V: Saint Peter’s Cross by Volk Kinetshniy

V: Saint Peter’s Cross

Leaving the psychiatric clinic behind, V is trying to reclaim his life. However, at the hand of his psychotic dreams and outbursts, his hypersexualized, non-conformist and violent nature, he is slowly and painfully falling out with his brother and friends, who don’t seem to understand him anymore. Feeling deserted and betrayed, he confines himself in an old caravan with his heroin addict boyfriend and bonds with two fellow inmates, whom he helped to escape. With his dreams of his dead friend getting out of control as they mingle with reality, V and his new friends begin a game of murder.

I’m scared of myself. Of my thoughts, my madness. The pain I’ve tried to lock away, the memories. It’s there, waiting for me. I try to ignore it, pretend it’s not there, pretend I am strong now, but every night I pass the little door, my back perspires. Every time I pass the room of darkness I look away. I can not bare listen to its sounds. The music of madness. I look away, I run away, but I know that some day the door will break. I can’t be running away for ever. The shadows will get me, they will conquer this room, they will conquer every room in the world. They will reach to the stars and they will devour me. The stars! Are there stars in the sky tonight? I rush to see. There are some, only a few. I’m frightened of them.

The cold is still here, I am still here. The wind is howling outside and I’m shivering. My hair is unwashed. My hands are pale and full of scars. Have you noticed how wounds turn into a deep red when it’s cold? The dim light on Randall’s face, makes him look unearthly. He seems nearly dead. His eyelids heavily sealed, locking outside a world he does not want to see. Shutting out this ugliness forever. His breathing sounds shallow. I can feel he is in pain. I push my eyes with both hands. I’ve got no job. Randall’s got no job, we can’t leave here. I light a cigarette. My headache is getting worse. I feel like an empty shell, I feel dying inside, fading. There is nothing left. Sometimes I wish I truly wasn’t human.

My heart is pumping loudly, it’s going wrong. It’s all going wrong. I feel my head breaking in two and my body floods with pain. Now that I feel, I wish I couldn’t. The pain is too strong to bear. It feels like something is tearing my insides apart. The bitterness of hate is raping my mouth. Now that I feel, I don’t know if that’s what I really wanted anymore. Is V back? Or is it someone else? How am I supposed to tell? I feel vicious, more vicious than I’ve ever felt before.

I spit on the ground, but the bitterness is still in my mouth. The pain of hate is taking over. I can feel it. That’s not V, V is dead. The old V is dead. This thing here is something else, something much more twisted.

By Volk Kinetshniy

Iron Door by Volk Kinetshniy

Iron Door

Raphael is an eccentric artist who lives with his nephew Wolf, as the only relative and legal guardian of the boy. Cut out of society that he deeply despises, he has his own strict ideas on his nephew’s upbringing. His methods involve pain, torture and uncontrollable love.

"Yes" Wolf wishes Raphael would kiss him, but he doesn’t. Instead he grabs him viciously by the neck. He knows the boy is in pain, it’s just that Wolf’s pain seems magnificent to Raphael, he looks like an angel thrown into hell. Just like Lucifer himself…

The journalists attack Raphael and his lawyer with microphones and cameras.

“No comment.” Says the lawyer.

Someone throws an egg on Raphael’s shoulder. It breaks and stains his coat. The media attacks him again.

Raphael stands in front of them. He is smiling slightly.

“May you be damned to Hell, you preposterous hypocrites. Shall you choke on your own foul judgment you wicked fools!” He says in a very loud and deep voice. The cameras are recording like crazy. Raphael looks right into them. He is not blinking.

His lawyer and the officers behind him are puling him by the handcuffs.

The tall blond guy looks at him.

Raphael is still, the other moves nervously for a while, then walks away. It’s no fun attacking someone who doesn’t care to live. He is not scared, he just doesn’t care. Raphael knows that, he knows, that right now he is God. No hopes, no fears, he hurts too much to feel any more pain. He’s been robbed of everything and there is nothing he can lose anymore. His human self has been murdered. There is nothing more frightening than to look a dead man in the eyes. And Raphael is dead inside.

"Give me your leg." he says. The boy stretches his leg out and he pours some alcohol on the sores.

Wolf twitches a bit. Raphael applies alcohol on the rest of the sores and then sits next to Wolf.

The boy places his head on Raphael's shoulder and gives out a deep sigh.

"You must lie down. I'll bring you the food when it's ready." Raphael takes him in his arms and walks him to the bedroom.

"In your room?" Wolf stretches out his head.

"Yes." Raphael places him on the bed.

It's a total mess, but the blankets are dry. Wolf smiles as Raphael covers him up.

"You are fucked up!" Phillip shouts back at him and walks to the living room.

Raphael shuts the door and follows him staggering.

"You are jealous." Raphael puts on an ironical smile.

"Of what? Of how you treat the boy or of how you've become?" Phillip yells in his face.

"I don't know, you tell me." Raphael lights himself another cigarette and coughs out loud.

"I'm not jealous, I'm sad Raphael." Phillip takes a deep breath.

"Sad?" Raphael moves closer and leans against the door.

"Yes sad. Sad that someone like you wastes himself like this, sad that my best friend has turned into this..." he sighs and wipes his forehead.

"Proud you should be Phillip. Not sad." Raphael now moves closer and leans against Phillip's shoulder.

"Proud?"

"Yes. I'm proud of me. You should be proud of me! Look at my creation." he points at the closed door where Wolf is hidden. "He is me!" he says and his eyes glimmer.

"Look at my work!" he points at the paintings around the place.

By Volk Kinetshniy