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Top Secret Researcher
Original Poster
#1 Old 21st Oct 2007 at 4:27 AM
Default Dalton's disastrous works
December 15th 1917

I am happy to say that we have crossed the border, everyone of our compeers, alongside us. It is a great feeling one gets after leaving their own country and entering another, and it can entice one to start taking up poetry;

The sun is a gentle hand
Spreading light to guide us
And calling upon the moon at the witching hour
to boldly chase away bad dreams

An untroubled conversation starts,
About home, roasting chestnuts over a fire
Or stories of knights slaying viscous dragons
and for now we are at peace

Faint snores drift in to the eventide
Glowing embers die down in the crisp night air
Lady moon rustles her cloak of stars and silver
And absorbs the day light in to deep darkness



September 13th 1918

Weather okay, as if that matters much. It hasn't been too cold, which is very good. But then again, it proves that we're not very close to our target. Much of the group are still in heavy mourning after losing 5 to a blizzard, and 1 to an attack on our camp. We're moving much slower now, and the nights seem to last longer. Casperof and Akhatova woke up screaming last night. I know why, and it's partly my fault. Dorogoi was killed on the eve of August 30th 1918. A group of men ransacked our camp in the dead of night and dragged Vasily Dorogoi, 19 through our camp, leaving a trail of blood to an icy pool where his body lay floating face down. I tried my hardest, being one of the eldest to make them stay behind. But curiosity got the better of them and they had soon seen Dorogoi's pale lifeless body, pulled to the icey bank by me. And it was then that I buried him, with no help. As I am the one who will have to tell his mother. And it is my fault that he was on guard and not me.

But the worst night so far was the night of the blizzard. We had taken shelter in a small cave - far to small for 21 men and 4 woman. I and 2 others (Itsov and Peskow) when a torrent of snow bean to fall. I was all too aware that there were some over hanging rocks on the top of our cave, and I could feel the steady vibrations of the beginning of an avalanche. I warned as many as would listen, and all but 5 managed to escape. So it is here that I pay my respects to Orlov, Skobelov, Titovich, Volsky and Aparina. They will always be in our memories. Never has our company been so quiet. One could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

Of course, we soon lost need for 2 of our horses and were forced to leave them near a place where there were signs of human habitation. A few bags were also left there, as we had neither mental strength or space to carry them with us. Although, there have been some ups. Say, Chahine falling off his horse was a high point for us. We all laughed, which was nice. It's good to think that after all the peril there can be good times.



December 25th 1918

It brings me the greatest sorrow to say that I am spending Christmas on my own. It also makes me somber to have to tell you that I, Artem Fedotova, am dying. It is so cold out here, I fear that I will not even make it through the night. As my tears roll down my blue, bloody face they freeze in to pearly white balls. The blind-ness in my right eye has now become a major hindrance. Only yesterday I fell down a small rocky hill and cut my head open. I must have lay there in a ditch for around two hours, until Casperof found me. I was crying tears of joy. Now, at such a gloomy time simple things give me the greatest pleasure.

I can not bear the thought that I may never see my darling Anja again. I will never feel her soft cheeks in my hand, or the gentle touch of her lips on my own. She will never see me again, and she will never know what happened to me. I only pray that someone find my diary and publish my journey. The highs, the lows. The loss of 20 other men on the way. And I pray for all those who we did lose, and who were killed in such ways I'd rather not list. When I set off on my journey to place the Russian flag on a newly discovered land mass - I did not know that it would bring such sorrow and the hollow feeling that now fills me.

I lost Casperof today. There was a terrible mist - possibly brought on by the men that live in these realms. Then all I heard was the sound of a revolving blade and then two thumps. Casperof's head landing on the ice and then the rest of his body, dropping forwards. The ice around went a ruby red and I felt a sharp taste in my mouth. I was sick, violently so. It is well known to most that it is very hard to bury one in such icy land so I did what I thought was best and cast his body in to the icy waters. And I saluted him as his heavy, pasty body sunk to the bottom of the pool. Everything Casperof has done for me this long year flashed before me, and although tears ran down my face - I was proud of him. A young lad, as he was had done much more than any man would accomplish in a lifetime. He had saved lives (my own many a time), survived until the very end and made it possible for this voyage.

(some time later)

It is so very cold. It's impossible to light a fire and be safe in these parts, I don't want to die to a viscous attack by the tribe that seem to own this area. I want to die as close to my goal as is humanly possible. Though, I'm not sure I have enough strength even to cover the ground to the next pool of water. And I can see it from here. If I could write in words what the air is doing to my lungs, I would. But I feel that I know no word to properly describe the sharp piercing sensation in my chest. Is this what it feels like to die? Am I dying? Is this the end for me? If I sleep, I know they will be full of terror-ridden images as they have been day after day after day.

(even later)

It's hard to write - it's cold, too cold. I want to tell all those who know me that I love them. Especially my dear Anja. Our love just begun, and now over. If this is the last I write, let it be known that none of the people who believed in me were let out of my thoughts. Please do not be sad for the loss of me, but happy for the memory of me. I would rather live on in your heart and be loved than in your sorrow and be regretted...

Three extracts from a fictional diary of a man who goes out of Russia and somewhere (not sure where) to pace the russian flag as their own land. It's not very good, but I'm not very good at writing so yeah.

ART IS COMING SOON
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Lab Assistant
#2 Old 21st Oct 2007 at 11:52 AM
OMG biddy, this is really good you know. You should write more :D

To be, or not to be,
That is the question.
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