Russian Love

Raisa Kang is a Russian Born half Korean with a dead father. One day when she was fourteen he was murdered right in front of her. Then suddenly she has to be unrooted from her homeland and everything she knows to go live with her mother in Los Angles, California in America. Now two years later she is in a deep depressing longing to to back to Russia. But that depression is put on hold when one girl befriends her and shows her what it means to live.


2. Two Years Later


Gasping for air my eye open. I inhale and exhale; I feel the sounds of anxious breaths fill the room, my room. I sit up trying to regulate my breathing. I bring up my pale hands up to my face, I clammy palms feel good my warm face. I give a sigh and look up.

                I am in my room my normal, mundane room in San Francisco, California. Just as I am about to drift back to sleep something jolts through my mind- the anniversary. Today was the anniversary of my coming to America. I didn’t come here because I wanted to experience a new culture or because of a job, but because I had to hide from the European Mafia.

                My father was killed right in front of me two years ago to this day because of his business. His employees warned him that they would find him. That they would find out soon enough about what he did. That he should flee the country now or at least that he should deport me off with my mother.

                But being the stubborn man that he was he ignored everything that they had warned him about and you know what it all happened. The worse thing about this is they didn’t kill me along with my father. I would have been happier. Not in this hellhole called America. It sucks here, the people are Assholes, my mother is wish washy she tries to get close to be, but when I try to open up she recedes back, and then we are back were we started.

                 The only good thing about this living hell is that there is this district where I can be with people like me. It is called Little Russia, just a small district, but home for me. I go there as often as I can. I am always going there speaking with the vendors in my native tongue. I love speaking in Russian, the sweet words just roll off of my tongue.

                A creak of my door opening pulls me away from my thoughts. I turned my head and saw my mom poking her head out of the door. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail a few hairs falling loose around her face. Her light brown eyes examine me then she begins to speak in a soft voice, her soft Korean accent dripping from the English words.

                “Raisa, you wanna come out with me and eat breakfast then go pay the memorial for your father?” I look at her my eyes dart around the room before the focus on her. She has a hopeful look on her face. I suppose that she really is trying to reach out considering that she and my father never really got along.  I nod my head, “Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

                Giving me a small nod she pulls her head out from the door frame and closes the door. I sigh and lean back a bit. It’s hard to think that’s it’s only been two years since I left Russia. Memories flooded back to me about that day two years ago;

                I was 14 years old. I had just arrived in California; it was a 20 hour flight. I was tired and hungry, I just wanted to lie down and forget about everything. But, of course I couldn’t do that. So there I was in the airport wandering around looking for my mother. Though it was a futile attempt, because I didn’t even know what my mother looked like. I only had vague memories of her from when I was 6 before she left me.

                So then suddenly someone comes up to me and hugs me out of nowhere. When that someone pulls away I see a familiar face inches from mine. She looked much like me, she was my mother. Her brown eyes scanned me then hugged me again and this time she whispered something in my ear; “You’re finally here.”

                I shake my head; I need to forget about that. My time is here in America NOT Russia. I just need to forget about it. I probably won’t even go back. I miss it so much, I miss Anya, and I especially miss my father.  I feel tears rim my eyes, I brush them away. Swinging my ears over the side of the bed I stand up and go to my dresser and start to get on new clothes.

                As I pull on a yellow shirt I stop and sigh. Should I really go out? I ask myself. But I just shake my head and proceed out of my bedroom. As I walk down carpeted stairs I hear the sounds of my mother’s footsteps around the kitchen. I walk into the kitchen to find her drinking coffee.

                “Raisa, go brush your hair please darling.” She says as she points up stairs with one nail polished finger. Nodding I ascend up the stairs. I stare at myself in the mirror. I see a thin faced girl staring back at me. I see her sunken in cheeks and gray eyes once so filled with life. Her shiny, light brown wave hair that fall down to the shoulders framing her face the face that was once mine.

                My eyes peer into her gray small eyes. Holding out my hand she does the same and looks at me with a sad look which reflected my own. Sighing I let my hand sink down and let my head sag. Tears began to fall down from my cheeks, the warm tears splatter onto the sink. As I cry I brush my hair and take my pill. The pill that helps me keep my sanity.

                Walking down the stairs I am still wiping away the tears. My auburn hair falling in my face, pushing my bangs out of my face I am face to face with my mother. Her eyes bore into me. “Let’s go to Yest’ Pravo.” Yest’ Pravo was a breakfast diner in Little Russia, it was my favorite restraunt. The only drawback to it is that I don’t get to go often because it is pretty expensive.

                I gave a small nod and followed my mother to the car. I sighed; all I wanted was to go back to Russia. But this will have to do.

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