Grigory S Manuscripts

August 1942: The Germans…the awful Germans bombed our city. The fire tore through the streets with a ferocity I had not yet witnessed in my thirty-five years of life. Even a German soldier has a soul and feels a sense of dread when he steals the life of a man he's never met…but the fire, it knows no nationality, no religion, no race. It simply devours anything and everything in it's path as if it's just cleansing us off of the face of the earth. My comrades and I climbed down in the sewers, sitting in piles of human waste as waited for the fire to destroy our city. Against men, we can fight and we can kill, but against fire…we can only hide.

After the fires subsided, the survivors climbed back to the surface. The stink that I encountered on the topside was even worse than the foul stench of the shit and trash that I experienced below. The smell of burnt flesh wafted from every corner of the city, out of the destroyed apartments and factories. I made my way to a bar that I had frequented several times before. The establishment that had so many times before, teemed with the laughter of friends and lovers, now sat quietly…recklessly abandoned by it's patrons. The alchohol had caused the place to burn rapaciously, basically hollowing it out. I dug around in the rubble of the bar and found a so-far unopened bottle of vodka. It's year was 1900, and I figured that it would be a shame to waste such a fine gift from God.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License.