*NANOWRIMO15* ❝Cʟᴀssɪғɪᴇᴅ_: Dᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs_❞ ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂♙||⚛∙⚗||♟▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
Get ready for a frosty dystopia. ANNO_2079_ Evanna Frior lives in a world coated in frost and ice; Tetrahmona. She was born in Prague, a city-silhouette in the north of Tetrahmona. Its skyscrapers rise tall and proud above the frost lands. The only city believed to have survived the greatest snowfall ever experienced by mankind, Prague is sheltered from the 'wildlings,' by its city walls. Nobody leaves the city; nobody enters it. Prague's inhabitants must follow a code that builds them to follow instinct to turn over any outsiders and anybody who is different. Most people do so. But not everyone.

Evanna does not live like everybody around her. She is a tetrahon, a native of the world she was born in. A daughter of frost. And that means only one thing. DANGER. ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ ❝Wʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ʜ ᴀ ᴛ ᴇ s ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ's ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴅ. Bᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ғ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ s ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ's ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜ ᴀ ʀ ᴅ ᴇ ʀ.❞


6. F i v e



What stays with me isn’t really grief. Well, perhaps it is and I just don’t see it. To me it’s just the feeling of the ghosts coming back. Parrish. Parrish, Parrish. Today, we lost a worthy soldier, companion, and friend on the battlefield. He was loyal to his service, trustworthy, loving to those whom he cared for, and a humanitarian, which is more than we can ask from people these days. The words run through my mind, and they make me feel sick. Small. Describing his death with words of sentiment- and so soon afterwards, too- disgraceful. 


Jonathan would not approve of it. 


Malcolm would not approve of it.


Nobody would approve of it.



The car glides silently over the streets of Tetrahmon. It’s silent, at this time of night- there’s no traffic on the small streets, there’s no honking of horns anywhere. Up from the office, I can hear it- but the days are so long that I have no problems coming home. This is efficiency, they would call it.


Once again, my thoughts drift to Parrish, and I come up with a suitable conclusion as to what words they will commemorate his death with. There will be no use of the words ‘brave’ or ‘galiant’ or ‘heroic.’ There will be nothing of what any little boy might have dreamed of being; the next superhero, the next person to save a life. He will not be valued as a friend, nor as a foe, nor will he be spoken of with admiration. The more sentiment you put into a goodbye, the longer the farewell lasts, the more difficult it is to let go.


At least, that’s what my father used to tell him. I didn’t know if I could believe him. I grew up with it, but emotion got the better of me. Now, I know that I cannot trust him. Not ever again.


All this is to say that my friend will not pass with gentle words. He will not be laid down into a coffin on a blanket of silk with flowers over the wood. No, not like how it used to be. Instead, he will be placed into a grave- into a hole in the ice, just fit for a man his size, and there he will rest, forever, another face staring up at the living, along with all the others that were not granted a proper burial.


No. What am I saying? He will be given a proper burial. It takes long to etch out a hole in this ice. There will be effort put into his grave. It is a proper burial. Just like everybody else who died, he will have been given a proper burial.

When Malcolm says it is proper- then it is proper. It is just and it is right, and he deserves his grave. 





He has served the country rightfully, he has done his duty as a soldier. May others come forth and take his place.


In vita est nex. In life is death. Do duch is krveprolití.



There is no mention of the words ‘today we have lost a soldier.’ No, not at all. And so, my dear friend, farewell. You are nothing but a soldier, my dear friend. You are a chess piece that has been taken from the board- my dear friend.


I think of nonsensical things such as these, and these things I most certainly do not appreciate. The doors of my apartment slide open, ever-loyal to my retina. I don’t even need my keys anymore. Everything now is easy to get through. It is efficient, they would say.


It has been a tiring day, but I can not let it show. So I go and fix myself dinner- something simple, say, pasta. Pasta sounds nice, yes. 


Julie, no. It’s not ready, yet, I already told you. Andy, sweetheart, go play with Julie. I think she wants your attention.


Oi, Jules. There we go. Now come on, do you need any help with your homework? Oh, right. You learned about cells today then, hm? Fascinating. Did you like it?


I push my fork through the microwaved remains of last night’s dinner. There’s always leftovers when there’s nobody around to share dinner with. Sighing, I close the lid of the container it’s in and place it back in the fridge. It should be good for another day or so. 

I should work, now, I think, pouring myself a glass of water. With three ice cubes.



By the time I go to bed, I am sweating, shaking, drowning. Drowning in air. 



Drowning in memory.

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