1905

The story of how one man was betrayed by his country, as told by Vladimir Dyakov.

 

Most people would say my life in Saint Petersburg was pretty ordinary in comparison to most. I was a doctor, and a successful one at that. But my life turned upside-down in January of 1905.

Winter in Russia was always bitterly cold, and it was this time of the year that people would often walk several miles through the snow and wind to get medicine from me to make their children better. With their pleas for a cure, the people of the surrounding area would bring news of an attempted shift in power on the horizon. It was as if my going into the backroom to get my mortar and pestle were some sort of cue for them to go on about the Revolution going on outside my doorstep. I usually got annoyed by their constant frights and panics like that of a chicken with its head cut off, so usually I tried to give them their prescription as fast as I could without messing up my work and shooed them out.

That day was different though. My younger sister, Luka, came in carrying a soldier’s uniform and a scowl on her face that just told me something bad was going to happen. I always had that feeling ever since she had taken my name and gone to serve the czar, saying that she was a Menshevik. I was a Bolshevik, but where my sister was more extreme, I was a more moderate man.

“There’s going to be a strike today at the palace, Vladimir.” She said, unceremoniously dropping all of her load, firearm included, onto my work surface.

“So?”

“So I’m going to be part of the army picket. Are you going or not?” She asked, flicking a strand of curly, chocolate-brown hair out of her face. I knew this was her tell that she was losing patience, even though she wanted something from me.

I paused from my work to glare at her. “Of course I’m not going. Getting involved in things like this is what gets people killed, Luka!” I warned her.

“Get out.” She said bluntly, apparently forgetting that I owned the building.

“No way.” I replied. “Need I remind you that this is my office? I’m a doctor, Luka, I’m supposed to be helping people live, not get them killed.”

She glared as she picked up her belongings again. “Fine! Be that way. We’ll see who’s right and wrong when you’re starving on the streets because you didn’t act about your pay!”

“Whose fault is that for making me have to feed you too?! Just shut up and get out!” I shouted, throwing an empty bowl at her, instead hitting the slammed the door.

I continued working to blow off steam, but after a few hours, I began to hear gunshots and screams outside. Acting quickly, I blocked the door in case the violence spread towards the neighborhood where my office was located and resumed my studies. I wasn’t expecting for the door to be knocked down though.

Jumping, I heard the people outside yelling, “KILL THE TRAITOR!! BECAUSE OF DYAKOV, A HUNDRED PEOPLE ARE DEAD!!”

It all happened so fast. Several angry people, some of which were once my own patients, grabbed me and I was taken to the nearest park, only a few hundred meters away from my home. A rope was put around my neck, and I was panicking even more than before since the rope was so tight that I was suffocating. The people couldn’t wait to get it around the big evergreen tree in the park, and pretty soon, something snapped the world went black.

When I finally woke up again, all I saw was a white ceiling. I heard a noise that sounded very alien to me, like an automobile, except much quieter. Wondering how I could be here in this place, whatever it was, I tried to sit up, but quickly, a man’s gentle voice stopped me.

“Don’t move yet, Vladimir! You aren’t done recovering!” The quiet man’s voice urged. Looking to my left, I saw a graying-blond man with a large pair of white wings on his back, and I grew wide-eyed. I had never seen an angel before, though I had heard of them.

“Where am I?” I asked, not able to get rid of the quaking in my voice. “And who are you? And how do you know my name?”

The man smiled. “You’re in Heaven. My name is Jameson, and you were selected long ago to work under Master Raphael.”

This wasn’t very comforting to me, and neither was the new sensation of having wings on my back. “So I died?”

“Unfortunately.” Jameson admitted. “You were wrongly accused of killing hundreds people a few weeks ago. You were hanged and have been here in stasis recovering ever since you were admitted into Heaven.”

“I see…” I muttered sitting up, not liking the feeling of the rough hospital gown someone had put on me. “Not like I can do anything about it now. I’ll work under Raphael if you want me to, but how can I help?”

Jameson smiled. “Watch closely.” And with that, he pulled out a knife and sliced his own forearm open.

“What’re you doing?!” I panicked.

“Calm down.” He chided as no fluids came out of his cut. “Put your hand where the knife has been.”

Nervously, I put my hand where he told me to on his forearm, and I felt something on the palm of my hand that was somewhat wet, like sweat in a way.

“Now remove your hand.”

Doing as he asked, I saw that the gash was gone, as if nothing had happened at all. “What is this?!” I asked, bewildered.

“It’s how you can help us. In your skin, there is a healing agent that restores wounds upon contact.” The older man explained. “This division has been in need of more angels who can do that, so you’re a welcome addition.”

Soon, Jameson let me out with a fresh set of clothes and I found a way to settle myself in Heaven. I would grow to love my job in the medical field as I did on Earth, and I met some very interesting people in the process. The best part is that I’ll be able to continue with it forever, even though there’s a permanent mark from the rope on my neck and a small identification tattoo on my back. It’s worth it, though.

 

Author's Note

Please enjoy, and if possible, show me where I can improve. =)