"Pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boy"
Youth... I don't remember... I don't want to remember anything. I was born on 5th December 1984 in a shithole called Berezhki. Six houses of which one is no more. My mother... she had to be an angel but I've never met her - she died during the childbirth and I was the one to take the blame for the rest of my life. My father was a drunk and I don't blame him for that. He was abusive - for that I hate him. I'm not talking about "Oh, I hate this dress..." feeling. I'm talking about hate at it's finest, a pure emotion that makes you smile when you tower above the grave of said person. I lived a lonely life, just trying to survive since whenever... Hungry and beaten up, I was a shadow of a kid. From beatings in school I was comming back to the house full of violence. Neighbours probably heard everything but everybody stayed silent. The first true memory I have is when I turned fifteen. When I close my eyes I can see my dad laying pissed drunk on the couch. I can almost smell the irritating odor of sweat and vodka spilled on the ground. I can hear the sound of me striking the match. The flame is born. It's hypnotizing... I look into it before throwing the match towards the puddle of pure alcohol. I can hear his screams, tingeling my ears. I dissapear. Even now I'm getting goosebumps. It's a good memory. It's a memory worth keeping. A true treasure.
"The worst things in life come free to us"
I was 32 and nobody knew me. Nobody cared who I was, nor how I ended up on the harsh streets of Kirovograd. As you can probably imagine, I never became what you would call successful. Each day I was living at the mercy of other people, hoping they'll drop couple of coins into my hat. But mostly they looked away, embarrassed to be there. A shadow of a man with no family. The world as we knew didn't need people like me - uneducated drifters with low selfesteem. The "killing" part also didn't help. But that was going to change soon. I remember the screams that woke me up. People running by, growling in the distance. Sirens. Fire. Shots. Chaos. Nobody cared for me, not even infected chasing people that were tyring to escape. Their suits stained in blood, expensive furs ripped apart. I crawled up deeper into the trashpile and covered my ears. The screaming slowly faded away as the new world was born...
"The happiest city on earth..."
The Outbreak... such a tragedy... the worst thing that could happen... or maybe an opportunity? That's the second memory I'll never forget. Couple of punks beating me up, kicking me in the head and back, breaking my ribs. I fucking pissed myself and finally let go of a can of food. They didn't seem to be interested in it anymore, and continued helping me to get to the other side with each strike of their boots. The can slowly rolled on the uneven pavement, only to be stopped by military boot. I didn't even hear any shots, only the sound of six bodies falling on the ground. One of them fell next to me. He had that helpless look in his eyes, like he couldn't really comprehend what was happing to him, as life was fading away from his body. A shadowy figure started to search the bodies.
-"Fucking bingo. Our pills. Fuckers didn't manage to sell it yet. Shame they killed Husker, I liked that stupid kid..."
-"Hey, what about this one?" - I felt a light kick on my leg.
-"Hmmm... clean him up, we have a vacancy, don't we?"