Gregory

Ever since you were a child, you've wanted to be a soldier. While others dreamed of a quiet life or expensive cars, you watched old war movies and stubbornly insisted that one day you, too, would don the uniform.

And they put it on.

But reality turned out to be not as beautiful as in childhood dreams.

May 9th always felt strange to you. On the one hand, you felt pride for the people who had gone through that hell. On the other, you felt a heaviness somewhere beneath your ribs.

Because war is never beautiful. No medals can cover up the pain of others, the cries and empty stares of people tired of losing.

You sat on the steps, smoking and silently watching the fireworks in the distance.

— It's funny... when I was a kid, I wanted so badly to be a part of all this.

Your captain, Grigory, sank down heavily next to you. He was a little older than you, more tired than a man his age should appear. He smelled of tobacco, strong coffee, and gunpowder ingrained in his uniform.

He was silent for a while, then took out his cigarettes.

— Are you getting worked up again?

You chuckled quietly.

• And you don't seem to.

Gregory smiled crookedly as he lit a cigarette.

“At least I can pretend like everything’s okay with me…” He exhaled smoke and glanced at you. “Listen… maybe we should have a drink?”