Chapter 1

Dmitri Sutton always enjoyed the sun. It came out every day to shine light on the world, wasting away to provide the Earth with power and energy to survive. It was always there, sometimes covered by clouds, yet always gleaming brightly in the sky. 

The Sun was a philocalist; everything was simply more magnificent under its light. It was always out in all its heavenly glory when good things happened, whether it be rainbows or growing flora. 

The Sun was out today, when Dmitri was coming out of school, running to his bike, racing his friends. Youth and joy spread through the air, for they were unstoppable.  Laughter rang through the breeze, the crunch of ground beneath tires pathing its way into the mind. The kids biked in no order, a group of baby birds learning how to fly. They weaved in and out, bending, swaying, stumbling. One by one they dropped out to leave for the nest, their home. Vowing to see the others tomorrow. 

The laughter stayed behind him, carried away by the wind. The road was quieter now. The others had gone home, and Dmitri rode alone. His legs were tired, but he did not mind. It was a nice kind of tired, one filled with content for the activities done previously.

Soon the houses around him began to look a little shabbier, a quirk of living in the mining district. The noise of the street was gone, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the sound of his tires crunching over gravel was getting slower and creakier. The sun was still there, watching everything, resting low in the sky like it was ready to sleep too. Dmitri thought it was a good day. He wanted to keep it a little longer.

Getting home, Dmitri opened the door to the smell of blinchiki swirling around the home. His Mama heard the door unlock and called him into the kitchen. He dropped the weight of his bag to the floor and kicked off his shoes, sliding on the wooden floor as he ran towards the wonderful smell of food. Mama saw him run in and smiled, a sight as warm as the sun. 

“Eager for dinner, my little duckling?”

“Yes Mama.”

“Go and set the table then, duckling, your father will be home soon, and we want everything to be nice and presentable so he has a good time coming home, don’t we?”

Dmitri nodded and enthusiastically got the dinner table ready, for if Papa was proud, he may share stories at tea time. Getting the best dishes and silverware out, and finally placing the cups down at the table, Dmitri heard the door open. Papa came home, slightly ashy and sullen, like the Sun did not come out to greet him that morning. Without speaking, he tread to the basin, filling his hands with cold water and submerging his face in the makeshift well. Drying off with a grey towel, he grimly walks over to his wife and kisses her on the cheek, murmuring a comment that the food smelled good. Dmitri stood silently at watch near the table, ready to pull out a chair for his father. His Papa approached Dmitri and nodded in thanks for the chair, and so Dmitri was free to sit down across the table. Mama came in with the blinchiki piled up to her elbow, with sour cream in a bowl in the other hand. A jar of jam was already near Papa’s arm, but there was only enough for one person to have some, since jam was a rare commodity these days. 

As his parents prayed to God as a thank you for the meal bestowed upon them, Dmitri looked to the Sun, and thanked it for shining so brightly today. They all ate the food in silence, in respect to both God and the Sun, and then settled in the living room after washing up. Mama sat on the couch, knitting a scarf, for it was getting cooler in September. Papa was in the arm chair, newspaper sprawled on his legs, a solemn look on his face. Come to think of it, Dmitri could not remember a time where Papa did not have that solemn look, especially when reading the papers.  

“What are they saying now, Papa?” Dmitri inquired, wanting another story to weave itself out of his father's words. Perhaps if he was lucky, his father would tell him about the 'good old days', and a small smile would grace his face. What a funny thing, nostalgia is.

“War, my son. The president is warning us about war.”

“War? With who?”

“With those filthy harbingers of disease and dirt from the West” his father nearly spit.

“Do you want war to happen?”

Papa stayed silent. 

The rest of the night drew out that silence, with Mama knitting until the lights went out, as the country was under a strict curfew. Papa closed his newspaper and stood up to move to the bedroom. Dmitri wondering many things tonight, but before bed, his only wish was often just to see the sun tomorrow.

Before anyone moved any further, and before Dmitri could even picture the sun in his mind, a shrill sound filled the room, coming from the outside. The loud alarms blared, and the earth stood still.