sketch, 2

Yuri cannot forgive himself for what happened in the Crimea. He was a coward at heart. When he left the scene of that unfinished deed, he ran until he faced the ocean. Seventeen years is a long time to forget, to shape a new existence, and he’s done so much since then – ferrying ‘clients’ along the Dybbuk’s Highway to safer lands – but he can’t escape. Something (shame?) has stopped him from crossing the border once and for all, and so he continues to hunch on the edge of the world, living amongst yet apart from the remains of the Porcelain Brigade. He is no longer a coward, he tells himself. He doesn’t fear the Cheka, nor the Punitives who haunt the docks. He fears the Leader, of course, but then (he tells himself) doesn’t everybody, even those who whisper their devotions in the machine-churches?

All it will take is a little push, a shove in the right direction from someone who can truly take him away from this world, and Yuri will take it. Anything that can deliver him away from the face under the mask.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s