#asfenfens

[moariin]

THESE HUNGRY DOGS / excerpt 

featuring my lengthy prose and lack of self-restraint. jokes aside, this is the first few paragraphs kicking off act two and it’s hard to just make it one piece since i realize i usually start the chapter with a monologue and we don’t have time for that. 

shameless promo, i’ll be updating the draft over at wattpad (here!). transcript of the excerpts will be under the cut! 

ZEIMRADA WAS CHANGING even if Pavel did not see it at first. 

He sat beside the rocks, far away from the preening soldiers and their morning drills. Priemry looked smaller, less violent than The Scheisygh, but somehow he liked its charm and everything it stood for. Just a few yards from him was the beginning of the mines, yawning from the small rise of the land.

When he found himself on the cold floors of the Bohrganz manor with little memory stinging in his mind, there was darkness filling across his eyes. There was a slight touch of blade that kissed his neck, a voice, perhaps. 

As he looked deeper into the drills and shouts of commands, that part of Keichsfaer in him was dispersed, adjusting himself to the new surroundings. He remembered that voice sneering down at him. Priemry, he heard it said. 

Although Pavel had his doubts, he wondered if it was the right decision after all. His captain refused to move her lips, spilling words right from her throat, even Riva had tried and failed. But it seemed to be a reasonable choice, going past The Scheisygh would prove their task difficult, with the gyzsien buried in the fields and being so near to the spine of several Myrgenvai camps, they would have made it far into the country without sacrificing a few, or worse, the speaker. 

He did not notice Nadja Gerharde was in front him, her hands carried two water flasks and it seemed she was sharing one to him. 

He blinked his eyes, bringing up a tired smile before reaching to collect the flask from her hand. “Deine,” He muttered quietly. 

“I don’t know how you got through Czerniak’s mind,” the Yatan girl sighed, then settled on the rocks next to him. Her voice carried strength and humbleness reeked through her throat. “But here we are, in Priemry once more.” 

“She must have a reason, I was talking nonsense.” Pavel said.

“Hmm, doesn’t seem like you were.”

Pavel glanced at her way. “And your meaning?”

“Saints, don’t get your teeth twisted,” Nadja murmured, she was trying hard not to sound annoyed. Then a moment of sigh. “It’s strange to find myself back in Priemry, I wasn’t particularly proud of what I’ve become, but it’s a nice reminder of what I was born of. Have you ever had that feeling?”

His hands brushed across the side of his rifle, it felt raw on his skin, an unmatched energy coursed through his veins but it was the only thing that he sought comfort with. Zeimrada was changing, he reminded himself , his throat was dry as he parted his mouth, tasting the familiar sound of polished boots thundered the ground.

Pavel did not want to think the unimaginable, the changes made into his country and it spun from his control. His father, his grandparents, and the dead ones before them, all served the Nascherein, and how he felt their war skin baring its teeth at him. They were all touched by the strings of command, he should feel proud as his father would have felt. 

It surprised him to see him remember the streets with Keichsfaer towering on the back of his mind, remembered where the old bakery was and the feel of it. He remembered Ollensverch, that brazen structure of the theatre where plays would make their entrance and dancers would make fame. Everything seemed odd to him as if he did not belong there, but anywhere was better than war. 

The truth was there were no words to describe how he had felt, and if he did, it would be another lie. So much of it was a fleeting thought, conjured quickly after hearing Nadja’s words. He wondered if his father felt the same tiredness when he retired from the battlefield, in pursuit of the better means in life. Pavel refused to think so, he made an oath, swore on his piety to the country, yet whenever his bones settled, a notion of regret soon twisted the words right from his mouth. 

He thought of Maike, and thought where he went wrong. He couldn’t have left her there, without bidding her another farewell, knowing in the foreseeable future, it would be the last welcoming one. But he did, he brought himself out from Keichsfaer, stringing the speaker with him. 

“It’s harrowing to say the least,” Pavel approached his words after a careful decision. 

Nadja lifted her eyes at that, partially narrowing as she worked through her brain. Then eventually, she shook her head. “And I thought I was the sentimental kind.” 

He paused a bit, processing on what she had said with a furrow of his brows. Then he lifted his head to her. “Since when?” He asked. “Last night, I presume?” 

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[redbeanpress]

meet the staff behind the red bean press litmag:

reni, assistant managing editor

on a day to day basis, she typically listens to resident evil soundtracks while cooking curry or hainanese chicken rice, working at a shift, and spends time writing. follow her at @moariin

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