Silent Prayer in Moscow

In one of Moscow's more grand hotels sat a haggard and worn out boy, surrounded by powerful men in suits. Judging from the expression on his face, he had great respect for the men who were yelling at each other, each with a glass of vodka in their hands. Against the boys temple there was a gun, but it was not fear one could glimpse in the boys eyes, rather expectation. For this day could both be a turning point or the end. The time was right for one of the world's most dangerous games, Russian Roulette.

Alexander's life had never been easy. From the moment he was born, the struggle between life and death had been a long and filled with trials, and he had travelled from one foster home to the next. After both mental and physical abuse, he realized that he was way overdue to leave his old life behind. Alexander said goodbye to his foster family, more a formality then anything else as he knew they wouldn't miss him or go looking for him. With him he had his whole life's possessions which could all be placed in a small suitcase, a tin soldiers from one of his previous homes when he was little and a few pair of underwear. The place which was calling for him was the streets of Moscow.

On the streets he met likeminded peers but their friendships didn't last long, some starved whereas other froze to death and since Alexander was in and out of rehab for substance abuse there was no real time for friends. In the beginning it was horrid for Alexander but as time passed this became part of his everyday life. Living a life where mere survival is the key, death is not something you beat, rather something you have escaped for the time being. The world would miss him just about as much as he had been loved. Alexander knew it was time. The Revolver was loaded and with 3 bullets in the clip there was 50% chance the tragic boys life would end at that moment.

It was Alexander himself who would turn the cylinder on the gun, and although the spin was absolutely vital to his survival, he took it rather well. He was not in a hurry as he felt that in this hall he could die in peace, and with both vodka and food at his sides didn't make matters worse. If he was going to die it would at least be a dignified death, with a belly full of food and slightly intoxicated. The men in the room were excited and noisy as if it was nothing special that in a minute Alexander would either be dead or be entitled to a dignified life as an errand boy at one of the richest men in Moscow. Alexander saw this chance as a blessing, while the Russian was only looking for the thrill of the moment or another servant.

Alexander spun the cylinder while he looked away to be unaware of the outcome. The drunk men chuckled and burst into cheering and he took that as his queue. Slowly and with a timid facial expression, he put the gun against his temple and closed his eyes. The only thought that was echoing through his head was the odds, 50/50 and he hardly knew whether he wanted to die or not. While survival only could mean a better life he wanted to avoid thinking of the past. He put his finger on the trigger, and pulled it. The audience drank a few sips from the bottle while they roared like never before.