melomancer: (really now)
 This text is of no relevance to the cause of the Light.
~The Night Watch
This text is of no relevance to the cause of the Darkness.
~The Day Watch

The apartment building was one of those prefabricated ones that sprung up in the years which put Sputnik into space. The apartment itself was cluttered and cramped with old, seeming useless things; magazines, old newspapers and the like. The kitchen where Anton Gorodetsky sat nervously was over flowing with dishes and old food, and should have stank of rot but instead smelled of odd plants and herbs.

"You wife is pregnant with another's child. If you wish her back, the child must go. I can do this but I will not accept the sin." The old woman said as she dug for a jar. "Will you?"

Did he really want this? Was Polina really worth this? The unborn child changed everything. Ready to decine or refuse, he opened his mouth but then his pride rose and stung. "I accept. I will do it," he found himself sneering though he wasn't sure why. He wasn't that angry was he?

"Good," the woman said walking to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of vodka which she poured into the jar she had found. She put the bootle back and pulled out some vinegar to add next and then an egg before turning back to Anton and shuffling towards him. "Your hand."

"What?" He replied, oddly revolted by the idea of the old woman touching him.

"Your hand. I must have some of your blood for this."

He wanted to refuse but again his pride rose and he held out his hand, turning away as she pulled out a fresh disposable needle. With a sharp prick and squeeze, it was over and she was holding the jar and it's disgusting contents out to him. "Drink and I will make the curse."

He took the jar and looked in. He saw the yoke was still unbroken and swam about in his blood with the vodka and vinegar. "Well, come, come. I am a busy woman!"

He raised the jar to his lips and again wondered if this was worth it. He was still young and he had only know Polina a few years. Was he ready for so grave a sin on his conscience for young love?


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Anton Gorodetsky

June 2013

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