Trigger warning: written with the intention to be bleak and sad. suicide ideations, grief, trauma, violence

When you wrong somebody it is often hard to set it right, you must admit your wrongdoings, your own faults but some of the time you wish you could admit those wrondoings to their face. However, sometimes the chance to do that has long passed. And you will live with regret for your whole life.

When he returned I did not know, I was unaware of all that he had done for us. I only knew the twisted truth of what he had done to us. I wish I had known, and I will always regret not knowing. I was too cruel and he was too kind, too naive, too foolish. Forgiveness isn't that easy

He must've been tired, no, he was tired. The old station wasn't far from the village of the former blood lilies. Vasili, (because that is the name of our titular hero) remembered everything as if it were yesterday. In reality he had endured three years of dehumanisation before returning as a free man, purely because he had the strength, hope and preservance to believe the Statute, our former government, would fall apart, sooner or later. And right he was, his freedom was proof.

His auburn, reddish hair was shining in the sun as he was carrying his overnight bag with depressingly little of his personal things, most of them had been destroyed. Burned, ripped apart in front of him, or simply stolen. Nothing was left from his real identity but himself. Dehuminsation, it works, he knows that too well. But as he remember the way freshly cut grass smells, how oaks look when the bright sun lights their leaves. He remembers the time we first arrived at this station, already afraid of the Statute, already running back than, we were about 20 years old when we first arrived there. He slightly smiles as he starts seeing the old village we built up again to live in it.

If I could talk to him now I would have asked him to turn around. But alas, the reality is did not know, and neither did he.

So Vasali excitedly walked into the unchanged village made for and by the resistance members. The moment he arrived, the only precious item he still carries is a guitar on his back, the people living in the village were curious. Nobody visits this village on a normal sunday, they did not visit at all. All that happens here is a market once in a while. Who was this redhead with scars across his face, wearing a weathered brown leather jacket three sizes too big. Some of the original resistance members gathered in small groups asking themselves if it could be possible. He wouldn't dare, would he? He had the courage to do crazy things, why wouldn't he return like this?

He arrived at the small, yellow, timber-framed where he had so many memories. Planning things with his best friend Kostya, the basis when they were rebuilding this village with their own weathered hands. More weathered than they thought they would be when they both started studying law. He knocked on the door, straightening his jacket and practicing his smile. He did not expect the reaction he got. As the old gray woman opened the door he exclaimed. "I am home Mama!" He opened his arms to hug her but the woman slowly looked him up and down and wanted to close the door. Vasili stopped her, "It's me mama, don't you remember me? Vasili?" He asked, hiding the tears in his eyes. "My son died the day he decided to turn himself in." she says with a cold and uncaring voice. "Mama, it is not what you think, I promise, I can explain everything." He begged and cried. "You don't even look like yourself anymore." The boy fluttered his eyes and stopped struggling, his mother did not love him anymore.....

"Here, if you are really Vasili, takes this, he forgot it, I do not want it anymore!" She said as she tossed a signet ring with a black stone towards the poor boy. His father's signet ring, the way he wanted his mother to remember him. His future siblings if she would've been more fortunate. The boys heart was ripped apart as he gingerly put the ring on his finger, reminding of who he cannot be anymore. His sense of self is torn, his hope is slowly diminishing.

He walked through the village, hoping anybody else he once really knew will be his rescue. Will mend his slowly breaking heart, I still wonder if he could've been saved than and there, if he walked out. But alas, he did not. He spots the tiny pink house and smiled. Wiping his shaggy hair out of his face and walking up to it, ringing the doorbell. A beautiful young lady opened the door and Vasili smirked in response. The dark haired beauty widens her black eyes in surprise only to close them again with disappointment and anger. Before the dear lad knows it she has hit him in the face. "You Bastard!" "Yelizaveta!" He answered in shock. "I do not understand, what nerve you must have to think I'll welcome you with open arms. I loved you Goddamnit but even back then you weren't perfect at all!" She screams. "I don't understand Yeliza, what have I done wrong?" He asked. "What have you..." She scoffs. "I was the pariah because I had the hope you had somehow helped us, you were somehow a heroe.... Somehow given your life for ours! But no, you are nothing of that kind, you are a coward! Here take back your fucking handkerchief. It was stupid all along." She threw the handkerchief on the ground in front of his feet. That handkerchief is the one he had given her while they were in a play, they did not know eachother and he heard her crying so gave her the handkerchief.

Vasili looks down at the handkerchief and picks it up as the door closed in front of him. He wiped his tears with the handkerchief and walked through the village. Lost, forgotten, forsaken, not the way he had imagined coming home again. He sat down on a bench in the central square. With his heart only warmed by his hands. In the shadows of the houses the breeze is quite cold. He looked at the square and sees the last incredibly familiar house, the first house he ever helped renovating. He hesitated just a moment before walking up to the house and softly knocking.

A man with long dark hair opened the door. Vasili immediately recognizes the light blue eyes but he can only see one as the other has changed, the milky white coat over the one eye is probably cause by a heavy white scar through his eyebrow, eye and lips which all are connected to form the irritated grimace. But as the man sees Vasili it slowly relaxes and the expression reflects.....disarment. "Vasili." The men says with a surprised face as he looked up and down. "Konstatin." He responded with a smirk. "Come in." He said as he steps back. Vasili entered the familiar home. Konstantin dissapearred into the kitchen to make the same tea they used to drink. He sat down in front of Valili. "Kostya, I...." He sighed. "I am so sorry, I should have told you it is not what you think. I am sorry." Konstatin smiled slightly. "I don't forgive you." Vasili looks up at his best friend. "Kostya I said...." He nodded. "Yes, and I am not forgiving you. You broke me Vasili, I have blamed you for years and years, they executed Alesya a week after you left. I lost my best friend, I lost my sister, I had already lost my mother and father. You were the only one with a choice. I do not understand how you have the nerve to appear here like a lost puppy. Crying for forgiveness that my heart is not able to give." "I wanted to save you!" Vasili objects "No, you were afraid, you chose torture over courage." He said and looked down, "I am sorry, it is the truth. You abandoned me, and the memories we have. You do not have a place in my new ones anymore. I hate you, I do not want to care anymore. I apologise." He said. he handed Vasili a cozy knit sweater. "I still had this one in my closet, it belongs to you." Vasili suddenly sees the tears in Kostya's eyes. "Couldn;t you see I needed you?" He can't do anything but shake his head and be truthful, he did not know.

Kostya walks him to the door. "I am sorry." Kostya said while opening the door. Vasili walked out of the door, "vasili?" He turned around and Kostya hugged him. But a strange hug. It did not feel like a normal hug, It felt like the kiss from Judas. A hug condemmning you, the last hug. They both knew it was going to be. As Vasili walks up the square he hear Kostya raising his voice "Yes ladies and gentlement, that is indeed Vasili kudryashov. A coward, once scared of the statute, choosing to turn himself in instead of fighting." Konstantin turns around and Vasili looks at the young resistance members still tasty after no chance to fight their cause. So they loved any chance to beat up. Vasili knows these all too well, mostly because he once was one. But back than the cause could be beat. Now the boys simple beat up a misunderstanding......

It is not very easy to run with a guitar on your back in the woods. But it is possible, especially when you have trained your fight or flight instincts for years. And that is one thing Vasili could say he has done better than anybody. The young revulotionaries eventually are bound to give up. Vasili Has always been a good runner, when we were young we would even call him the runner.

He put on the sweater in hopes of protecting himself from the cold as the sun was slowly descending and preparing to say goodnight. Nothing was left in the heart of Vasili, the truth did not matter anymore, and we all knew that, he knew that. He did not know for what he had continued to live if it wasn't this. He did not know what the reason for anything was. it was not perfect, it is empty for him. His life has been ripped apart. He put his hands together. "God, are you there? I am......I wish. I do not know. God I do not forgive you, I hope you can forgive me for that."

So that night by the fire he made his choice, he looked at the fire for one last time, imagining me, his best friend, Kostya, beside him. I will forever regret my choices of that evening. I found him in the woods, hanging from the tree. I must confess that I cried more than I care to admit, he was wearing the sweater, his signet ring and his mouth was stuffed with the handkerchief so he wouldn't be able to scream for help. When I took the handkerchief  out of his mouth I saw that something was written on it. "A dead government still produces it's own truth." I realised what mistake I had made. I began researching what happened to Vasili, it turns out that he was sentenced to work in a work camp he fed false information to the goverment so they wouldn't fid us. He had done this for years, through real torture, through pain. Pain which make my hundred scars on my back seem nothing, or the scar through my eye seems like nothing but a scratch.

I regret the things I have done. I regret not trying to find him for a longer period of time. I regret what I said on that last day. I regret a lot.

It really is a tragedy, he did not know he could not return to where he felt most safe. I should've forgiven him because really, what was there to forgive? What was there not to forgive? These people, these bitter people, we had so much sorrow. And I will never blame them (Including myself) but I also will not, not blame them. We reamain humans, faultily so......
But we should have at least nodded and thanked him before slamming the door in his face. I should have known better,,,,,
He protected us for years and years and only got pain in return

Please excuse the messy writing I don;t hate it!