaned up and in an officer's uniform. The darker haired man from the picture, Mortos, looked back at the man, narrowing his eyes slowly. "I love my country and people, Dimitri..." He replied, "But I would rather die than see my wife and children suffer under the rule of communism." He turned to leave the larger man, but he was suddenly spun around, looking back at Dimitri.

"You're not leaving Mortos," Dimitri snapped," not if I have anything to say about it. You and you're family are-" He froze when he felt something pressed against his stomach, looking down to see a pistol pressed to it. Mortos kept his cool, his finger on the trigger as he spoke calmly, but warning was in his voice.

"Dimitri…you are a good friend, I consider you my brother. But if you try to get in the way of the future of my wife and children, I will not hesitate to kill you." Dimitri stood there, mouth agape as the words hit him like a speeding train. Mortos slowly pulled away, turning to walk off, possibly to see his wife and kids before they were off to America. He froze when he heard a monstrous growl, turning to look back. He let out a scream as he pulled out his pistol, prepared to fire.

But it was to no use, a bear-like arm swatted the gun from the man's hands and then suddenly…blackness…

Dimitri looked down at his hands, freezing as he saw they were red with blood. He then looked ahead to see the mangled corpse of Mortos on the ground. He let out a terrified scream as he fell back, landing on his bed and covering his head, babbling a prayer in Russian.

"N-no! Stop it! Forgive me, Mortos!" He cried out in his native language, "I did not mean to-I'm sorry! Just leave me alone!" The prayers were heard by no one…but he kept on praying anyway, despite there was no body or blood in the room. Dimitri was alone in his nightmare, his despair fueling his madness.

Description
A single bedroom seemed thrashed, the bed disheveled and several pictures were knocked off the wall. All over the place laid bottles of alcoholic beverages, mainly high-quality vodka. The walls looked like someone had taken a lead pipe and beaten the walls, leaving dents and holes. The curtains were torn from the pole that once held them, exposing the night sky.

A man sat down on the bed, staring blankly into the window. He clutched a half-finished bottle of vodka. His wavy straw colored hair was a mess; his green eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark circles. He took a heavy swig from the bottle, almost finishing it entirely. He gave the bottle a blank stare, his eyes darkening greatly before quickly throwing the bottle, causing it to shatter against the wall. His pale lips formed an enraged snarl, his teeth bared in a form of warning.

"You sonuvabitch!" He suddenly screamed, his voice thick with a Russian accent, " Why!?" He stalked over to one of the fallen pictures and picked it up, removing the shards of glass to gaze into the picture of a dark haired man. He seemed a bit younger than the enraged man. He wore a soldier's uniform, a helm equipped and a gun in his hands. He had rather goofy grin going on, seeming optimistic despite being surrounded by debris and a blizzard. The man wanted to tear the image in two, he tried to, but he could not bear to bring himself to perform the deed. He quickly threw the image to the ground and turned from it, looking at his hands as he trembled violently. He held his head tightly, biting his lower lip as a voice echoed within his mind. His pupils dilated, breath quickened, and face paled as suddenly he heard an argument going on in his mind.

"Mortos! How could you betray your people like this!?" Screamed the man, seeming more cleaned up and in an officer's uniform. The darker haired man from the picture, Mortos, looked back at the man, narrowing his eyes slowly. "I love my country and people, Dimitri..." He replied, "But I would rather die than see my wife and children suffer under the rule of communism." He turned to leave the larger man, but he was suddenly spun around, looking back at Dimitri.

"You're not leaving Mortos," Dimitri snapped," not if I have anything to say about it. You and you're family are-" He froze when he felt something pressed against his stomach, looking down to see a pistol pressed to it. Mortos kept his cool, his finger on the trigger as he spoke calmly, but warning was in his voice.

"Dimitri…you are a good friend, I consider you my brother. But if you try to get in the way of the future of my wife and children, I will not hesitate to kill you." Dimitri stood there, mouth agape as the words hit him like a speeding train. Mortos slowly pulled away, turning to walk off, possibly to see his wife and kids before they were off to America. He froze when he heard a monstrous growl, turning to look back. He let out a scream as he pulled out his pistol, prepared to fire.

But it was to no use, a bear-like arm swatted the gun from the man's hands and then suddenly…blackness…

Dimitri looked down at his hands, freezing as he saw they were red with blood. He then looked ahead to see the mangled corpse of Mortos on the ground. He let out a terrified scream as he fell back, landing on his bed and covering his head, babbling a prayer in Russian.

"N-no! Stop it! Forgive me, Mortos!" He cried out in his native language, "I did not mean to-I'm sorry! Just leave me alone!" The prayers were heard by no one…but he kept on praying anyway, despite there was no body or blood in the room. Dimitri was alone in his nightmare, his despair fueling his madness.