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My name is Nikolai Alexandrov Popovich. I am 32 years of age and come from St Petersburg, Russia. I am engaged to be married with the love of my life, Anna, and we have a two year old boy named Ivan. I work here at the base. I do not know who owns this plant, I know only the name of my immediate superior, Mr Barolov. I do not ask questions.
I took this job out of necessity. The printing works where I had worked since I left school recently went bankrupt. With such a young son, and a loved one to look after and provide for, I had no other option but to get a new job, fast. When browsing through the local newspaper I came across an advertisement for young, fit able bodied men with a sense of adventure. Little did I know that after a quick interview and physicial I would be shipped off to a remote dam in the middle of nowhere trudging through six inches of snow. I did not know that it would mean leaving Anna and Ivan for three months. However, when I return hopefully we will have enough money to have the ceremony Anna has always wanted.
I never had a uniform at the printing works, but I imagine that this one is strange all the same. I am not clear what I am protecting, but I wear a helmet and matching flak jacket, along with combat trousers and thick black boots. For some reason or other the arms of the undershirts provided are a little baggy, creating a somewhat surreal appearance to the guards. We look as if we have been tortured in an old style English chamber, our limbs stretched until we handed over whatever information was required of us. The flak jackets are bulletproof, and the pockets hold fresh magazines. For the rifle, that is. My trusty rifle. I have named it Anna, after my fiancé. It is so much like her – a thing of beauty. Lovingly crafted, perfect in every way. My hands caress its curves, exploring the many grooves and indentations. I have not had to use my rifle as yet, but was still but through a full day of training. I suspect that it will not be in vain; the faces of some of the guards are scarred with expressions not afforded to innocent souls.
In a small gesture to try and keep boredom at bay, every week we are assigned to a new patrol route. It makes no difference. The sights are the same. A small hut. Filing cabinets inside the four walls, barely visible through the frosty glass of the window. And snow. So much snow. The feel of Anna, and thoughts of back home keep me warm.
Being outside for so long your senses heighten. There is an entrance to a building at the end of my current post. I used to be inside, covering a few staircases with two others. I can just about make out another block across from where I am now, with more buildings. Sometimes I see more guards. I wonder if they look across and see a small speck walking around the huts.
I don’t know what the building contains. No normal dam requires this insane amount of security. Is it drugs? Is it a government project? Arms? It is not my place to ask. My job is to stay quiet, and keep intruders out. To use Anna. I have patrolled the staircase, but not what they lead to. Through small slits in the door I see more guards, pipes bellowing out smoke. I think there’s a door at the end, but I can’t be sure. They all carry guns.
It gets lonely out here. Some of the other guards, their faces are so frosty they make me shudder in a way the millions of snowflakes falling on my skin fail to do. Even guarding the staircases with the others, we barely talked. A few grunts of acknowledgement in the morning, a nod when passing during patrol, but no more. We wear no nametags. I don’t know their names, and they don’t know mine. I’m not entirely sure of my feelings towards the atmosphere: sometimes I revel in the anonymity. I conjure up a past full of exotic action, fast cars, faster women. I am Russia’s James Bond, I am a secret agent. Other times I long for someone to talk to. Someone to boast to, someone to show my pictures from my wallet. The others are very young, usually in their early twenties. Are there people across from here my age? Do they too have a family at home? I don’t know. We keep our heads down outside. It’s all we can do. Watching our own footprints grow deeper and deeper with each circuit, and paler and paler with each new torrent of snow. They say each snowflake is different. Ever single one. Of all the trillions that have fallen, no two have been alike. All those tiny particles making up this one intricate snowflake. Beautiful, unique. Sometimes I wish I could just stand here and watch the snowflakes, but the cameras watch us. Not just looking out for intruders, no…making sure we don’t step out of line. I heard snoring yesterday. Then I heard a muffled groan. I don’t expect the team patrolling out here is the same as it was just a day ago.
I think I could go insane here. It has not yet been a month. I cannot imagine how long this project has been going on, how long it will continue, but I know that no guard stays on for more than three months. We see no evil, hear no evil and so we are dispensable. Sometimes I wonder why they give us bulletproof jackets. It’s no wonder though, why the roster is constantly changing. Keep a man on a remote island long enough, doing nothing but walking around and around, and he will not be reliable for long. Some don’t last a week. Others go through the months, take the money and run. I’m still not sure which I’ll do.
My shift’ll be over in a few hours. Take the short walk up to the sleeping quarters I suppose. Look at my photographs. Think warm thoughts.
I want to go home.
========= ========= =========
Gaming based, but I thought it didn't have that much to do with gaming so I stuck it in here. Thoughts are appreciated.
Thanks for reading.
-El
I took this job out of necessity. The printing works where I had worked since I left school recently went bankrupt. With such a young son, and a loved one to look after and provide for, I had no other option but to get a new job, fast. When browsing through the local newspaper I came across an advertisement for young, fit able bodied men with a sense of adventure. Little did I know that after a quick interview and physicial I would be shipped off to a remote dam in the middle of nowhere trudging through six inches of snow. I did not know that it would mean leaving Anna and Ivan for three months. However, when I return hopefully we will have enough money to have the ceremony Anna has always wanted.
I never had a uniform at the printing works, but I imagine that this one is strange all the same. I am not clear what I am protecting, but I wear a helmet and matching flak jacket, along with combat trousers and thick black boots. For some reason or other the arms of the undershirts provided are a little baggy, creating a somewhat surreal appearance to the guards. We look as if we have been tortured in an old style English chamber, our limbs stretched until we handed over whatever information was required of us. The flak jackets are bulletproof, and the pockets hold fresh magazines. For the rifle, that is. My trusty rifle. I have named it Anna, after my fiancé. It is so much like her – a thing of beauty. Lovingly crafted, perfect in every way. My hands caress its curves, exploring the many grooves and indentations. I have not had to use my rifle as yet, but was still but through a full day of training. I suspect that it will not be in vain; the faces of some of the guards are scarred with expressions not afforded to innocent souls.
In a small gesture to try and keep boredom at bay, every week we are assigned to a new patrol route. It makes no difference. The sights are the same. A small hut. Filing cabinets inside the four walls, barely visible through the frosty glass of the window. And snow. So much snow. The feel of Anna, and thoughts of back home keep me warm.
Being outside for so long your senses heighten. There is an entrance to a building at the end of my current post. I used to be inside, covering a few staircases with two others. I can just about make out another block across from where I am now, with more buildings. Sometimes I see more guards. I wonder if they look across and see a small speck walking around the huts.
I don’t know what the building contains. No normal dam requires this insane amount of security. Is it drugs? Is it a government project? Arms? It is not my place to ask. My job is to stay quiet, and keep intruders out. To use Anna. I have patrolled the staircase, but not what they lead to. Through small slits in the door I see more guards, pipes bellowing out smoke. I think there’s a door at the end, but I can’t be sure. They all carry guns.
It gets lonely out here. Some of the other guards, their faces are so frosty they make me shudder in a way the millions of snowflakes falling on my skin fail to do. Even guarding the staircases with the others, we barely talked. A few grunts of acknowledgement in the morning, a nod when passing during patrol, but no more. We wear no nametags. I don’t know their names, and they don’t know mine. I’m not entirely sure of my feelings towards the atmosphere: sometimes I revel in the anonymity. I conjure up a past full of exotic action, fast cars, faster women. I am Russia’s James Bond, I am a secret agent. Other times I long for someone to talk to. Someone to boast to, someone to show my pictures from my wallet. The others are very young, usually in their early twenties. Are there people across from here my age? Do they too have a family at home? I don’t know. We keep our heads down outside. It’s all we can do. Watching our own footprints grow deeper and deeper with each circuit, and paler and paler with each new torrent of snow. They say each snowflake is different. Ever single one. Of all the trillions that have fallen, no two have been alike. All those tiny particles making up this one intricate snowflake. Beautiful, unique. Sometimes I wish I could just stand here and watch the snowflakes, but the cameras watch us. Not just looking out for intruders, no…making sure we don’t step out of line. I heard snoring yesterday. Then I heard a muffled groan. I don’t expect the team patrolling out here is the same as it was just a day ago.
I think I could go insane here. It has not yet been a month. I cannot imagine how long this project has been going on, how long it will continue, but I know that no guard stays on for more than three months. We see no evil, hear no evil and so we are dispensable. Sometimes I wonder why they give us bulletproof jackets. It’s no wonder though, why the roster is constantly changing. Keep a man on a remote island long enough, doing nothing but walking around and around, and he will not be reliable for long. Some don’t last a week. Others go through the months, take the money and run. I’m still not sure which I’ll do.
My shift’ll be over in a few hours. Take the short walk up to the sleeping quarters I suppose. Look at my photographs. Think warm thoughts.
I want to go home.
========= ========= =========
Gaming based, but I thought it didn't have that much to do with gaming so I stuck it in here. Thoughts are appreciated.
Thanks for reading.
-El
Bloody brilliant.
I was expecting something like "Oh no! Intruder! EEEeerurrrrrrghhhhh", but it was actually a really thought provoking read.
I was expecting something like "Oh no! Intruder! EEEeerurrrrrrghhhhh", but it was actually a really thought provoking read.
Whitestripes wrote:
> bit poofy for a russain guard
:-\
I'm glad, cook.
> bit poofy for a russain guard
:-\
I'm glad, cook.
bit poofy for a russain guard
I enjoyed it.
My name is Nikolai Alexandrov Popovich. I am 32 years of age and come from St Petersburg, Russia. I am engaged to be married with the love of my life, Anna, and we have a two year old boy named Ivan. I work here at the base. I do not know who owns this plant, I know only the name of my immediate superior, Mr Barolov. I do not ask questions.
I took this job out of necessity. The printing works where I had worked since I left school recently went bankrupt. With such a young son, and a loved one to look after and provide for, I had no other option but to get a new job, fast. When browsing through the local newspaper I came across an advertisement for young, fit able bodied men with a sense of adventure. Little did I know that after a quick interview and physicial I would be shipped off to a remote dam in the middle of nowhere trudging through six inches of snow. I did not know that it would mean leaving Anna and Ivan for three months. However, when I return hopefully we will have enough money to have the ceremony Anna has always wanted.
I never had a uniform at the printing works, but I imagine that this one is strange all the same. I am not clear what I am protecting, but I wear a helmet and matching flak jacket, along with combat trousers and thick black boots. For some reason or other the arms of the undershirts provided are a little baggy, creating a somewhat surreal appearance to the guards. We look as if we have been tortured in an old style English chamber, our limbs stretched until we handed over whatever information was required of us. The flak jackets are bulletproof, and the pockets hold fresh magazines. For the rifle, that is. My trusty rifle. I have named it Anna, after my fiancé. It is so much like her – a thing of beauty. Lovingly crafted, perfect in every way. My hands caress its curves, exploring the many grooves and indentations. I have not had to use my rifle as yet, but was still but through a full day of training. I suspect that it will not be in vain; the faces of some of the guards are scarred with expressions not afforded to innocent souls.
In a small gesture to try and keep boredom at bay, every week we are assigned to a new patrol route. It makes no difference. The sights are the same. A small hut. Filing cabinets inside the four walls, barely visible through the frosty glass of the window. And snow. So much snow. The feel of Anna, and thoughts of back home keep me warm.
Being outside for so long your senses heighten. There is an entrance to a building at the end of my current post. I used to be inside, covering a few staircases with two others. I can just about make out another block across from where I am now, with more buildings. Sometimes I see more guards. I wonder if they look across and see a small speck walking around the huts.
I don’t know what the building contains. No normal dam requires this insane amount of security. Is it drugs? Is it a government project? Arms? It is not my place to ask. My job is to stay quiet, and keep intruders out. To use Anna. I have patrolled the staircase, but not what they lead to. Through small slits in the door I see more guards, pipes bellowing out smoke. I think there’s a door at the end, but I can’t be sure. They all carry guns.
It gets lonely out here. Some of the other guards, their faces are so frosty they make me shudder in a way the millions of snowflakes falling on my skin fail to do. Even guarding the staircases with the others, we barely talked. A few grunts of acknowledgement in the morning, a nod when passing during patrol, but no more. We wear no nametags. I don’t know their names, and they don’t know mine. I’m not entirely sure of my feelings towards the atmosphere: sometimes I revel in the anonymity. I conjure up a past full of exotic action, fast cars, faster women. I am Russia’s James Bond, I am a secret agent. Other times I long for someone to talk to. Someone to boast to, someone to show my pictures from my wallet. The others are very young, usually in their early twenties. Are there people across from here my age? Do they too have a family at home? I don’t know. We keep our heads down outside. It’s all we can do. Watching our own footprints grow deeper and deeper with each circuit, and paler and paler with each new torrent of snow. They say each snowflake is different. Ever single one. Of all the trillions that have fallen, no two have been alike. All those tiny particles making up this one intricate snowflake. Beautiful, unique. Sometimes I wish I could just stand here and watch the snowflakes, but the cameras watch us. Not just looking out for intruders, no…making sure we don’t step out of line. I heard snoring yesterday. Then I heard a muffled groan. I don’t expect the team patrolling out here is the same as it was just a day ago.
I think I could go insane here. It has not yet been a month. I cannot imagine how long this project has been going on, how long it will continue, but I know that no guard stays on for more than three months. We see no evil, hear no evil and so we are dispensable. Sometimes I wonder why they give us bulletproof jackets. It’s no wonder though, why the roster is constantly changing. Keep a man on a remote island long enough, doing nothing but walking around and around, and he will not be reliable for long. Some don’t last a week. Others go through the months, take the money and run. I’m still not sure which I’ll do.
My shift’ll be over in a few hours. Take the short walk up to the sleeping quarters I suppose. Look at my photographs. Think warm thoughts.
I want to go home.
========= ========= =========
Gaming based, but I thought it didn't have that much to do with gaming so I stuck it in here. Thoughts are appreciated.
Thanks for reading.
-El
I took this job out of necessity. The printing works where I had worked since I left school recently went bankrupt. With such a young son, and a loved one to look after and provide for, I had no other option but to get a new job, fast. When browsing through the local newspaper I came across an advertisement for young, fit able bodied men with a sense of adventure. Little did I know that after a quick interview and physicial I would be shipped off to a remote dam in the middle of nowhere trudging through six inches of snow. I did not know that it would mean leaving Anna and Ivan for three months. However, when I return hopefully we will have enough money to have the ceremony Anna has always wanted.
I never had a uniform at the printing works, but I imagine that this one is strange all the same. I am not clear what I am protecting, but I wear a helmet and matching flak jacket, along with combat trousers and thick black boots. For some reason or other the arms of the undershirts provided are a little baggy, creating a somewhat surreal appearance to the guards. We look as if we have been tortured in an old style English chamber, our limbs stretched until we handed over whatever information was required of us. The flak jackets are bulletproof, and the pockets hold fresh magazines. For the rifle, that is. My trusty rifle. I have named it Anna, after my fiancé. It is so much like her – a thing of beauty. Lovingly crafted, perfect in every way. My hands caress its curves, exploring the many grooves and indentations. I have not had to use my rifle as yet, but was still but through a full day of training. I suspect that it will not be in vain; the faces of some of the guards are scarred with expressions not afforded to innocent souls.
In a small gesture to try and keep boredom at bay, every week we are assigned to a new patrol route. It makes no difference. The sights are the same. A small hut. Filing cabinets inside the four walls, barely visible through the frosty glass of the window. And snow. So much snow. The feel of Anna, and thoughts of back home keep me warm.
Being outside for so long your senses heighten. There is an entrance to a building at the end of my current post. I used to be inside, covering a few staircases with two others. I can just about make out another block across from where I am now, with more buildings. Sometimes I see more guards. I wonder if they look across and see a small speck walking around the huts.
I don’t know what the building contains. No normal dam requires this insane amount of security. Is it drugs? Is it a government project? Arms? It is not my place to ask. My job is to stay quiet, and keep intruders out. To use Anna. I have patrolled the staircase, but not what they lead to. Through small slits in the door I see more guards, pipes bellowing out smoke. I think there’s a door at the end, but I can’t be sure. They all carry guns.
It gets lonely out here. Some of the other guards, their faces are so frosty they make me shudder in a way the millions of snowflakes falling on my skin fail to do. Even guarding the staircases with the others, we barely talked. A few grunts of acknowledgement in the morning, a nod when passing during patrol, but no more. We wear no nametags. I don’t know their names, and they don’t know mine. I’m not entirely sure of my feelings towards the atmosphere: sometimes I revel in the anonymity. I conjure up a past full of exotic action, fast cars, faster women. I am Russia’s James Bond, I am a secret agent. Other times I long for someone to talk to. Someone to boast to, someone to show my pictures from my wallet. The others are very young, usually in their early twenties. Are there people across from here my age? Do they too have a family at home? I don’t know. We keep our heads down outside. It’s all we can do. Watching our own footprints grow deeper and deeper with each circuit, and paler and paler with each new torrent of snow. They say each snowflake is different. Ever single one. Of all the trillions that have fallen, no two have been alike. All those tiny particles making up this one intricate snowflake. Beautiful, unique. Sometimes I wish I could just stand here and watch the snowflakes, but the cameras watch us. Not just looking out for intruders, no…making sure we don’t step out of line. I heard snoring yesterday. Then I heard a muffled groan. I don’t expect the team patrolling out here is the same as it was just a day ago.
I think I could go insane here. It has not yet been a month. I cannot imagine how long this project has been going on, how long it will continue, but I know that no guard stays on for more than three months. We see no evil, hear no evil and so we are dispensable. Sometimes I wonder why they give us bulletproof jackets. It’s no wonder though, why the roster is constantly changing. Keep a man on a remote island long enough, doing nothing but walking around and around, and he will not be reliable for long. Some don’t last a week. Others go through the months, take the money and run. I’m still not sure which I’ll do.
My shift’ll be over in a few hours. Take the short walk up to the sleeping quarters I suppose. Look at my photographs. Think warm thoughts.
I want to go home.
========= ========= =========
Gaming based, but I thought it didn't have that much to do with gaming so I stuck it in here. Thoughts are appreciated.
Thanks for reading.
-El