Oh, nice. We're screwed up.
With my cry, the youngest woke up. She took her head out... and her neck had a huge ball. Then I screamed again.
I touched the rest of my body. Nothing. I touched Aleksei's ... his little finger was inflated.
The van arrived. They will take us back to the center.
"Name? Krissnaya Stefanievna Grachiyova. Age? 17 years old. Where is your brother? Here." – I say. I think I stated that I hate it. I took one last look back and saw
a crazy construction. I asked the car keeper and he said they were ventilation towers at the Chernobyl plant. They looked unfinished. He said that none was finished. How? I could only see one.
No. There were two. One was started long before the explosion. The other had been started shortly before the explosion, which you couldn't see unless you came closer.
Pripyat was evacuated after that and no one ever came back to live here, at least in houses. We live in underground security posts.
I can't stay with my brother in a dark place. Although he's 17 years old also, he has the mind of a 7 year old boy. He made spiders with his hands and passed through my body.
Ah, amen, we got to the center. But I don't want to go to the medical ward.
One day I'll be free, one day I will get rid of them.
How ironic. They always dragged me everywhere. Leaving the ward, I'm going to sleep.
Damn, they made me sleep in the ward. I do not doubt when I go through the exit door of Level 12 will ask for identification.
I have my usual uniform, blue pants and white tank top. I don't usually wear the jacket because it doesn't look good on me. I almost always have my hair down.
I can't find my brother anywhere. He might be messing with me.
I ate breakfast and guess who appears with a scared face. Aleksei. "Krisha, we need to get out of here. They want to take my arm." - This time I think he said something serious. Even if his arm was deformed, it worked and he liked the arm. So I don't think it's fair. And they reversed the swollen pinky finger he had last trip.
I saw Miss Gonochova crying ... I think something happened ...
"Lavinia... she died... of cancer..." - she couldn't speak properly. Lavinia was only six years old, and was the daughter she could never have.
"When, Miss Gonochova?" - Aleksei was very concerned. "About ten minutes ago." – she answered.
Wait, how long did I sleep? One day? Two? A few hours? Well, I don't know, but that giant ball in Lavinia's neck was the so mentioned thyroid cancer. Now I got it... that night we had different levels of radiation absorption... I was the most resistant. Lavinia was the weakest.
I got a bit shaken. Aleksei too. We went up to level 12. Identification.
"Name? Alekzander Stefanovich Grachiyova. Krissnaya Stefanievna Grachiyova. Age? 17." – we say. Argh...
There, something caught our attention. An elevator.
Someone was screaming inside. When it opened, it was a woman. Pregnant. It is the first time in seventeen years I've seen something like this around here. She was placed in a room surrounded by glass windows. Miss Gonochova gathered all her students and took them to a location with a great view. For the first time I really got interested in something. I heard her explain that it was the miracle of life, but at the same time I saw with my own eyes.
That one little word changed my life. "Labor". Although the initial idea this was a little bit complicated, I thought it could be my life.
One of the doctors came and spoke through a door that would take a long time, but that he would let us know when it was time to be born.
One of the paintings we have in the classroom came to mind. A woman holding and watching a baby. The painter, Vivirev Kolouchi, added a detail that marked my way of thinking. The child was still dirty, and the mother was sweaty. Wait ... I became critical of art?
But it was something that somehow amazed me. The child had just been born.
He portrayed the details so well that I consider him a Da Vinci or maybe Van Gogh. The other paintings by Vivirev came to mind.
The one that depicted a beach, which one day I hope to go to. A naked woman wearing a necklace, lying on a couch.
Miss Gonochova says that I was the one who inspired the wonderful picture of Kolouchi, of so similar I am to the figure.
Vivirev Kolouchi... an Arsian genius. Although in Modern Arsia, where painting is mostly digital, Vivirev uses canvas and ink. In Arsia, we value culture and many Arsians know more than one language.
Or play more than a single instrument.
Many are geniuses of cooking. Many Arsians also love circus and classical music. Others are fond of art.