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Alexei
This said write me so I did.
This is part two, here is part one.
Alexei
This corner is dark, which suits Alexei. Morning throws a gray smear of light on the wall above his head—light that struggles to enter a small window, fighting through a double coating of dirt and ice. He stretches a little, not wanting to shift the blanket wrapped around him. The room is cold which means the mother is still asleep and there will be no breakfast.
He rises, limps to the small coal stove in the corner and prepares a fire. There is water in the bucket, so he fills the kettle and struggles to lift it to the top of the stove, and looks for tea. Enough is left in the jar for the mother–Alexei may be young, but not stupid. He makes the mother tea and resigns himself to hot water.
He crawls back into his corner and sips hot water and hates the mother fiercely, his body trembles with it.
Darkness falls and the mother kicks him. “Time to work. Go sit away from the door.”
He goes back to his corner and waits. He is curious despite himself. Who will it be? Who will visit the mother tonight?
When there is a pounding at the door, the mother admits a man who holds a sack.He removes a few pieces of coal, and—tea! And bread. He nods solemnly to himself. That is good. The mother takes the man to her bed, and Alexei leaves the room, he goes far way in his mind. He’s in a fine carriage wearing fine clothes and a handsome man pats his knee and calls him son. This is a very good dream because the handsome man does not become a monster and Alexei smiles.
Suddenly a hand shakes his shoulder, hard. “Your mother wants you, boy.”
He comes around the curtain and stands before the bed.
“Sit,” she says and points at the wall. He slides down and folds his hands over his knees and waits. It’s like that sometime, some of them want him to be there, and some of them want him to be away. He trains his eyes on the bed, settles and goes away inside.
This one, when he leaves, gives him a piece of candy.
That one comes many times and gives the mother gifts and money and every time, Alexei gets a little something too—and the man waits. Alexei doesn’t know for what but he can feel the waiting. He doesn’t care, these things outside don’t concern him, nothing ever does.
Alexei is always busy—he sings all day long, he makes pictures all day long, wiping them out and drawing them again, such beautiful colors, such wonderful creatures, all inside of his eyes, the lovely songs are all inside of his ears and only he can see or hear the wonder of it. He holds his gift to himself and loves them—he loves them so.
Sometime, the mother holds him—when it’s very cold and there is no fire, she pulls him onto her lap and holds him close, folds his arms about her neck and rocks back and forth.
“You may be a little monster,” she croons “but you’re a warm little monster.” He has to work hard to hold in the laughter then. At times, she spoke to him as though he understood nothing. She tells the visitors sometimes he’s dumb and dull—it makes them stop trying to get him to speak with them. He appreciates her occasional kindnesses.
When he wishes, he uses his words but it is not often that he chooses to. There is not much point and he hates to waste time.
If his father came to take him away, he knows what he would say. He would speak to him all day long, and never get a beating of it, never would his father tell him to stop making noise, to be still—shut up you monster! Shut up!
“Father, thank you! Father I love you!” and his father would sweep him up into his arms and cover him with kisses and tell him how much he was loved. It will happen. Someday his father will come and he’ll be beautiful and clean and not smell of blood and not frighten him. He would be so sad that he had frightened him and tell him so—
“Wake up!” a harsh voice makes his pictures shatter, and a lump of bread falls into his lap. “Hungry?”
He bites a piece off the bread and holds it out.
“No, keep it--it’s all yours.”
Alexei looks up—sighs. Inside, where everything important happens. It was the one that …waited always. He knows the man wants words from him, but not the why. He wishes sometimes he’d go away for good, but his stomach fears that. The man smiles and walks away.
Alexei closes his eyes and enjoys the bread, eating it so slowly, chewing each bite until it disappears in his mouth. He refuses to hear shouting voices and he dreams while he eats.
This is part two, here is part one.
Alexei
This corner is dark, which suits Alexei. Morning throws a gray smear of light on the wall above his head—light that struggles to enter a small window, fighting through a double coating of dirt and ice. He stretches a little, not wanting to shift the blanket wrapped around him. The room is cold which means the mother is still asleep and there will be no breakfast.
He rises, limps to the small coal stove in the corner and prepares a fire. There is water in the bucket, so he fills the kettle and struggles to lift it to the top of the stove, and looks for tea. Enough is left in the jar for the mother–Alexei may be young, but not stupid. He makes the mother tea and resigns himself to hot water.
He crawls back into his corner and sips hot water and hates the mother fiercely, his body trembles with it.
Darkness falls and the mother kicks him. “Time to work. Go sit away from the door.”
He goes back to his corner and waits. He is curious despite himself. Who will it be? Who will visit the mother tonight?
When there is a pounding at the door, the mother admits a man who holds a sack.He removes a few pieces of coal, and—tea! And bread. He nods solemnly to himself. That is good. The mother takes the man to her bed, and Alexei leaves the room, he goes far way in his mind. He’s in a fine carriage wearing fine clothes and a handsome man pats his knee and calls him son. This is a very good dream because the handsome man does not become a monster and Alexei smiles.
Suddenly a hand shakes his shoulder, hard. “Your mother wants you, boy.”
He comes around the curtain and stands before the bed.
“Sit,” she says and points at the wall. He slides down and folds his hands over his knees and waits. It’s like that sometime, some of them want him to be there, and some of them want him to be away. He trains his eyes on the bed, settles and goes away inside.
This one, when he leaves, gives him a piece of candy.
That one comes many times and gives the mother gifts and money and every time, Alexei gets a little something too—and the man waits. Alexei doesn’t know for what but he can feel the waiting. He doesn’t care, these things outside don’t concern him, nothing ever does.
Alexei is always busy—he sings all day long, he makes pictures all day long, wiping them out and drawing them again, such beautiful colors, such wonderful creatures, all inside of his eyes, the lovely songs are all inside of his ears and only he can see or hear the wonder of it. He holds his gift to himself and loves them—he loves them so.
Sometime, the mother holds him—when it’s very cold and there is no fire, she pulls him onto her lap and holds him close, folds his arms about her neck and rocks back and forth.
“You may be a little monster,” she croons “but you’re a warm little monster.” He has to work hard to hold in the laughter then. At times, she spoke to him as though he understood nothing. She tells the visitors sometimes he’s dumb and dull—it makes them stop trying to get him to speak with them. He appreciates her occasional kindnesses.
When he wishes, he uses his words but it is not often that he chooses to. There is not much point and he hates to waste time.
If his father came to take him away, he knows what he would say. He would speak to him all day long, and never get a beating of it, never would his father tell him to stop making noise, to be still—shut up you monster! Shut up!
“Father, thank you! Father I love you!” and his father would sweep him up into his arms and cover him with kisses and tell him how much he was loved. It will happen. Someday his father will come and he’ll be beautiful and clean and not smell of blood and not frighten him. He would be so sad that he had frightened him and tell him so—
“Wake up!” a harsh voice makes his pictures shatter, and a lump of bread falls into his lap. “Hungry?”
He bites a piece off the bread and holds it out.
“No, keep it--it’s all yours.”
Alexei looks up—sighs. Inside, where everything important happens. It was the one that …waited always. He knows the man wants words from him, but not the why. He wishes sometimes he’d go away for good, but his stomach fears that. The man smiles and walks away.
Alexei closes his eyes and enjoys the bread, eating it so slowly, chewing each bite until it disappears in his mouth. He refuses to hear shouting voices and he dreams while he eats.
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I hope there is no pegboy Alexei fic *cuddles the woobie!Alexei*
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Oh, Alexie.
Sad, strange, creepy little child. Oh my, oh my, oh my.
*pet pet*
Hey, Ms. Thang - how're you doin'?
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I can see now why he's rather fucked up as an adult, and why he gets along with Kirill so well.
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I love it.
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*rushes to the next part*