Dec. 8th, 2007 05:35 pm
zabytsya: (Shadowed)
[personal profile] zabytsya
David realized he had come to rely on the kindness of strangers.

That was a quote, he thought, vaguely, but couldn’t place it now.

He lay in the stiff infirmary bed and tried not to look out the window.

Outside, the planet spun on its axis. Night turned to day, and day turned to night. Snow fell, and then dissolved on the ground. Time passed.

He wondered how to count the measure of the rest of his life. Would it be hours, before they came for him, or would it be days? Or would all of the questions that he imagined were being asked by those in charge simply fall by the wayside, and no one would worry much about one unfortunate amnesiac soldier.

Maybe. Maybe his thinnest of alibis would be enough to go overlooked. Maybe Lieutenant Rakitin’s continuing benevolence would be enough to deflect attention. Or maybe the woman that David under any other circumstances would treat as his enemy would make good on her promise to help him.

That was a lot of maybes.

David owned a car, back in America.

1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air convertible. Two-tone, Imperial Ivory, and Dusk Pearl.

The man he’d bought it from told him that only 500 were made in that color. David didn’t know if that was true or not, but he told his buddies that anyway when they gave him shit about it. Kowalski had sneered. “What, are you a sissy? Your fucking car is pink.”

It wasn’t pink, David had told him, patiently. It was Dusk Pearl. Then he had punched Kowalski in the shoulder, though not as hard as he could.

But hard enough.

He thought about the car now.

It was a strange thing to realize he missed, out of everything he could be missing out here in the middle of nowheregrad, Russia. His home, his parents, his friends, his brother. Baseball and television. A really good burger. Good Golly Miss Molly, Born too Late, It’s Just a Matter of Time, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. My Heart is an Open Book.

Sunday morning, driving with the top down, hair ruffled by the breeze, slate grey eyes shielded behind sunglasses. Leather jacket and white t-shirt and jeans. He’d stopped for gas, and a pretty redhead in a bright blue MG and catseye glasses had complimented his car. “What a beautiful color,” she’d said, then flashed a smile over her shoulder as she’d driven away.

Having sex in the back seat of that car had been the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.

His chest panged.

David closed his eyes, and sank back in the bed, but he felt restless.

Too much up in the air. Too many people to rely on, when he was used to relying only on himself. Not enough he could do to solve anything.

He opened his eyes again.

David had the feeling he had miles to go before he slept.

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Date: 2007-12-10 12:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Feeling any better today?

Date: 2007-12-10 04:29 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
...a little.


And yourself?

Date: 2007-12-11 05:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I would be lying if I tried to tell you all is well with the world. All nightmares are less frightening in broad daylight though.

Would you like me to open the curtains a bit?

December 2007

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