New Grounds

     Andrei stepped off the terminal, boris trudging slowly behind him. Saliva caked Boris's shirt collar, indicating the massive drool quantities he managed on the 8 hour plane ride. People rustled by, but they did so in a manner uncommon to both russians; politely. Nobody bumped them, nobody swore, and everyone seemed content with the life they lived. Andrei began to light up a stogey, until a TSA officer quickly snatched it from his hands. 

"No smoking in the airport sir."

      Andrei examined at the security officer, who appeared to be no older then 20 years old. His face was splotchy with acne, arms thin as the average Russian junkie. 

"Such a bold move," Andrei exclaimed, pulling out another cigarette from his pack. "In my country you would be dead already."

"Well I don't know where you're from, but here in the US we don't play games. You light up that bogey and I'll have you hogtied and sweating like a pig in the back of a squad car."

     Andrei did not expect such a retaliation. He did not know what a squad car was, but judging by the scrawny officer's uncexpected confidence, he was not sure he wanted to find out. He tucked the ciggarette into his shirt sleeve, and issued his cousin to continue walking. The security guard smirked as the two made there way towards bagage claim.

"Foreigners."

    As the two russians made way through the airport terminals, the bright colors surrounding them kept them fixated on anything but the walkway ahead of them. Restaurants, gift shops, news stands, anything they could imagine was right there in their vacinity, without and junkies or thugs looting or heckling shoppers. 

"Boris, look at all this opportunity. So many places to work, so many places to make money. Imagined if we owned one of these places Boris, imagine the millions of dollars we would have. The american dream, we are so close."

     Andrei paused, realizing he was getting no response from his cousin behind him. He turned around, and Boris was no longer there. After a few minutes of searching, he finally comes across his cousin Boris near the gift shop magazines. He holds the latest issue of "Hustler" magazine, pornographic images spewing from the pages. Andrei slaps the magazine out of his cousins hands, grabbing his collar and pulling him close.

"You will have plenty of time for this bullshit when we are at the motel. Walk"

    People turned and stared at the two as their confrontation developed, waiting for one to make the first move. Teenagers began filming on their cellphones, expecting the next viral fight video to unfold right in front of them. Andrei looked around, aware of the spectacle the spectators were awaiting. In Russia, fights were a part of every day life. A day didn't go by where a robbery or stabbing didn't take place, to the point where onlookers learned to simply ignore these events. Andrei looked around at the individuals circling him, lost as a zoo animal in its exhibit. He spat on the ground before them, and grabbed his cousin to keep walking. 

"Fucking Americans. Something tells me we will be very important here in the states Boris. But through whatever happens, we must remember one thing. Life goes on"

Image Source: TheAtlantic.com

Corresponding Blog

The Last Peek

"Flight to Las Vegas, boarding in 5 minutes! I repeat, flight to Las Vegas, Nevada, boarding in 5 minutes!"
The two cousins made their way towards the boarding gate, no carry ons at all. They shared a single suitcase, which held every bit of property they would own in their new lives. Andrei fiddled anxiously with his buttons, looking around at all of those who surrounded him. Business men in suit and ties of all ethnicities, making rounds throughout the world as they practice their trades. Young couples eager to leave the desolated land where their parents still remained. So many people, with so many stories. Andrei considered his story. It was one many others would not like to know.

    The flight attendant brushed through the isles, ensuring each passenger got a final glimpse of her fake smile. Boris squirmed uncomfortably, his wide hips digging into the arm rests.
          "This piece of shit plane was made for the French, how is a man suppose to relax in such a tiny thing?"
    Andrei was caught up in the plane instruction manual, where he nervously panned the safety plans he made need to know on his first flight
           "Look cousin, there is giant raft we use if plane crashes in water. This is good to know, you should be reading this too."
           "Aha but Andrei, what good will raft do if plane crash on mountain? Will raft heal your broken body as you slide down it? Ha!"
    Boris's smile, clearly content with the bit of humor he had just conjured. He picked up a copy of Roland Barthes "Image Music Text,"but quickly set it back down due to it's lack of nude pictures. Andrei considered the thought of him burning in a fiery crash alongside his fucked up cousin, as the flight attendant made her rounds to his aisle. He shrugged off her measly offering of month old tea crackers, and leaned over to grab a bottle of vodka from her cart.
          "Sir, you can't just grab that. 300 rubles or hand it back this way"
   Andrei cracked the top, and chugged the entire 12oz bottle. Boris chuckled, and the flight attendant grew red in the face.
          "You fucking northerners are complete savages, I recommend you pay for that immediately before you get kicked off this flight."
    Andrei stared blankly at the attendant, before slowing reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of bills. He crumpled them, and one by one tossed them in the direction of the woman before him. The flight attendant collected the amount, as well as an extra 200 rubles for the hassle, and Andrei leant back. The warmth of the vodka slowly came over him, as his eyelids felt gravity play its part. He took a final glimpse of the cold russian lands around him, and slipped away to his journey to a new life.

Picture from EnglishRussia.com
Blog Referenced

Re-location

    Andrei held a dirty t-shirt, brandishing the various Looney Toon characters. He had received it when he was freshly 8 years old, shortly after he had been moved in with his Aunt and uncle. It was riddled with holes, fraying at each corner, and looked relatively depressing compared to the brightly colored collared shirts that made up a majority of his wardrobe. However, the shirt held better times than he had seen in years. He would play for hours with Boris wearing this shirt, completely unaware of the state his parents had sunken into back home. At one point in his, this shirt was the only one Andrei owned.

Picture from ChildrenoftheAndes

      "Hah, you and that shirt. I don't think it fits you anymore cousin, too much beer maybe?" Andrei packed the bag into his luggage, ignoring his cousins smart ass remark.
      "Maybe you worry a little bit less about my shirts, and more about your porno mags."

      When they arrived at the airport, Andrei lit up a ciggarrette as Boris struggled to pull his bag out of the taxi. Andrei laughed at his efforts, as the bag nearly crushed his cousin as it fell out of the trunk. A sharp whistle came from behind him, and Andrei immediately knew something was up. People are not friendly in Russia, so if someone is going out of their way to get your attention, it is almost never a good sign. He turned around to face exactly who he didn't want to see; Jeriko, one of the head junkies in the area. Andrei used to be a frequent customer of Jeriko's, until the thug decided 1,500 rubles were valued much more than his ongoing relationship with his clientele and was worth robbing.
       "Where you think you are going street boy? I thought I told you to stay home."
Andrei smiled. In a few days, he would be free from the sights of the disgusting junkies who inhabit his homeland.
       "I am going where you could never imagine, where people like you could never fit in. I am going where I can become someone, a person you could never be. Enjoy your life junkie scum." Andrei walked off, as Boris followed behind nervously, well aware of who the man was who his cousin was confronting.
    "You think because you leave Russia, you are no longer the son of a heroin whore? Go on Andrei, leave for America and become someone. Catch the "Jes Grew", chase the American dream, fuck the American women, do the American drugs. Just remember who was giving your mother the needle as her pathetic son wandered the streets like the dirty rag he was.
   Andrei stopped for a moment, still facing the airport and departure that lay ahead. He considered turning around and snapping the junkies neck, just to hear every bone pop ever so beautifully.
    "Ehh cousin, plane leaves soon... Perhaps we hurry up?"
Andrei turned to face his cousin, who's brow dripped profusely with sweat.
     "Yes, we go."

Corresponding blog: Platos Cave

Habitual Habitat

        Cold Sweats. Paranoia. Darkness. 

Andrei had no idea what was going on, but he knew exactly what had just happened. The night before he had taken his first ever dose of black tar heroin, a drug which had consumed nearly all of his friends and family. Boris walked in the room, just as strung out as his cousin. There was a moment of silence as the two exhibited each other's pain, Boris showing no sign of remorse for having introduced his kin to the world of narcotics.

       “You will feel better by night time. Drink water, sleep.”

Boris collapsed onto the couch, and fell back into a heavy sleep.

The night before had been everything Andrei ever imagined it would be, and this is what pained him the most. For the first time since he could remember, the only feeling  surrounding him was that of bliss, the utmost happiness. Every thought was positive, every feeling was unfelt, every scratch was indulging. He had watched his older brother kill himself with heroin, and here he was dabbling in the devil’s juice- at only fifteen years old. He stopped talking to his brother as soon as he knew what he was into the stuff, knowing what it was capable of doing to you. He never knew his father, but he was sure he was just as bad. And their he was, coming down off of the drug that had singlehandedly destroyed his country. 

He smiled, and reached over for last nights needle. 

     “Ohh Cousin, I think I have fallen in love.”

Uncut Raw (Blog Video Post)

Picture: Chuck Jines http://www.chuckjines.com/tag/heroin/

Influential Blog: Textelcine

The American Nightmare- ASS#1

    "Andrei, wake the fuck up! Flight leave in an hour, do you want to continue rotting in this country or not?"

Boris repeatedly prodded his cousin, who was still drunk after last night’s escapade.

    “I swear to god Andrei if you don’t get the fuck up I’m going to leave you here to die.”

Andrei gave his first sign of being alive after last nights drunken escapade, and rolled on his back to face his cousin.

“I also swear to God if you don’t stop fucking touching me, I will break your dirty little fingers.”

     Boris smiled at the threats of his younger cousin, and went into his room to grab a few last possessions; his porno magazines and bootlegged Dvd’s, the contents of which were also probably pornographic. The two had lived in Russia their entire lives, with nothing to show for their lives other than a few thousand empty cigarette cartons and liquor bottles. Crooked police patrolled the streets during the day, and if it wasn't the gangs at your throat during the night, it was the junkies. There was no chance for improvement in their lives. No chance for financial success. No chance to become anything other than the drug addict-pieces of shit they had developed into. Andrei’s mother had him when she was 17, to a father of whom she probably wouldn’t even recognize. She quickly fell out of his life due to her constant chase of addictions, so he was raised by his aunt Alisa. Alisa and her husband Bellic suffered conditions similar to Andrei’s mother, only they were much more efficient at hiding their addictions. They stuck around to raise their son Boris and his cousin, but they also did a great job at giving absolutely zero care as to what these two were getting into. Their curfew was non-existant, they attended school whenever they pleased, and weeks were spent away from their household without even the slightest worry for their kin. 

     "Russian streets turn a child into a man,” Bellic would always tell his family, typically while high on a mixture of heroin and crystal meth. Alisa would usually laugh as this was said, knowing her husband was no more of a “man” than any of the other junkies who roamed the Russian alleys. 

   In a sense, Boris was like a big brother to Andrei. He ensured Andrei would come up the same exact way he had growing up, nothing more nothing less. He bought Andrei his first cigarette packet when he was eleven, his first beer at thirteen, and his first shot of heroin at barely fifteen years old.






Image Source: http://elesabafam.blogspot.com/