Buku Bratva (Darkroom Saga Book 5) by Poppet

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Bratva (Darkroom Saga Book 5) by Poppet

Author:Poppet [Poppet]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Wild Wolf Publishing

Published: 2015-10-18T23:00:00+00:00

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Bratva (Darkroom Saga Book 5) by Poppet

Chapter 12

Darkness within darkness,

The gateway to all understanding

 

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Bratva (Darkroom Saga Book 5) by Poppet

Author:Poppet [Poppet] , Date: July 11, 2019

,Views: 11

Author:Poppet [Poppet]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: Wild Wolf Publishing

Published: 2015-10-18T23:00:00+00:00
Chapter 12

Darkness within darkness,

The gateway to all understanding

~ Lao Tzu

Polina:

It is a strange day, the kind which haunts the soul. Every moment I expect attack, I expect this to be a trap, a test, but no matter what I clean or cook or do, no violence storms into my home. Now I do the unthinkable, pushing the boundaries to see if I’m being watched, because I feel it. I feel I am being stalked by dark eyes concealed just outside of my aura. My skin crawls with warning, with knowing.

Taking a deep breath, expecting agony to crush my wishes when I fall under the whip of retribution, I step outside where I am forbidden to go. I am also forbidden to drink alcohol, so I take with me the vodka in tomato juice, going to sit on the lawn under the recently delivered night sky. She is such a newly born baby she smells new and fresh and clean, an innocent darkness yet to feel the criminals wake, yet to hear the screams of the despairing.

The grass is cool and the autumnal chill seeps into my soles, still damp from the rain. Resting back I stare up, wishing I could count all the stars. I am ignorant and my ignorance bothers me. I know I am deficient and wish I could fix my flaws. Ignorance makes me vulnerable, and I hate being vulnerable.

Cool air fingers my nape like a ghostly lover, and I shiver, turning to look behind me, feeling the scrutiny. Scanning the dark park I feel like a child locked back in the container. I can’t see much but my instincts scream that danger approaches.

Steeling myself for the bratva I sip my vodka, defiant. I refuse to do as I’m told. For some reason when I’m told no, then the burning to do it scorches my heart until I do what is against the rules.

Rules don’t serve me, they never have. Men have too many rules, like their god. Maybe that’s why god is a man, he tells other people what to do but doesn’t have to follow the laws he makes others follow.

He’s allowed to murder and do unspeakable things, but we’re not allowed to murder. Why make us in his image if we can’t play the same games he can? If you tell me not to steal, I will steal just to make a point. In my heart I am free, I will die anyway, so I will die free, outside drinking my Bloody Mary. It seems funny, drinking my alcohol the same color as my blood, it’s the same as my life. For a finger puppet death is nothing, it’s a fact of life.

It makes no difference if I die by murder or heart attack, the result is the same, the equation equals the same. I don’t panic about the how or when or why, just so long as I die free in my heart and mind.

Looking up, feeling the approach of the cold soul, I watch the night give birth to light.

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