I am a voluntary exile. I have been living in Vietnam for 2.5 years, and I am not considering coming back to my country as long as Putin’s regime is alive. I know the end of the war, which we all crave, and it does not matter whether it would be defeat or victory for Ukraine; it will bring an embarrassing loss to Russia. Frustration and desolation are devouring the energy of my country. I do not feel that my country needs me anymore. Spending a lot of time working on volunteer projects, taking part in political life, and being an active citizen, I have always dreamt about a free and prosperous Russia. The war turned on at the end of a personal fight. I could not find inner strength and hope for a better future to continue to resist the evil that had captured my motherland. I left miserably, saying proudly that it was the way of my protest. Actually, I feel only shame, helplessness, and an inability to forgive myself.

As F. Dostoevsky said, the worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing. Living in Vietnam turned into a bacchanal: dance, shopping, alcohol, dates — all in vanity, all falsehood, everything for the sake of distraction. Lost and broken. I am still looking for a person who lived and fought for their own principles, creeds, and ideals. I still hope that her soul and mind have not melted in the hot sun of Vietnam.

On 24 February, at 4 am 2022, Russia attacked Ukraine. That divided life of the people from two countries, before and after, my life was no exception. In the first hours, I was trying to reach out to my good friend from West Ukraine on WhatsApp to know that she was safe and ok. In the first weeks we could not understand what was going on and talked every day to comprehend reality, supporting each other. I made posts calling for peace and shared information that Russian soldiers did in her country, which she had sent to me. We tried very hard to keep up our friendship despite everything. However, for my own sanity, I had dived into a new life in Vietnam, and it drifted us away from each other. I still believe that we could become close friends, because that formed hole nothing could be plugged.

Why didn’t I protest? I tried. I drove to the main square to speak up against the war on the first day of the war, and I saw the crowd of police there, but some people were walking around the square talking about how they felt lonely, devastated, and frightened knowing that most of their friends, colleagues, and relatives supported the war. It was the most useless walk. Speaking up against the war was suicide; people landed in jail or left the country immediately. All those who did not support the war were declared traitors and enemies of Russia. New laws, new cases, and new policy made us live in Orwell’s world.

At that time, I worked on myself as an English tutor for kids, and when I came to teach a class, parents came to me and started conversations, trying to analyze all events happening around our country. I have never hidden that I was a member of the liberal Yabloko party, and most of them knew my attitude toward Putin, but they wanted to know what I was thinking about the war. We were all pretty out of it. One of my clients attacked me and shook my body, trying to convince me the war was justified and all the fault of NATO and Americans. Other clients told me that I was zombified by Ukrainians through my dear friend, who was actually awfully scared there, and I felt all her pain. My students asked me how their future would look and shared their fears and unwillingness to live as in North Korea. VPN came into our lives.

My brother has been working for the government his whole life, but he was discharged on the fourth day of the war. He called my mother and told her that I had better leave the country. My mother was on my side, but her job as a mother to keep her kids safe, she started to spy on my Facebook, YouTube, and other social media to know what I liked or posted, and she screamed at me from fear to beg me to stop and just to shut up and go. She counted days before my leaving, fearing that something bad could happen to me; she experienced the Soviet Union period, and she knew those authorities too well. Fear has settled in our house, and the made home life is intolerable.

My friend from abroad texted me that if I wanted to leave Russia, I just needed to say it, and he would do things to help me. My American ex-boyfriend offered me help as well. I was confused and lost. “A day ago,” most of the members of Yabloko opposed the war on their pages on Facebook, and “today” all posts were deleted. I called my friends, and she refused to talk with me. Later she explained to me that police threatened her. I was sitting alone, watching YouTube and sobbing. Every day became harder and harder to say out loud what we had in our heads. People in transport, in shops, or in queues became aggressive and warlike. One random man asked my mother how her Ukrainian relatives were there; she never had anyone in Ukraine, but we have a Ukrainian surname.

I made a decision to leave Russia with a heavy heart to save my mental health and protect my freedom. New passport, a lot of papers, certificates, a new job, tickets, money, luggage, and a new life was ready to begin. I needed almost five months to make my leaving real. Why Vietnam? It was not a choice but a fast option. My mother sat opposite me and wanted me to promise her that if she died, I would not dare to come back, and my brother would care about everything. I know she thought that it would be better for me to leave my country forever. I knew only one thing: it was impossible to fight in Russia for freedom, for peace, for rights anymore.

We lost. I lost. I went into voluntary exile to seek a life abroad.

She headed towards the medical center to question Travis. The room was lined with about a dozen beds, only about half of them filled. She looked around for Travis. Not seeing him she called the doctor over.

“I had one of my men sent here a little while ago, where is he?”

“Second bed to the...” He indicated to an empty bed. He called one of his underlings over.

“Where did that man go?” The employee looked around, “I-he-he was right there just a minute ago!” The lieutenant rubbed her temples,

“How do you lose an unconscious man?” The doctor was asking shaking his hands violently at the man. The flabbergasted employee could only shrug.

“Great, another person missing,” Lealiah muttered to herself. She instructed the doctors to keep her updated, then went to inform the general. She walked down the same hallway that the prisoner had been taken down just yesterday, wracking her brain for an explanation, and debating her next move. Suddenly, on the brick corner, something glinted in the torchlight.

“What?” She whispered, drawing closer to inspect it. It looked like dried, liquid, silver. She touched it, and part of it flaked away and fell to the ground. Her heart skipped a beat. Blood, it had to be. This was where the woman had cut herself on the wall. This was why she jumped back so quickly. To confirm she called Officer Lark, the vampire who had alerted her earlier.

“Yes, it’s hers, and it’s blood.” The man confirmed after getting the scent.

“What species has silver blood?” Lealiah asked.

“None that I know of ma’m,”

“Thank you,” She thought for a moment, “Gather the head scholar from the library and have him inspect it, just to be sure.” she commanded, then finally went to update the general.

“General Aplin?” he waved her in unnecessarily,

“Any good news?” She shook her head,

“Just gets worse, my officer, the one that we found in the prisoner’s cell, he is not in the medical center. No one knows where he went. And we found the prisoner’s blood on one of the bricks.” the general furrowed his brow, “We were still unable to identify the girl’s species, but the blood is silver. Which...” She took a breath, “Which I have never seen before.” She waited patiently for his response. The lines on his face grew more defined as his furrow deepened and he began to shew on his bottom lip. Finally, he spoke.

“When the blood hounds get here, find the girl, as well as the kids... do you think she is involved with the kidnappings?”

“Potentially, but I would like to interview some of the others who came off board with her again, if I remember correctly, she had at least one friend.”

“Good, find her, question her, and find those kids.” he commanded,

“I’m doing my best sir,” she replied

“aren’t we all?” he mused as she walked out the door.

Lealiah looked up as there was a knock at her office door.

“Enter.” One of her senior officers came in with a young blond-haired woman.

“Constance Lace, as requested ma'am,” he said, standing at attention.

“Did she give you any trouble?” The lieutenant asked with raised brows.

“No ma'am.”

“Good. Have a seat miss.,” she said, indicating to the chair across from her. The young woman complied. Lealiah thanked and dismissed her officer, then spoke.

“I know that you were questioned yesterday, so I will only take a little bit of your time.”

“What is all the commotion about?” Ms. Lace asked in a high, delicate voice.

“Miss, we just need some information from you about your friend, Ms. Audrey Rivers. What can you tell us about her?”

“Audrey?” the young woman sat up straighter, “Is she in trouble?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” the lieutenant said, “but I need you to tell me everything that you know about her.”

“We met on the St. Andress, so I have only known her a short time.” The lieutenant stared, waiting.

“What... do you need to know?” the lady finally said, breaking the awkwardness that has settled on the room.

“Let’s start with who she would talk to, who were her friends?”

“She was kind to everyone, but really only friends with me.”

“Did she talk excessively with anyone else?” the lady shook her head.

“Sometimes another girl would join us, Nancy, no one else really.” Lealiah nodded, writing down the name on her parchment.

“Thank you,” she paused to gather her thoughts, “did she have any odd habits or behaviors?”

“I can only think of one time, when I offered for her to stay in my quarters at night, she politely refused, which I thought it perhaps a cultural habit” Lealiah marked that down quickly,

“I see... And what culture is that, where exactly is she from?”

“I do not think that I asked.”

“Did she say anything else about her culture?”

“She said that her people were mostly nomadic, hence why she travels so much, and that they travel in small groups.”

“Anything about her family?”

“I inquired once, but she said that she did not want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine” the lieutenant wrote down every bit of information she could, then turned her attention back to the young woman.

“Is there anything, any small detail about her that you think might help? Likes, dislikes, fears, and affections.” she stressed.

“She plays the lute, likes to drink tea, she’s...” Ms. Lace took a moment to think, “She’s afraid of dogs, likes traveling, and is a very good story teller.” Lealiah nodded,

“Thank you, every little bit helps,” she told the young woman, she just needed a bit more information. “I know this is going to be an odd question, but please just answer,” Ms. Lace gave a small nod, “was there ever a time that she was any other color?” The shock on the lady’s face was instant. Holding up her finger to hold off questions, “Just answer the question,” Lealiah instructed, the woman nodded again, her eyes flicking to the right before she answered.

“Other than the time that she became seasick, or perhaps it was from the fish, as several people were sick that night.” the lady made a disgusted face as she recalled the incident.

“What color was she?”

“Green and bits of silver, or grey, it was hard to tell due to the fact that she was leaning against the rails.”

“Silver? Where?”

“On-on... her face...why?”

“What happened after that?” she said, ignoring her question,

“She slept it off in her quarters, I went to check on her, but she refused me every time. Now what does that have to do with her?” The lieutenant gave her a long look, leaned forward, then sat up straight, folding her hands in front of her,

“You are dismissed Miss Lace, we will call upon you if we have any further questions.” She said coldly, nodding to one of her guards to take the lady away. After a moment she got up to see if the scholar had arrived yet from across town, and saw Travis walking in to the building, a few minutes late for his shift.

“WHERE IN THE GOOD LORD’S NAME HAVE YOU BEEN!?” She shouted. Travis stared at her, shocked,

“I’m just a few minutes late ma’am,” he said with a cock of his head.

“No! I mean where did you go last night?” the lieutenant said, enunciating each word.

“After my shift? I went home, ask my wife.” he put his hands up in defense. Taking a deep breath, Lealiah regarded her officer.

“Travis,” She said more calmly, “I’m putting you on desk duty for today,” he opened his mouth to protest,

“I don’t care, okay, there’s something big going on, and you are staying here until I figure it out.” She drummed her fingers against each other, then decided to fill him in. He stood there in shock as she briefly explained his disappearance.

“I promise you, ma’am, I went home,” He said after she was done, “I didn’t leave until my shift this morning.”

“I’m going to send Angela to check your story, and until then, you are to stay on desk duty.” She said, snapping her fingers at Angela. The fairy nodded and left at once.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, as she turned away, she caught him grumbling about his task. Lealiah shook her head, a theory developing. Ms. Rivers did not seem to be involved with the disappearances, but there was still a potential unknown species, and their only lead is currently on the run. The sound of dogs barking cut through her thoughts, Lucille had arrived with her hounds.

“Lucille,” she said as the dragon trainer entered, flanked by a single guard.

“General Aplin says you have some missing kids,” she said, skipping any pleasantries.

“That’s right, and some suspects as well. We’ll have you start with a group to find the kids, and I will need a separate group to find a missing prisoner,”

“Seems like you have your hands full today,” the trainer remarked. “I cannot go with both, do you have anyone Particularly skilled with hounds, or animals?” she asked. Lealiah considered her options.

“There’s a few that come to mind, I-”

“Michal,” said the guard from behind Lucille.

“Your brother? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, I once watched him train our goat back on the farm when he was twelve, he can do it,” The young man proudly explained.

“Michal it is then, you may go with him. Take Caius and Mart as well, and listen,” The man met her gaze, “You have to stick together, all four of you, no one is to leave one another’s sigh for even a moment,”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a salute. He hurried off to his brother’s station,

“Hey, Mike, you want to go play with dogs?” he shouted on his way out. Lealiah watched him go,

“Lieutenant.” Lucille stated, “I have a yearling with me as well, she’s smart but inexperienced.”

“Thank you for the information. You’re dismissed.” Lucille nodded and went back outside to her dogs. The hunt was on.

A few hours later, she received an update; Michal and his team had found a blood trail for the prisoner. They were heading towards the south side. She sent the carrier pigeon back, reminding them to find her, but not engage if possible. As she sent the first bird away, a second one fluttered in, this one from Lucille. She ran to the general’s office,

“Sir, we found the kids,”

General Aplin stood up and dashed out of the room, almost hitting his desk in his rush.

“Where?”

“Divit’s old house, the one that burned down.”

“Then there’s not a moment to lose. Assemble three teams, you lead one, Ivo can lead the second, I will get the third.” His Lieutenant nodded, her face glowing, small cracks of light breaking through her face.

“It’s time for a raid.”

There was no breast from which to suckle

There was no hand to pat my back

There was no counting during hide-and-seek

Of playdates and parties I did not speak

There was no aisle to walk down

No hand for me to hold

At breakfast and at super

My heart grew hard and cold

In daylight and in darkness

My own breath sounds filled my ears

At twilight and at sunset

At the solitude I cursed

And when the end of life drew near

Reflection my only goal

I looked in the rearview mirror

Dark and Empty met my eyes

Relationships I had not known

I had wasted all my time

When at the pearly gates I stood

I knocked but no one answered

The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost

Were nowhere to be found

Through eternity I would venture

Unescorted in the clouds

time didn't leave us alone

it morphed into a tornado

took the roof off home

scattered us in two different worlds

black hole's pull

You in the stars now

Not in her body

Not in her belly

Not in her womb

All that is left

Is your shadow haunting him

And your star being admired by her

Your presence never felt

Your scent never smelled

Your smile never seen

Your skin never touched

Him is all to blame

Tears formed never wasted

Smiles broken

Hearts crushed

For the shiny star burning bright

Is you smiling at us

Alright, sure, let's talk asshats. One of the prime suspects for someone of that particular nomenclature is none other than the crashing-meteor-on-a-stick Norman Mailer. Let's talk Norman Mailer for a second. When I was first introduced to Norman Mailer, it was by a story of one of his earlier marriages---told to me by a teacher I think---about how he managed to stab his wife with a penknife at a party in November of 1960. Red flags were there, but maybe not set up to be flown just yet. Story arc, cataclysmic event that framed the next decade for him as a raging, sexist, homophobic dweeb that often found himself gargling his spit rather than spewing words that were of health to him. He had a rather intriguing rivaly with journalist, Gore Vidal, who was perhaps one of the saving relics of the controversial literary era of the 1960's, but nonetheless had things to say that maybe I didn't agree with all the way. When hearing these things, I first decided to judge my opinion based solely on Norman Mailer's writing as it was his main source of income and main source of hate---go figure. The first novel I read of his is probably one of his less famous ones, but I thought it excellently written all the same---it was a novel that barely let go of the throat when it came to both the enhanced writing flow along with the memorable characters. A smaller novel called "An American Dream" about this man who performs a sort of Holden Caulfield, impulsive decision to kill his wife and relive the consequences for a while while he shows aspects of Raskolnikov of Dostoevesky's "Crime and Punishment". I also don't mean to say that he plaguarized the characteristics blatantly, but they are both the best examples I can think of as far as describing the main character, Stephen Rojack, to the best ability. The best way I can explain Norman Mailer as both a writer and also as a person is that he is a frightened, catatonic harbinger of hate and also rich ambiguity. He writes until his ears pop, he speaks until his mouth is full of saliva, and he crosses his legs so tightly that he can barely get up to shake a person's hand when on an episode of "The Dick Cavett Show." Witty, dauntless, and charismatic does his face often show, but he dare not use his words: rather his actions he let take part of his freaky frenzy of a charade he puts up to hang. He's a sexist, racist, corrupt, wannabe politician that envies himself in the bitter aspect of craving more and more at a constant rate. In the midst of being the heart of the 1960's counterculture era, he had many controversial things to say about practically everything. Highly intriguing individual---though as one can say about anyone---he often assumes me in the way he talks, the way his brain processes thoughts like clocking in with a ticket punch: so monotonous and so sinister. A true asshat, blatant with indefinite ignorace, and pallid with unholy nomenclature of what a person should never want to do in life: become a writer, and then become famous for something that isn't writing but talking. I mean, he can't even accept his own introduction on Firing Line with William F. Buckley Jr.: there has always got to be a problem with the way his name is enunciated, the way his life's achievements have been laid out, or even just a simple gesture suggesting that the inviting handshake wasn't firm enough. Gore Vidal tops the ice cream sundae with a bit of his own little cherry, covered in his own personal relish for the casual, crucial comeback of the decade. At a party in a time long before cars had electric engines and when television shows were censored for saying things lewd things, Gore Vidal and Norman Mailer had a small scrap (mostly Mailer). Norman let his temper get the best of him and threw a punch in Gore's face and Gore responded with such cold, dense-hearted words like: "Once again, words fail Norman Mailer." Mailer, though completing quite the saga of life's formal applications of tenure, as well as unexpected life choices, he died a man of little power and great impactability. There was always a depicting illusion of both honest-to-God culmination of events, along with the utter dismay of how little his words floated in water.