Twelve years ago
MIKHAIL
A door bursting open pierces through my hazy consciousness, followed by the sense of falling in slow motion. Unfamiliar voices whisper somewhere far away, gradually becoming louder, until all I can hear is hurried shouting.
A gasp to my left, “Dear God.”
I try opening my eyes but fail. It takes me a few tries before I manage to peel my eyelids apart, but all I can see are blurry shapes.
And then comes the pain.
It feels like I’ve been stabbed by a thousand knives, with the blades remaining lodged in my flesh. The sharp, searing, body-wide sensation encompasses everything.
I choke on my breath and try to talk, but the only thing that comes out is a pained wheezing gasp. The void closes in again, the sounds slowly fade, and I let myself float away. The last thing I remember are broken sentences that breach my fading consciousness until there is nothing left. Only the pain.
“Roman! . . . Mikhail is still alive!”
“Jesus . . . press something over his face . . .”
“I’m not sure he’ll make it . . .”
“Anyone else?”
“No, they’re all dead.”
