Waow! Realized I never posted this.. This was the process for the Die Parasieten rewrite until I decided I needed to change the entirety of the story. I feel like it's worth sharing, despite remaining unfinished..But who knows I'll reuse this for a future novel of the same name, or a different name! Plenty can happen. 27/01/2025 WARNING: The following text includes (suggested) suicide. Thursday 01/07/2004, My father passed away. He had lived out the majority of his life at his occupation, and this would be the place where it would be taken as well. He was a man who put everything he had into what he did for a living. I had not spoken to him in years. This event had me absent for the entirety of my day. It wasn't grief that consumed me, what I lost today was nothing more but an acquaintance. Yet, the circumstances of his death left me to ponder. Something did not feel quite right. In the hopes of getting clarity, I will retrace my steps. Today began like it always had, I awoke at 6:00 a.m. like I have done my entire life, dressed in the same clothes I had worn for years, ate the same breakfast I had always eaten. The day had not been any kind of unusual until I set foot outside exactly one hour after I had woken from my slumber. The sky above was tainted with blackened grainy clouds that were unusual even for the factory-filled landscape of Perthlochry. The odour it carried was rancid, I could only describe it as the smell of rotten flesh, tainted by the familiar polluted air. The unnatural mixture of scents both familiar and unfamiliar led caused all those around me to hold their breath. The stench did not remotely fade as it moved along with the wind. Men went to their occupation with a variety of handkerchiefs and cloth scarfs to cover their mouths from the putrid smell. It was clear as day even through the harsh freezing weather that usually muffled the already unpleasant smell of the place I called home. Perhaps the unfamiliar scent caused many to recognize the place we in lived didn’t particularly smell pleasant. Yet, It wouldn't stop them from doing what they were expected to do. Nobody would question these circumstances, their minds would be occupied by their purpose, the routine they had ahead of them. Even through their gags, and puke-filled mouths. I was the only one who stood still and stared silently at the sight, pondering its source. Even if it was for just a moment. I eventually continued my way to The Tail Informational office, the place where I worked. As I entered the building I was greeted with the sight of Amandel Court. He was a child-sized man with dark straightened hair that matched that of the man we all served under, President Kuznetov. Despite Mr. Court's feminine posture and rather weak exterior, the president had chosen him out of all more appropriate candidates to be his right-hand man. I doubt President Kuznetov cares for the standards we have adopted in Perthlochry. I am uncertain if he is even aware of it. Nevertheless, Mr. Court has served under him for about the past four years now and is the primary reason we both remain standing here today. Without his constant efforts to maintain the president's work the Perthlochrian Tail, if not all of Pertlochry, would have long deteriorated beyond repair. Mr. Court's position and mannerisms have made him rather infamous. His childlike and fragile physique was more than likely to arouse rumors and most of all, judgment. He trembles and sweats wherever he stands, his large round glasses blind him as the unusual heat of his body clashes with the cold we were used to living in, causing them to fog. It makes him clumsy as a result. He often comes across as a little paranoid, shaken by anyone other than the known-to-be-kind president himself. To outsiders, he seems incapable of maintaining the work that men should do with ease. Yet, despite him showcasing his abilities through his shortcomings, this never changed the judgemental eyes. To many, he is as shamefully feminine as a man could get, a man less capable than a housewife’s daughter. I fail to understand the logic behind that. His entire identity is crowded by rumor, to the point I presume everything I hear is false until solid evidence proves otherwise. The fact is, there is nothing to prove any of the rumors true. Amandel Court was as known as President Kuznetov himself, yet, he was not known at all. Despite all of this, he did everything that our president was and still is incapable of. Including having stood at the office today. Unlike my usual routine where I head straight to work, I was now led to a proper office instead of the hastily put-together cubicle that had yet to receive any sort of improvement despite me having worked there for several years now. Upon entering I was greeted by my colleagues who were seated inside the window-lit office, cramped together on chairs that were gathered from the neighbouring offices for this meeting that had yet to be elaborated upon. Misha sat tense in his seat, playing with his thin unmaintained hair, trying to hide that he had torn bits of his fragile dull locks. I only caught a glimpse of the scene as he was the first to turn toward me, his face was covered with a look of worry, yet some relief appeared in his expression upon seeing I had arrived as well. My two other colleagues turned to me what was practically in sync, Sutton’s turn was more immediate and met my gaze a moment sooner than Andrei’s did. He looked at me with an expressive judgmental glare. I had come in late, and he wasn’t fond of waiting. The sound of Sutton’s foot tapping on the floor made his impatience clear. If it wasn’t for the presence of Mr. Court, I would have certainly been yelled at. Andrei however seemed content with the gathering, even if his face showed some sort of confusion by the odd schedule. He seemed to mind the least of the three of them. They all seemed just as caught off guard by the circumstances as I was. Even if we frequently work together, this sort of gathering was unusual. My colleagues and I share cubicle walls, we work in the same district. This would primarily consist of paperwork for the research that our fathers had produced, occasionally we would do insignificant research of our own to contribute. This is the one reason we are familiar with each other. We accompanied one another every day during our breaks to discuss the matters we worked on. We worked together whenever we were tasked with more intensive tasks. We were there for the same reason after all. Our fathers were the most significant researchers of the Pertlochrian Home, and we would follow in their footsteps. As it turns out, today would be the day that said proposal came to fruition. Mr. Court sat me down beside them and after some hesitation, told us why we all were gathered there today. All our fathers had passed, simultaneously. I felt my eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise, the news came completely unexpected. My first instinct was to turn to my colleagues. Their eyes had widened like mine had, except their gaze was of horror. They acted alike for the first time I had known them. Complete and utter silence, not a muscle was moved. Mr. Court elaborated that the initial plans for our careers would be settled swiftly and that he would arrange a notice for each of us to the Tail Informational Office’s employers. He excused himself and left in a hurry. We were left without explanation, just each other's company for a moment that felt like it lasted longer than it truly had. There was not one reaction, and not one word was spoken, nothing had prepared us for what would be said just a moment earlier. It must have been ten minutes until this silence was broken by Andrei’s aged chair creaking from the weight being lifted. He stood with a light arch forward, this was not unlike him. Yet his face did not carry the mischievous grin it always did. Without anything done or said, he made his way to the door. Sutton stood up more suddenly than even he seemed to have intended to, and at a significantly quicker pace, he left closely alongside Andrei. Not being given much choice, Misha and I stood and followed along as well. We returned to our cubicles and went to work as if nothing had been said within that room. Unlike the usual noise that came from Sutton's cubicle, there was not a peep to be heard. Even Andrei hadn't said a single word to provoke him the entirety of the day. All the noise that could be heard would be Misha, who couldn't stop himself from crying. Despite knowing our career here would not last, and our lives would be significantly altered from this day onward. We tried to pretend like all was like it used to be. But we couldn't. I admit, I did not get a lot of work done. My mind was too occupied with the unexplained circumstances. How could four healthy men just die out of nowhere? Why aren't we told what exactly had occurred? It all felt off, something wasn't quite right. By the time I attempted to rest, I still pondered these questions. I followed my exact routine as I had always done, I came home at 8 p.m. and made dinner the moment I took off my boots, scarf, and coat. I finished my meal, washed myself, brushed my teeth, and got into bed at 10 p.m. expecting to rest within minutes To no avail, my mind was restless. Consequently, this futile attempt to sleep turned into hours wasted. My back began to ache from lying still, so I sat up and decided I had to put my thoughts somewhere to get rid of the questions that kept me awake. My colleagues and I had not spoken a word to one another for the entirety of the day. Perhaps, that is why I am writing this now. There is no making sense of this. I shall speak with them tomorrow. Friday 02/07/2004. This was the last day of our work at the Tail Informational Office. My colleagues and I spoke for the first time since yesterday. It began with a drained good morning from the three of them, out of all of us I remained the most like my usual self. It seemed like Andrei hadn't changed the bandages that covered his face, his hazel hair that usually curled over his forehead had become heavier with the subtle buildup of grease. His one exposed eye looked at me with an emptiness that his glasses made ever more prominent. Sutton wasn't like himself either, he didn't even stay a moment to speak, or yell, which was more like him to do. He merely muttered his usual "Good morning" out of habit. His scarlet hair was unbrushed, which matched his unironed attire. He left for his cubicle without staying for long. Andrei left the moment when he did. This left Misha and me, unlike our two colleagues, he was more verbal about what bothered all of us. We stood in the empty hallway in silence, only the ticking of the clock nearby could be heard as he began to open his mouth hesitantly. A minute had passed, and he spoke. His words peeped with sadness as he told me exactly what I presume all of us thought as well. "All of this just doesn't make any sense." I told him I agreed, it was exactly what I thought as well. Our chat got interrupted as the one item that hung on the office wall made a familiar noise; The clock struck eight. I left for my cubicle and looked back at Misha who did the same. He looked at me for only a second with tears in his eyes that I hadn't noticed a moment prior. He disappeared into his cubicle shortly after. He always carried his sensitivity with such shame. Perhaps because it is so frowned upon. I never understood why that was the case. By the time our break had arrived, we gathered as we had always done. We retrieved our meals and went to boil water for the tea. The majority of us ate our usual meals of cold rice with the leftovers we had from the day before, as did the average Pertlochrian for lunch. Due to our harsher living conditions, our health should be prioritized significantly, meals often include fresh vegetables, quality fish and chicken, and of course, rice. All are imported from west Madenew where land can be used for produce, and both land and water are more available for an animal to develop healthily. It is a simple meal that wouldn't require a lengthy morning routine and prevents waste of one of the lacking products we are scarce in. Sutton was the odd one out, using his share of the boiled water for his instant noodles instead of a more nutritious meal, he claims he prefers convenience. His lack of self-care was evident in his every way of being. We moved to the table most separate from the majority of the other employees. As we were about to take our seat I spoke before my body touched the cold metal below. I mentioned how the circumstances were off, and if they'd have any idea of what had occurred to our fathers. "What would we presume happened to our fathers?" Those were my exact words before I began my meal. My question was blunt and took them by surprise. Sutton's eye twitched with irritation when I mentioned it, but as Andrei replied he seemed more open-minded to talking about the subject. Grains of rice and soft vegetables muffled what I heard, but I could still clearly comprehend every word said. Unsurprisingly, Andrei's usual self shined through despite the gloomy circumstances. He suspected the smokey clouds from the day prior may have had something to do with it. I agreed. We began to debate the source of the smoke. After considering the other more unlikely options, our best conclusion was that something had caught on fire due to unsafe circumstances. Perthlochry has deteriorated in its safety precautions, Staff from across all of Pertlochry have had a significant spike in health concerns, sometimes even resulting in death. Equipment, Uniforms, and even the facilities themselves use cheaper alternatives after the inflation occurred only a few years ago. Cooperations became less staffed, and what used to be a place that thrived from work had begun to slack in its strict ways due to a lack of proper enforcement. It was all since our previous president had passed, many rather take their life than be ruled by our current president. This sudden shortage of employees changed everything for the worse. Needless to say, it wouldn't be surprising if the workplace deterioration in a high-risk career was the reason our fathers had died. We refused to believe it was a suicide, nothing suggested they would have done such a thing. Sutton chipped in with some of the usual arrogance that was carried in his every word. Despite it being unlike a Perthlochrian to have such a strong need to express their sense of self-significance, it suited his rather expressive distinguishable personality. He mentioned that if it was just a mere fire he'd see no way for all four of them to die unless it was something grand and newsworthy, something worth getting support for from the general public. With a mouthful of ramen noodles, he elaborated. "Unless it was intentional." He said this in a mocking tone as if he didn't quite believe it. Even Andrei agreed with his attitude and stated that it "Would be stupid to get rid of their most excellent workers just like that." Yet, this statement halted the motion of my chewing for just a second. Something about that idea stuck with me. I was well aware the Presidential Home was making a great effort to cover up what had occurred, however, I never considered there may have been murderous intentions behind their deaths. To my colleagues it must seem ridiculous, they have blind faith in the Presidential Home. But I couldn't help but consider it as a possibility. It just begs the question as to why, and who. If this even were to be the case. I suddenly stood again before I gave my actions thought, and decided to walk to the window amid the conversation I was long not listening to anymore, leaving behind a meal that was yet to be finished. I stared at the direction the smoke had come from just yesterday. The small piece of land neighbouring the Perthlochrian Tail laid at the dull horizon like it had always done, you wouldn't notice it if you paid it no mind. I've always felt drawn to it ever since I was a child. Whenever my father was home, he stood at the window and stared at the land throughout his days, sometimes for hours on end. Occasionally I would join and stand by his side. I pondered what he was thinking. A grand factory shaped the sight, a sign of some sort of life like ours was defined by shapes blurry to the naked eye. Yet, it now appeared more twisted than it used to. The circumstances made me wonder whether this place had a meaning I should have asked about when I was younger. My father and I had rarely exchanged words, and I was never certain why he was so fixated on this place with no name. Perhaps my sudden departure from the table made me appear upset, as Misha had followed me to lay his hand on my shoulder. His touch was careful, and his light and slender fingers barely reached through the blouse I wore. He softly asked the question "Are you okay Zavier?" with a look of concern on his face. If it wasn’t for him speaking to me, I doubt I would’ve noticed him. His touch matched his personality, and so did his physique. The white blouse we all fit in perfectly appeared large on him. I could’ve sworn it used to fit him like ours do. I stared at him in silence. It is clear as day that he treats others the way he desires to be treated. It was something nobody bothered or even considered to return. For the same reason, it is something I am not capable of returning either. it isn't like a Perthlochrian to care like he would. He was as gentle as mankind could be. He is not well-liked for it. Even among my peers, there is a tinge of judgment toward his sensitivity. It was yet another thing I never quite understood. I do not see why it is worth the effort if it was gone unappreciated by his peers. From a professional standpoint, he offers balance to the team we have grown to become. Sutton’s loud, erratic, and sometimes even outlandish opinions and mindless guesses are in great contrast with Andrei’s more down-to-earth, calculated, and logical approach to subjects. Just like how Misha’s more emotional, caring, and attached perspective on things, is in contrast to my own emotionless and unaffected point of view. It is a necessary balance. Yet, I doubt I will ever understand why he is so unlike me. It doesn’t make sense to allow yourself to be hurt repeatedly, to stay fragile in an environment that is harsh and unfair. Perhaps, understanding it would disrupt the dynamic that had made our fathers so successful until this point. Misha was like his father, we all were in our own way. There is no use in changing something that had worked once before. After what I assume had been far from an appropriate amount of silence, I spoke. I reassured him that I was okay. Despite my lack of emotional display he believed my word and seemed relieved. He gave me a subtle smile, and after a moment we returned to the table where Sutton and Andrei had been staring from. Andrei muttered something that I did not quite hear, Sutton's embarrassed reply in comparison was audible and something along the lines of "QUIT IT YOU PERVERT!!!" accompanied by a harsh yet playful punch that Sutton had put all his boyish strength into. Andrei had not even flinched from the painless impact to the shoulder, and let out an amused snicker. Albeit tainted, their usual odd selves seemed to be far from gone despite the circumstances we were in. Their push-and-pull conversation continued as Misha and I returned to our respective seats, and I continued my meal. We both observed the rather nonsensical scene unfold. Frankly, I did not and have never understood it. I never quite understood my colleagues at all. I did not understand why Misha nudged his own meal to Sutton during his frantic arguing, tricking him into mindlessly devouring it through the useless defense of a topic I couldn’t possibly decipher. And I never understood how Andrei seemed to be entertained by the ear-piercing mind-numbing sentences Sutton would blurt out. I never understood how, unlike our peers, we were the only ones to fill up the room with our conversations. However, it was a relief to see this difficult time wouldn't affect the kind of people they are. I may not understand them, and our colleagues may only see us as a nuisance to their routine. However, they never bothered me. I trust there was a reason why my father preferred the same kind of companionship. The conversation never returned to the topic of our fathers, and the day passed without any further acknowledgment of our situation. We acted like we had been for 7 years now, continuing our day like it wouldn't be our last one like this. Saturday 03/07/2004. I sit by the station as I write this. Yesterday had passed sooner than I had anticipated. As I woke up I had gotten far in my usual routine. Just to realize it was not required of me to head to work. The paperwork for our transfer to the Presidential Home had been approved, and today left us without work as we were expected to pack our belongings. I did exactly that, just to be left with the entirety of my day free. I did not have many belongings to call my own. All there laid on my doormat was a suitcase, with my work briefcase set beside it. With just that the entirety of the home was empty of the things I owned. I decided to head to Andrei's home to offer my help, we could visit my other colleagues together afterward if there was time to spare. I am not quite sure why I came to that decision, I felt restless sitting on the sofa without anything to occupy me. I suppose I only feel at ease when spending my time on something beneficial. Without much further thought, I dressed myself in my coat, scarf, and boots and headed to where I am now. Yet, I was left waiting restlessly once more. It is the only reason I began writing this entry. I usually do not pay much mind to my surroundings. They had never changed enough to catch my attention. Each day snow fell upon the streets painting them the same white as the day before. However, without my work to consume my every thought, I found myself seeking other matters to keep myself preoccupied on my way there. The apartments all looked the same, large, concrete, flat buildings with square windows that were little in comparison. It is a common design of Perthlochrian architecture, yet they have become so iconic that they have even found their way throughout the general infrastructure of Madenew as well. In Lochwell this cheap and efficient style is considered to be for the wealthy, this style is primarily seen on the presidential islands, especially prominent in Lochwell. But for Perthlochry it can be seen about anywhere, The Pertlochrian Tail was no exception. The falling snow had already covered my shoulders and head only a few minutes after I stepped outside, The snow covered my tracks not long after I had marked it with my steps. The layer I walked on was thick enough that it completely covered up the border between the sidewalk and the road beside it. It made it difficult to separate, yet it did not quite matter enough to solve. The snow would fall at the beginning and end of each and every day, The only vehicles that made their way here were large trucks that had the benefit of more easily navigating the harsh circumstances. The average Perthlochrian would be used to this lifestyle by now. Across the road was the high chain wire fencing that separated the route for roaming vehicles from the one the train took. When I was younger there had been no fence, I only have a vague memory of the moment they were placed. I was waiting for the train with my mother like any other Sunday, This was the day we'd get groceries. Someone stood across the train tracks a bit back where the train would arrive, he was acting off. He was bent down, and he fiddled and twitched where he stood. I stared at him with blank curiosity. Everyone but me paid him no mind. Our eyes met for just a moment. There was a sense of guilt and hesitation in his expression, he tried to avoid my gaze, yet he couldn't quite manage to put me out of his mind. He lost my interest. I moved my head away toward my mother for just one second as the train was close to its arrival, and was about to cross paths with the man. All I heard was a sudden thud, my interest shifted to the direction of the man once more. I was met with the scene of everyone sharing my curiosity, there was no man across the train tracks anymore. In just that one moment, the man was gone. All that was left of his existence were deep red stains. I recall the morning after this had occurred. I was watching the news as I did each day. The crackling speakers of the television had been spouting information from all across Perthlochry, all of which I had mindlessly deemed to be true. It was the one source that kept me informed of what occurred in places I could not see for myself. As I had anticipated the incident from the day before had reached the news as well, however, it had been falsely deemed an accident. I haven’t watched television since that day, and even today I look at the newspaper with a skeptical eye. Even now, the man’s name remains unknown. What was left of him did not even have a pseudonym to call him by, he had become nothing more but litter to our railway, and his story was treated as such. Unlike anyone else, I am grateful he did what he did. He made me understand how mindlessness makes one blind to the truth, and his death has significantly impacted my work. Despite this, that day remained like any other day. I recall my mother was irritable about the trains not running for a few weeks, we had to walk to the local store for the time being. The street was busier than it had ever been, filled with men in uniform and helmets who woke us each morning with the noise of machinery and commanding yells. They made a half-hearted effort to prevent this from happening again by making access to the train tracks more challenging. Every week the fence got a little longer. I got to see people I had never seen before. Every day once I had finished my studies, I sat on the stone stairs that led up to the apartment entrance. I peered at the unfamiliar faces for hours on end until my eyes were strained by the chain-wire pattern. I stared at them, observed their mannerisms, listened to their muffled words, and took note of their appearance. I observed their lives in any way I could've, while they paid mine barely any mind. Until one day, the street was once more as quiet as it used to be. Years later, I do not recall their faces clearly. I am not sure what sort of uniform they wore nor the cooperation they came from. I do not recall what I made those blurred words out to be. As the station became available, I got to witness the poorly wiped stains that had been left on the train fade to the point you could see them no more. It hadn’t taken long until all had returned as it used to be. The fence serves as the only reminder of these events. The man that had become nothing more but an insignificant story for the news, and temporary litter to our railway which inconvenienced everyone. And now, he had become nothing. One is not meant to question what is around them, our occupation is a priority above all else. Throughout my life, people I knew only by face had disappeared similarly to how the man had, each and every time this was after weeks away from work. I got to witness people forcibly get taken by men of authority. The sound of yells, begging, and screams echoed through the streets as they were mercilessly shoved into a vehicle smaller compared to the usual trucks that are a common sight, brought away to what I can only assume is a place more fit for them. It is a sight that only became more common over the years. They contributed nothing, so there was no use to have them in the Perthlochrian Tail. Each time, I was the only audience to these occurrences, anyone else who passed and kept their gaze off of the spectacle. I am only curious because I was taught to be by researchers alike, for an occupation decided by my ancestors who had done the same. If it wasn't for my father’s influence, I would've been like any other Perthlochrian. Living life in the west of Perthlochry, working the same occupation, until I met the fate we all share. My curiosity defines me as it did my father. As days pass, I become like him more and more. My father was a successful man. I do not mind being what he once was. I am sitting on the train now. Andrei's home is not particularly a far trip from mine, yet, I would rather keep myself occupied by writing. Andrei lives furthest from the Tail Informational office and is used to taking this particular train. When I still lived with my mother at the beginning of my career, Andrei occasionally stepped off the train before mine and waited until I arrived. Then we'd head towards the office by each other's side. Whenever we shared the train he would gossip our entire trip about our colleagues and superiors, and I would listen. We barely knew one another. Our fathers got along well, but aside from some obligations we both had to attend to when we were younger, we never truly spoke to one another until he began this habit One day when we shared the train home, the conversation had grown quiet for the first time in weeks. We were silently in one another’s company as the ambient noise of the tracks below muffled any sound we may have made during our silence. The lack of Andrei’s words gave me an opportunity to reflect on the moments we had shared already. I had grown curious and finally asked why he did this. I recall his exact answer. It was as if he had been waiting for me to ask. After a knowing snicker, he looked me right into my eyes and told me the answer he seemed to have prepared for a while now. "My knowledge is not wasted on you." He then continued to tattle on, as if nothing had been said a moment prior. I continued to listen without questioning it any further, it was only after we said our goodbyes that I truly acknowledged how empirical of a man he truly was. I never quite realized his words didn't come from ego like many Perthlochrians base their argument on. His words were observation, tainted by a bit of gratification from translating them into facts. He knew a lot about many, including myself, yet I barely knew one thing about him. To this day, I still do not know much for certain. As time passed and I moved closer to the Tail Informational Office, this habit came to a stop. Yet throughout the years, he tossed crumpled paper balls over my cubicle wall to share the same facts he used to. I preferred the way it used to be, I am not fond of notepad paper landing on my head while I work. But I appreciate the thought. I am curious if he will find another way to share his knowledge with me when we live at the Perthlochrian home. As I look out the window, I can not help but acknowledge how repetitive the Perthlochrian Tail is. All looked the same. Despite that fact. I do recognize the apartment I had visited only once before. This should be my final entry for today. After I walked the short distance between the station and Andrei's home, I arrived at his apartment. The bell had a scratchy peep throughout the musical tune it played, it sounded old and in need of replacement. Shortly after I had rang the bell the door had been opened by the man I had expected to see, accompanied by a faint warmth coming from inside. He wore a long-sleeved shirt covering brown plaid pajama pants. For the first time in the 7 years I had known him, he was without the bandages that usually covered his face. It exposed the unusually darkened scar tissue that covered nearly the entirety of his upper face. All that seemed unaffected was a patch of skin around his left eye, almost in the shape of the glasses he wore. The eye I had always seen was left untouched, whilst the other was closed and unmoving. Even now I wonder how skin could turn so distorted. It was unusual, quite like the man who wore it. In hindsight my stare must have been offensive, I’d expect any other person to have been upset. But Andrei’s face remained the same for the entirety of our silent gaze. A relaxed yet cheeky smile. He took matters into his own hands and began the conversation. His hands settled in his pockets to protect them from the brief encounter with the outside’s cold "Zavier, good to see you.." He ended this phrase with a sound I can only describe as 'Hnnhuhuh', it was a peculiar snicker that often accompanied the words he spoke. His tone was a little more tired than it usually was, but he still uttered his sentences with his usual low soothing voice. There was a subtle quiver in his voice that would resemble a growl, which was contrasted by slight spikes of higher pitch in his tone at the end of certain words. I couldn’t help but follow his words intently, and observe him closely. A feeling I could only describe as a research worth looking into. He convinced me the phrases he muttered would be something worth remembering, something that would benefit me to know. It was a tone not quite different from his usual self, but I could sense it was different compared to the time we spent alongside our colleagues. I never quite put my finger on it. Before I could say a word he had already continued. "This caught your eye, Hasn't it?.." He lightly stroked his scar tissue with the side of his index finger, his demeanor was lost for just a second as his face pinched in discomfort, which led him to remove the finger from it and lower his hand once more. He continued as if nothing had occurred. "I wouldn't mind telling you the story Zavier.. Come in.." He hadn't questioned why I was there and welcomed me with open arms. He got me out of the cold without a moment of hesitation. Upon entering the home I quickly noticed the state it was in. The majority of the wallpaper was torn and tainted with a yellowish tint as if someone used to smoke in it, which was odd considering tobacco is illegal in the Perthlochrian Tail. The ground was covered in harsh, stained carpet flooring. I was not quite sure if it was supposed to be brown or had become this colour over time. The hallway had clothes scattered over the radiator. The coathanger on the wall was put to good use with many different long coats and scarves, most of which appeared old and worn, out of mindless curiosity I reached for a particular coat that caught my eye, I had seen it before. But I couldn’t tell when or where. Andrei hadn’t worn it before, that I did know. Even if the stitches were letting loose on worsted wool, the flaps and shoulders had lost their shape. I couldn’t tell where I had seen it before. There had already been boxes gathered at the door to the living room, Andrei gave me a passing amused look as he went ahead to move a few aside to reveal more of the entrance. More unidentifiable items from afar intrigued me for just a second, yet I could not identify anything through the dim light. My eyes darted to see what else I hadn’t seen as of yet. Despite the fact there were quite a few boxes already packed, many items still remained on display. I took my time to take a look at the items scattered about one by one. I had never entered someone else's home before that moment, but his place was a sight I doubt I would witness in any other home in the Perthlochrian Tail. As my gaze moved from one thing to another, he continued to speak without even giving me a chance to say hello. My gaze was set on his feet as I listened, the sight of inside shoes was quite uncommon. The soles of his slippers matched the carpet. "My papa and I used to be quite close you know.." He said, making a slow grabbing motion with his hands towards me. I had given my coat and scarf to him mindlessly as he had gotten my full attention "If there was any task he could do at home.. He would. If he could take me to work.. He would.. Just to spend a little more time with me.. I was a real papa's boy.. Admittedly, I still am." He had put my soaked coat and scarf on the heated radiator for me before he knelt down to his knees and removed my boots from my feet. He just continued to speak. And at that moment, I didn't even question his actions. "Nevertheless, one day my father had taken me to the Perthlochrian home's lab. Long, long rooms with cabinets full of little everythings to play around with.." He had put my boots by the radiator as well. In one swift motion he got to his feet once more and made his way to my side. I felt a warm sensation push against my spine which guided me towards the room past the packed boxes. I was overwhelmed by more oddities, Taxidermy, old medical kids, and jars full of organic matters I couldn't possibly identify. All was already set beside even more boxes to be packed. He pointed half-heartedly to an empty box, with a poorly preserved taxidermy piece of a pheasant and some bubble wrap set beside it "Get the birdie all safe and sound in the box, Will you pretty please?" He asked of me and didn't bother to wait for an answer, continuing to pack where he had left off in his story. "My papa and I were true troublemakers, we made life real tricky for the people slaving away in there.." He continued his story, and I had mindlessly begun to pack like he had asked me to do. "My papa may have been quiet, but he was a passionate man when it came to testing about.. It made him.. Unpredictable.." There was a long pause, allowing the information to settle. Before he continued the story once more. "But, one thing was certain.. Safety was a priority. Even at my tender age, I knew this.. I wore lab coats.. I wore glasses. I wore these black rubber gloves he had bought just for me.. I was such a careful little boy." His tone grew grim, and after yet another pause. He continued. "One day.. My papa and I did what we usually did.. We were boiling.. Something, that day.. The air was starting to smell icky. Quite like the smell of chemicals.. Dazed by the smell, I wasn't thinking quite.. Right." There was yet another pause, the noise of plastic rubbing against cardboard filled the room "My papa turned away for just a moment, just one second.. And I.. Foolishly took a look.. And in a fraction of a second.. I lost consciousness." There was a long pause once more, his gaze turned to me. A gaze which I returned. ".. What happened?" I eventually gathered myself to ask, the question he had clearly been waiting for. He smiled a subtle toothy smile in return before he spoke once more. "Oh, I just accidentally turned the heat up, my hand grazed the button the wrong way. Burned my face to a fine crisp." He let out a low snicker "Of course, complications over the years turned it into quite the sight on my poor fragile face.. Now I can not leave my home without bandages, or I would further risk making my case much much worse." He looked at me with the same odd expression. I couldn't figure out what he was feeling at this moment. After yet another moment of silence, I decided to speak once more ".. Why are you telling me this?" I asked, despite suspecting the answer. He thought about it for just a moment, before his smile only widened. It had something more genuine about it. Even if he was an honest man at heart, it was as if something made him display something he wouldn’t usually show another. "Ah, suppose I just trust you Zavier. Isn't that just sweet?.." Was an answer I wasn't quite expecting. He looked at me with the eye that almost matched his hair in colour, they had a certain shine of life in them I had never quite seen before, and my eyes had never quite left his. "Ironic.. We are quite like our fathers.. Your father used to visit here rather frequently, did you know? If you'd ask me, they were as close as men can be..” He took a minute to think about that phrase, letting out a low snicker before he rectified what he had said. "Aha, suppose that is not quite right.. They weren't lovers, that I am certain of.. They were as close as 'they' could be.. I could never quite put a finger on your father when I was younger Zavier, even you are a mystery to me like he once was.. As am I to you.. I think that used to be the foundation of their partnership.. They left one another questioning.. Quite like you and I." He sat still as his eyes turned to the box beside him, silence filled the room and his expression turned a bit saddened. His mind long had diverted from the topic we had begun the conversation with. Eventually, he decided to shake it from his mind. Quite literally, he shook his head. "Ah, it matters not, Zavier." He would continue to pack all kinds of objects, so many I couldn't possibly recall each and every one of them. He would speak before I even had an opportunity to recognize the items he picked up into his hands or process the words he had spoken a moment before. "I am merely glad to consider you my friend." He finally said, returning his gaze to me once more. "And before you say a word in return, my friend, I am well aware I may not be the same for you.. Quite like our fathers.. I doubt your father ever considered mine a friend. Those like him never quite blurt out that word freely. And neither will you, that is simply the person you are. The person I call my friend." The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as his eye met mine once more, there was something tainted about the way he looked at me. Once more, I couldn’t tell why. I felt myself lean closer with intent to speak, long having stopped packing as my mind had become lost in the conversation. Those were the final words of said conversation, yet I had too much to ask for the conversation to come to an end. I opened my mouth, but before a word escaped it he corrected me. "Always seeking for more and more.. You're asking too much of your mind, Zavier. I will not have the answers that would satisfy a mind like yours." He seemed entertained by the fact I was urged to speak, some life returned to his eyes once more. For just one moment it came to me that I had proved him right, the tinge of playfulness in his look told me that was exactly what he wanted to get out of me. As to why, I did not know. But it was just something he liked to do I presume. I closed my mouth and thought. Before all I did was nod. Now as I lay in bed with my eyes grown tired. I can admit that he was quite right. I feel the pressure on my head as I recall all that was done and said today, and I have questions yet no words to ask them. I can not recall everything as I'd expected myself to do. After the conversation, the rest of the day was filled with silence, apart from Andrei suggesting the occasional break to eat and drink. And now as I lay in bed I recognize why. I had too many questions in a world that does not grand the answers to the extent I need them. Even if Andrei went on and on about the things he told me, I would have still put him through a skeptical lens, and more questions would arise. He was right. It makes me wonder if I truly do make him as curious as he makes me.