#Dark Is the Night

[rainydandelion1]

"𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽, 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓾𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓪𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓹𝓹𝓮"

[jt1674]

[french-toast-enjoyer]

eugene!!!!!!!!

psst, for @rkmoon and @symbiotic-slime

[writingking]

Dark is The Night

By; King

In the dark of the night, sits a man on the piano. He plays a song that is as dark as the night sky, yet, cheerful like the moons light. It’s hopefully hopeless, a contradiction in itself, but the man does not care. He sings in Russian, singing out to the ghost of a man who is no longer with him. This was his song.

He can still remember him, platinum blonde hair, short, choppy and never combed. The permanent smirk etched onto his porcelain white skin. The dark blue eyes that would haunt the man in the gloom of dark rooms at night. Yet would be so full of life and comfort him in the day. His deceivingly skinny and boney, hiding the immense strength that was stored in those muscles.

Everything about the man who wrote this song was a contradiction, no wonder the song he wrote was also one. Such upbeat and melancholy music, the optimistic yet pessimistic lyrics. Promises to return home, yet knowing they will never return. As the song consign itself to death on the battlefield-

“Dark is the night,” the man finishes out the song in English. His blonde hair sways as he gets up from the piano and looks around the room, he hopes that it’s all just a dream, that the other man will comeback from the war, from the gulag.

But he won’t, work needs to be done, and someone needs to help Lenin build back Moscovy to what it once was.

The man wonders if it ever was what Lenin says it was, and how long has it been since Moscovy, beautiful Rus’ was strong and powerful. When had she been there for her people and taken care of them? Or was she always this cold and uncaring?

‘She was a mother who abandoned her kids in the cold, that’s what she is.’ The other man would say to him. He’d go on rants in candle lit rooms as he drank from a bottle of liquor.

Maybe that’s why they sent him to the gulag, because he spoke the truth that the officials were afraid the people would know. He painted the true picture of “mother” Rus’ the unkind, ugly way she treated her kids. Moscovites know how dark and cold her love is, she is unlike all the others who coddle their kids, giving them bountiful wheat fields and natural riches.

No, she gave them famines, cold soil that could not grow a single reed, wet and cold weather that freezes you to the bone. And yet, the politicians lie to the Rus’ telling them that Moscovy is a kind caring mother, that the absolute monarchs are the devil, that capitalism will destroy us all. They all tell them to till their dirt and grow wheat, knowing it will never come, knowing their livestock will die in the cold.

He was tired of this country, he wished to leave Moscovy, but he didn’t want to leave without him. He promised they would leave together, that after the war, they would become new men and live somewhere else, anywhere but Moscovy. They would no longer be Russians, and instead Canadians, Americans, Italians, Germans, anything. But the other man never returned.

The man laid his blonde head on his bare mattress, pulling up a single bed sheet to keep warm, he stared at the bare wall before sighing and closing his sea blue eyes. Maybe he should stop waiting, it was obvious the man was not going to return. And if he did, as long as he has been gone, he will surely not be the same man, a mere shadow of his former self, a skeleton replacing what was once there. No more pacing and ranting, no more songs, and no more strong hands to hold him at night.

Still, the man didn’t want to give up, he’d stay for an eternity here in the shadows of the night. Waiting by open doors, letting cold air in as he smoked. Waiting for a man who won’t return in the dead of the Moscovy night. He opened his eyes to stare at the wall again, cursing his lack of money, he wished for wood for his stove, without it, it was cold and dark in the house, no longer a home.

Yes, it was dark tonight, but when is it not dark in Rus’?

•~•

[Authors Note: I might have gotten obsessed with a song and made a short story based on it. The name of the song is “Dark is the Night” the exact lyrics aren’t here, but the meaning of the song still is. I recommend listing to this old Soviet song while reading, it’s just such a good mood setter. Anyway thanks for reading - King]

[clotheslineinfilm]

Dark Is the Night (Boris Barnet, 1945)

[unabashedqueenfury]

Reign 2013-2017/02-21

Toby Finn Regbo as Francis Valois

[natureell]

[saturnvs]

stjärnfall / falling stars

[unholy-biscuits]

[landsccape]

[liivn]

[ariabella666]

[vispercruor]

Vampyrmoon

[marography]

"The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"