Basically, Ukraine/Belarus, Chernobyl. This turned out to not really be a pairing, but I hope you like it all the same~
There was a cough, followed by a small sniff. No words, for there was no need; why would there be? There was nothing she could realistically say. She could say that most of the contamination was over Belarus. That would make Natalia feel worse.
She could say how much it hurt, how much pain and suffering she was going to feel over the next torturous months as death tolls appeared. That would make them all feel worse.
She could tell it was going to leave a scar. An ugly glowing red one on her shoulder, in the shape of guilt, death and silence. And Ivan would just put a bandage on it, tell her it was alright now when it wasn't. How could it be? No one could go near the site for years, let alone live there. How many would be affected in total? No one would know, because her brother would put one finger to his lips, and the other to hers. Sealed.
Under this red banner, we are cursed with the dread of silence.
It had never been clear to Yeketrina whether her brother fully supported communism or not, whether he'd been forced, but the silence was killing them all. She could feel the Baltics' unrest up north, the occasional excited murmur of uprising, of revolution. This would have an effect too, as it drew the world's attention to them, two sisters under a terrible government, opposed, abused, battered. But she couldn't dwell on the political consequences, not now, with Natalia next to her, wide eyed and in shock. Hand in hand, they walked the ruins, radiation falling through them, not directly affecting their bodies. They could feel it settling on the land, on their bones, a rash never to disappear. Soon there would be a 'shelter' here - all her people were already calling it the sarcophagus. The death of Unit 4. The funeral; just so the others could keep running, so that there could still be electricity.
Part 7: No Words
anonymous
April 17 2010, 23:13:59 UTC
It hadn't even been Ivan who had called first - it had been Berwald, offering support and advice as far as he politically could, and in his own, monosyllable way. It had given her a little comfort, but nothing for Natalia; she wanted her brother to come, to wrap his arms around her, not her sister's. But Ivan wasn't here, couldn't be here - swamped with questions, accusations and statistics. He wouldn't provide any kind of sympathy anyway. Maybe years in the future, during a lazy afternoon when he thought she was asleep, he would murmur an apology, before turning away and ignoring it again.
Natalia coughed again, attempting to hide it but failing because dust and radiation made her throat dry. There was no 'Are you alright' from Yeketrina either; she clearly wasn't. Placing a hand on the Belarussian's back, trying to sooth the hurt, she wondered how long this would all affect her. Would she, in years to come, wake up after a nightmare of being here? Would she be unable to lift this arm higher then her shoulder, overcome by pain?
Neither really needed confirming. It's all so pointless trying to deny what repercussions this will have. The shockwave has already been sent upon her, for sins she doesn't know. Neglect? Now the aftershocks will bring the buildings down, and maybe the wall? It has certainly sent an aftershock though the world of nuclear energy. Will it be safe - what if it happens again. Nothing was ever safe anyway.
It's a Level 7 disaster, Ivan says. Level 7. She knows what it means but is it supposed to classify how betrayed she feels? Is it supposed to be sympathetic? Really, it had all been Ivan's idea. Modernizing, making sure that Russia was on par with America. She knew it wouldn't work, but sitting there, shivering in the cold, she had no reasons to object, nor disagree. Intuition told her it was wrong, but she knew that Ivan would not understand.
Besides her, Natalia turns. With wide eyes, words tumble haphazardly from her lips, threatening to break and crumble as they fall - fall into a cold harsh world where nothing is right. "Will... Will brother come?" And Natalia looks so small and insecure in that one moment Yeketrina can only lean over and put her arms around her sister's frozen body. It can barely be called a hug, more a contact between siblings, enough to provide a marginal amount of comfort but not too much to break them or crush them. But still there are no words. The truth hurts, and it isn't what she wants. Yeketrina nods, stroking long silvery strands and observing the damage. No. Never. It is you and I only, sister.
Basically, Ukraine/Belarus, Chernobyl. This turned out to not really be a pairing, but I hope you like it all the same~
There was a cough, followed by a small sniff. No words, for there was no need; why would there be? There was nothing she could realistically say.
She could say that most of the contamination was over Belarus.
That would make Natalia feel worse.
She could say how much it hurt, how much pain and suffering she was going to feel over the next torturous months as death tolls appeared.
That would make them all feel worse.
She could tell it was going to leave a scar. An ugly glowing red one on her shoulder, in the shape of guilt, death and silence. And Ivan would just put a bandage on it, tell her it was alright now when it wasn't.
How could it be?
No one could go near the site for years, let alone live there. How many would be affected in total? No one would know, because her brother would put one finger to his lips, and the other to hers. Sealed.
Under this red banner, we are cursed with the dread of silence.
It had never been clear to Yeketrina whether her brother fully supported communism or not, whether he'd been forced, but the silence was killing them all. She could feel the Baltics' unrest up north, the occasional excited murmur of uprising, of revolution. This would have an effect too, as it drew the world's attention to them, two sisters under a terrible government, opposed, abused, battered. But she couldn't dwell on the political consequences, not now, with Natalia next to her, wide eyed and in shock. Hand in hand, they walked the ruins, radiation falling through them, not directly affecting their bodies. They could feel it settling on the land, on their bones, a rash never to disappear.
Soon there would be a 'shelter' here - all her people were already calling it the sarcophagus. The death of Unit 4. The funeral; just so the others could keep running, so that there could still be electricity.
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Natalia coughed again, attempting to hide it but failing because dust and radiation made her throat dry. There was no 'Are you alright' from Yeketrina either; she clearly wasn't. Placing a hand on the Belarussian's back, trying to sooth the hurt, she wondered how long this would all affect her. Would she, in years to come, wake up after a nightmare of being here? Would she be unable to lift this arm higher then her shoulder, overcome by pain?
Neither really needed confirming. It's all so pointless trying to deny what repercussions this will have. The shockwave has already been sent upon her, for sins she doesn't know. Neglect? Now the aftershocks will bring the buildings down, and maybe the wall? It has certainly sent an aftershock though the world of nuclear energy. Will it be safe - what if it happens again.
Nothing was ever safe anyway.
It's a Level 7 disaster, Ivan says. Level 7. She knows what it means but is it supposed to classify how betrayed she feels? Is it supposed to be sympathetic? Really, it had all been Ivan's idea. Modernizing, making sure that Russia was on par with America. She knew it wouldn't work, but sitting there, shivering in the cold, she had no reasons to object, nor disagree. Intuition told her it was wrong, but she knew that Ivan would not understand.
Besides her, Natalia turns. With wide eyes, words tumble haphazardly from her lips, threatening to break and crumble as they fall - fall into a cold harsh world where nothing is right.
"Will... Will brother come?" And Natalia looks so small and insecure in that one moment Yeketrina can only lean over and put her arms around her sister's frozen body. It can barely be called a hug, more a contact between siblings, enough to provide a marginal amount of comfort but not too much to break them or crush them.
But still there are no words. The truth hurts, and it isn't what she wants. Yeketrina nods, stroking long silvery strands and observing the damage.
No. Never. It is you and I only, sister.
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