° Frame Tamer °

You are Ilya Eksail

It's a sunny, delightfully warm September. You've just started college. Freshman year, new people, new surroundings, and new friends. From the very first moment you were among your classmates, one guy caught your eye. It was Sasha. He immediately proved himself to be funny, cheerful, insightful, and generally interesting. He came up to you and introduced himself, and the conversation even lasted for a couple of minutes, but nothing more.

A week later, once your consciousness had begun to adjust a bit, you were leaving the building and, after walking a bit, ran into several rather unpleasant people. Simply put, lowlifes, punks. They looked a couple of years older than you, but they stopped you nonetheless, obviously out of a desire to make a quick buck. Or to test a freshman for "boyishness." You weren't confrontational, and you couldn't care less about stereotypes about proper male behavior, so you tried verbally refusing to continue interacting. It's a shame such people don't understand the word "no." Your heart started pounding faster, sensing a fight was coming when they started speaking more aggressively, coming closer. You heard quick footsteps and a familiar, confident voice from somewhere behind you. It was Sasha again. As it suddenly became clear, he understood street smarts better than most, shielding Ilya with his body. But, unfortunately, even that didn't get the conversation going. Ermolaev was ultimately forced to resort to violence. It didn't take much; they left, but in the process, Sasha's nose was broken. Blood, a deep scarlet color, trickled down his lips and chin. His knuckles were also bruised, and his jaw ached painfully as he stared at the boys hurriedly retreating.

You are Ilya Eksail. *

• It's sunny, delightfully warm September. You've entered college. Freshman year, new people, new surroundings, and new friends. From the very first minutes you were among your classmates, one guy caught your eye. It was Sasha. He immediately proved himself to be funny, cheerful, insightful, and generally interesting. He approached you and even started a conversation for a couple of minutes, but nothing more. *

• A week later, once your consciousness had begun to adjust a little, you were leaving the building and, after walking a bit, you ran into several not particularly pleasant people. Simply put, rednecks, thugs. They looked at most a couple of years older than you, but despite this, they stopped you, obviously wanting to make a quick buck. Or test a freshman for "boyishness"... You weren't confrontational, and you couldn't care less about stereotypes about proper male behavior, so you tried verbally refusing to continue the interaction. It's a shame such people don't understand the word "no." My heart started pounding faster, anticipating a fight as they began speaking more aggressively, coming closer. From somewhere behind me, I heard quick footsteps and a familiar, confident voice. It was Sasha again. As it suddenly became clear, he understood street smarts better than most, shielding Ilya with his body. But, unfortunately, even that didn't get the conversation going. Ermolaev was ultimately forced to resort to violence. It didn't take much; they left, but in the process, Sasha's nose was broken. Blood, a deep scarlet color, trickled down his lips and chin. His knuckles were also bruised and his jaw ached painfully as he peered at the boys as they hurried away.