A little Metro 2033 short story I wrote
Hi guys! I just wrote a little short story (not actually that short) based in the Metro 2033 universe, and I wanted to get some opinions on it. Sorry in advance that its so long. I got a little carried away writing it. I didn't want to write a story that was just naming station after station and lip serviced the game, I wanted to write something that had emotion and feel to it. Hopefully I achieved that.
Flash
His ears rung with the sound of explosions, and the familiar scent of Metro made gunpowder stung his nose. Vlesvolod desperately plugged up his ears with his glove finger tips and tried to stretch his remaining fingers around to cover his eyes. He daren't open them, but he knew what was going on. Explosions were rocking his cradle, tilting him to the brink, then allowing him to fall back to its centre of gravity before repeating the process.
He began to cry. Not for fear of his life, no, life was a feeble thing to hold onto in these dark times. He cried not out of pain, the pain of the scorching heat of the explosives, nor the terrible fumes that penetrated his lungs and chest, nor the pain of the white hot shrapnel that was flying through his canvas tents roof. He cried not for his smaller sister who had left the tent hours ago. He cried for his necklace. The necklace his mother had given him before being so brutally wrenched out of his hands those years ago. The necklace that had the potential to be his soul trace of his family if this raid continued like this. It was sitting where he always left it before retiring to bed. On the little matt beside the makeshift desk on the other side of the tent. The little faded leather matt, spotted with years of stale air and mould, marred with imperfection and improper care, yet so perfect in his eyes. The little greenstone necklace outline on its tanned surface, caused by years of placing it in the same spot, hiding the leather beneath from the paraffin lamps that lit up the station.
The more Vlesvolod cried, the more he thought about his necklace, the more he wanted to know it was safe. Slowly, amidst the hail of gunfire, indistinguishable shouting and explosions that rocked the station, he flexed and rotated till he was on his left side. Carefully peeling his now sticky gloves away from his eyes, he opened and surveyed the scene.
The tent was now gone. The frame was still in place, but the canvas had folded, burnt and blown away from the explosions and the shrapnel. The desk that he had spent so many evenings at was in splinters, all his writings over the years lay scattered in tatters across the station floor. His matt and necklace were nowhere to be seen. He strained and glanced, pulling his head out from the safety of his cradle in desperation, sweat rapidly beginning to collect on his brow. One of the draws of the desk had upturned over the spot where the matt had been previously.
Leaping out of his cradle and sending it into a violent rock, Vlsevolod scrambled over to the desk side and pulled away the drawer. A wave of relief soared through him. The necklace was still there. He picked it up and placed it carefully over his head. Just as he did so, a dull pain echoed through the side of his head, and everything began to blacken before him. The last thing he saw before passing out was the station clock of Kurskaya, with the minute hand striking midnight.
Whenever Vlesvolod slept deeply, his mind casts back to that fateful night. The night they shut the Metro shut. The night of the red and iron sky. His entire family running across the streets of Moscow, mothers, fathers, businessmen, mechanics, rich, poor. United all not to the same cause, but for the same motive. Preservation of their own lives. People streamed into Aviamotornaya, warning sirens blaring, russian being shouted in all directions, his hands holding his mother in front and his sister behind. All of a sudden, his mother was on the ground. It took a moment for this to register amongst all the pushing and shoving, and when he finally looked down, he realised he was standing on people. People unfortunate enough to have fallen. The crowd began to thin. Aviamotornaya was a relatively large station, but the majority of the surrounding citizens had fled to Kurskaya, knowing it was a deeper station. His sister and father were nowhere to be seen, only his mother lay crumpled and broken on the ground amidst the bodies. The din of the siren continued, but the raucous noise of the crowd had passed. His mother slowly faded, but had enough energy to lift her hand, holding the necklace, and placed it shaking into Vlesvolod's hand. She uttered 'Bezhat…'.
Vlesvolod's eyes stung with dirt and tears, as she passed. He refused to let go of her hand, crouched there on his knees. He lifted his head, and let out a cry. Doing so, one of the final citizens who was pelting towards the station had swung towards him, catching his upturned neck with the crook of his elbow. Vlesvolod fought with the reckless abandon of a child having lost his mother, but the man was strong, and carried him forward, brutally severing the connection with the corpse that had lain before him. Her face staring lifelessly into his eyes, before...
A sharp pain stabbed him above his kidneys. He was awake, lying face down on a cart of some kind. The foul stench of decay and rot assailed his nostrils. He tried to lift himself, but found he was unable. Trussed up, lying face down on a cart, going to god only knew where. When he tried to spin onto his side, a boot came down slowly but forcefully on the side of his face, pinning his head to the ground. He tried to squeal, but no sound came out. The boot stank of human faeces and urine.
'Don't move you little pig.' Came a voice. Unusually high pitched considering how heavy the boot felt.
Vlesvolod complied. He felt weak, and suddenly vomited all over the side of the cart, which sent the bodies beside him squirming and moving away from the awful liquid.The man who's boot was previously on his head recoiled, and landed again on his should, righting him to face up. A tall man with a moustache and a black overalls stood over him with a rifle. Then it hit him.
On the side of the mans sleeve, a red piece of cloth had been sewn on, with a white circle, and within that, a 3 pronged black asterisk. The Reich. Vlesvolod was a prisoner of the fourth Reich. The end was near. The man bellowed in his face:
'WIPE THIS SH*T OFF MY BOOT RIGHT NOW SCUM'.
Vlesvolod tried, he squirmed at all possible angles to try and wipe the muck off the officers boot. To no avail. He stopped as the man began to talk firmly:
'You have until the count of three'
His eyes welled up with tears again, fighting his restraints, he tried vehemently to fling his coat tails, sleeves, anything he could, in the direction of the shoe which was situated to his left.
'2'
Where was the one? Vlesvolod starting whipping his body up and down to get closer to the mans shoe, landing in and out of his vomit several times in the process. His own throw up congealed in his hair, and he felt it cold touching the back of his neck. His necklace.
'3'
Where was his necklace. He couldn't turn his neck down far enough to see where it should be at this angle. His whipping and thrashing became even more violent, kicking several prisoners and lashing out at the officers other leg, which sent him reeling. Where was it. He couldn't see it. With one last flail, he landed on his right side, and the thud of the greenstone just below his chin sent yet another undeserved wave of relief through him. The officer had stood up again, and was raising the butt of his gun above the young mans head. Vlesvolod stared contently at the soothing greenstone, before yet again, blackness, as the officer brought his rifle butt down hard on his head.
Vlesvolod was back in the crook of the man's elbow. Being carried away from his mothers body, a burning pain sept through his body from his throat, and he tried to cough but couldn't. Craning his neck as hard as he could, he saw the iron sky. Red flames high in the sky, distant. They looked like stars, or comets, or maybe even small suns. They were beautiful. There were so many, tens, no, hundreds of these red little fireballs that began to descend on his city. He twisted his neck to the left and saw one particularly close to the ground, looking much faster than the rest. Before it vanished behind the corner of a house, he was inside the Metro. He heard shouting, and the clang of a metal door being shut and bolted, and the flustered cries of men and banging of metal on metal. Then he was being bounced up and down, but descending. The man must've been running down the escalator. Noise started up again, and he realised the people had gathered in the metro station. He heard the cries of his father and sister, who had obviously been waiting for him at the bottom. The man slowly pulled Vlesvolod out from the crook of his arm and chest and placed him on the ground to the warm hugs of his father.
An earthquake rocked the station, and sent the boy reeling onto the floor. People tried to pick themselves up, but would always fall. Shortly afterwards, a noise like no other pounded his ears. Vlesvolod didn't notice either, he was in his own little world looking at the necklace his mother gave to him…
Cold. Intense cold. Vlesvolod lifted his head. His hair had matted to his forehead, and when he tried to open his left eye, all he saw was red. Out of his right eye, he saw the steam of his breath, and utter darkness except for up. Above him was lit by a million lines of whiteness. What was it? It vanished. A loud clap followed, and he felt it echo through the ground beneath him. He looked down and saw what appeared to be skeletons. He was tied up crouched on his knees, amidst a collection of bleached and disintegrating skeletons. The area lit up again. Looking up again, he saw the entrance to Aviamotornaya metro station. Clap. Bang.
He was outside. He was where his mother died. The square lit up, and he saw hundreds of skeletons, maybe even thousands. A loud clap. Then another loud bang. A bang? What was that noise. He looked up, but saw nothing. Then the square lit up again. Ten or so meters away were a line of cloaked figures like ghosts. Their faces shrouded by masks, hoods, and other garments fashioned in the metro. All with rifles. Darkness. Clap. What was going on? Why was he outside? Another bang. He recognised it this time. A gunshot. He spun his head to his left, to where his left eye should have been seeing. A women, tied up in a similar fashion to him. She had all given up hope. She looked like his mother, beautiful blonde flowing hair, now dirty with the metro dust.
Light again, this time for longer. The tendrils of whiteness above him seeped aimlessly through the sky. The men in front of him zeroed on him. Darkness, clap, then another bang. He felt warm liquid splash the left side of his face. He heard a slump beside him, and looked over to see the woman lying surrounded by skeletons.
He jerked his head back forwards. Wait, where was his necklace? He looked down, angling his head as much as he could to try and see. It was too dark. Light lit up the square again, for the last time. Looking up to try and see if his necklace had fallen among the skeletons, he scanned as fast as he could. As he did so, his eye caught a glint of something green reflecting from the flash. Hanging off the grip of one of the mens rifles, was a small green rectangle on some rope. Darkness. Clap. What was that green thing he saw, he wondered to himself, before trying to look for his necklace again.
![[Image: tumblr_meuosnsjDw1s01xwto1_500.gif]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/343011dec132d624c4260cb0c2b473c4/tumblr_meuosnsjDw1s01xwto1_500.gif) |
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A little Metro 2033 short story I wrote
