bad weeds grow tall — joining

[nikolai]

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    A desert, as he could recall from his father's gravelly voice listing off words while he dozed in his lap, was an environment incapable of supporting a rich ecosystem. And yet one, two, three specks against the wavering sand approached, growing from ants to three strange creatures watching him expectantly. Blinking his single eye, he studied them intently, never having seen a little red bushy cat like the first before. Or a funny-earred black cat like the second, eyeing his tufted ears as though they were the antennae of an alien. And yet another bizarre cat -- a small smile worked its way to his snout at the absolute absurdity of this, grinning in the dark, humid space between mask and skin.

    Until two of three opened their mouths, producing a string of nonsensical syllables. His smile faded. A different language. Not Russian like the guards from the ГУЛАГ, but rather some code entirely new and foreign. A grimace replaced the childish smirk plastered to stained lips moments before, just as sticky as the sweat pinning his fur down to bony sides. A quiet voice drifted through the filter, raw and cracked. "Я не розумію, що ти кажеш." Useless speech unless one happened to be a fluent translator. Sitting back on his haunches, shaky paws clung to the muzzle of his gas mask, aching to lift the barrier from the world's eye to get some fresh air yet unwilling to share the horror that lay beneath.