Welcome to the Real World

[Vive La France]

This story is about a Russian who comes to America, so don't be discouraged after you see the word Russia, thinking it's a story about Moscow or something. Basically, it's like those movies about Russians coming to America.

 

Welcome to the Real World

 

Written by Vive La France

 

 

DECEMBER 1983, St. Petersburg, Russia

 

Pavel Ivanov sat alone, in the bar outside the town square. It was another cold December night. He was in the army, and it was Christmas. He was alone, had no family, and no friends. Pavel was attempting not to cry. He was 29 years old, and had a worse social life than a librarian. The bartender poured him another vodka. Pavel grunted in appreciation, and listened to the radio. The Anthem of the Soviet Union was playing in background. Pavel left some money on the bar, and left into the cold wind. He was an officer in the army. It was the only place that allowed him to think, and be alone with himself. Even if he was being shouted at, he could at least not do any REAL work. As he sniffed the cold air, and a car passed him, with loud music playing. Those guys would be aprehended real soon. Pavel continued down, and walked for several minutes. He reached the hotel room he rented for the night, and lay down. Another Christmas to remember.

 

JANUARY 1984, St. Petersburg, Russia

 

Pavel was back. The army was again open, and he was working hard. He was excited about what just happened. About two hours ago, he was told he would be transfered to the Cuba base, due to his good record. He sprinted the fastest of everyone carrying the Kalashnikov around the base during the daily routine. Pavel smiled. Perhaps his life DID have meaning.

 

JANUARY 1984, Havana, Cuba

 

Two weeks later, Pavel was working hard in Havana. The promotion was doing him well. He was a respected official in the Havana Soviet Base. He had a private tent, and he was about to be promoted. So much warmer than St. Petersburg this time of year.

 

FEBUARY 1984, Havana, Cuba

 

Pavel was awoken by the blaring alarm. He got up, put on his pants, tied his shoes, and exited the tent. Apparently a spy that the Soviets apprehended earlier on, from Miami, escaped. He murdered four of their high ranking officials after being found out, and several soldiers. Pavel was frightened. The guy's name was Jefferson, and apparently was one of the CIA's best men. Pavel arrived shortly after his arrest, and heard the tales from the officers. Pavel saw the shrieking soldiers running around, their weapons ready. He grabbed for his pistol, but felt hands grab around his neck.

"Make a f*cking move and I'll slit your throat," said a voice in English. Pavel did not really understand English, but he understood the meaning. He was shoved behind his tent, and the man turned his around and grabbed his gun. He then pointed to the officers jeep, and said something. Pavel trembled as he handed the man the keys. The man grabbed him, shoved him into the back, and the jeep was off. Pavel trembled in the backseat, as he watched them exit the base and head for the ocean. What was happening to him? The car stopped, and the man jumped out and forced Pavel out. He then took him to the docks, and Pavel felt a hit over the head.

 

FEBUARARY 1984, Miami, USA

 

Sun shone. He was covered in sand, and was wet. People were talking. In English. He understood some.

"What happened?"

"So he just floated up here?"

"Yeah, he did?"

"Commie?"

"Probably,"

"I ought to shoot his ass right now,"

"Wait," Pavel moaned. He spoke in a very thick accent. He opened his eyes, and saw people. He turned over, and saw he was half naked. His uniform was ripped apart, and his shirt was gone. He looked towards a mass of buildings. Where was he? Police cars were coming, and he could see a truck. He attempted to stand, but felt his leg hurt. He closed his eyes, and felt the cars come closer. They stopped, and men came out. They grabbed him.

 

Pavel sat in the dark office, with the suited man circling him. There was a translator in the room. Ivanov spoke, and the translator translated.

"He says he does not remember what happened. Something about an abduction by an American agent."

"Likely story," replied the man. The transator spoke to Pavel.

"Lies!" Pavel screamed in English.

"It is required that we send you to a psychiatrist before allowing to enter the United States, so maybe he'll believe your crackpot story."

 

Again, Pavel sat in the dark police car. The radio had some fast paced music playing. People dressed like he never saw back in Russia or Cuba. The car pulled up to a medical building, and Ivanov exited. There was a man with a white cloak standing inside. The two police officers took him inside, and Pavel followed the man. The same translator was also with Pavel, ready for the psycological evaluation. They entered a room with a couch, and a deck.

"Sit down," said the Psychiatrist. "Let's begin..."

 

Finally, Pavel was released from the office. He was confused. The doctor was saying stuff about hypnosis and false memories. He said he really was not Pavel Ivanov, but a GRU agent. According to the analisis, he was planted a false memory. The only other thing that the psychiatrist could get out of him was the GRU thing. Now, he had no idea who he was, or what was going to happen. He sat in the detention cell, thinking. If he could not make a history of himself, he would never be released. But Pavel wondered, who the hell was he? The whole memory of Cuba, fake. Everything that he remembered for the past several years was fake. He probably never even lived in St. Petersburg. His name wasn't Pavel. But it was strange. The only vivid memory was waking up on the beach. The rest seemed more like a silent black and white film. What would happen to him now? It was obvious that they would never let him pass through security. Send him back to Cuba, where he could be killed. If he was to live, he would have to escape. But how? He pondered for several minutes, and then saw the door open.

"You are to see the..."

WHAM! Pavel smashed the man's jaw into the wall with his fist, and kneed him in the stomach. He groaned, and Pavel put his hands around the man's neck and choked him. He fell to the ground, motionless. It was apperent he had some martial arts skills. Pavel kicked over the man, grabbed his gun, and began walking down the hall. He was still in his torn uniform. He began running to the door. He opened it, and saw the back of a police parking lot. Pavel ran out, and looked around. He needed clothes, and he needed money. His subconsious decision to kill the guard may have just cost him his life. Pavel sprinted to the fence, climbed over it, and found himself in an empty street. He was still in ripped up clothes, and had no money. He cursed in Russian, and looked around. No one in sight. Just a bunch of closed stores and a gas station. He walked into one of the closed stores, and saw it was an old clothes store. Heaven at the moment. He rummaged through a box, and found some clothes that fit him. A Hawaiian shirt, Khaki pants, and leather shoes. He left the old clothes in the basket, and exited the deserted store. If he was to find out who he was, he would need to trace back his footsteps. He could hear the ocean from where he was, and saw the skyscrapers that he saw from the ocean. Pavel walked around, untill he saw a mirror. It hit him he did not see himself for the past day. He looked at himself. A tall man of about average build. He had stubble, very short hair, and was very dirty. He looked away, and began walking to the beach.

 

He heard sirens, as he walked across the beach. He assumed it was the famous Miami Beach. Hot Dog stand to Ice Cream Stand, he walked down the long stretch, looking for the place where he had washed up. And then, he saw his own face on a televison at a bar.

"This just in. An amnesiac immigrant who washed up on Miami Beach earlier today escaped from custody at a local Coconut Grove police station. He killed the guard who was taking him to the immigration office to send him back to Cuba,"

He understood a few words, but what alarmed him was the face. It was an old picture. It was not who he saw several minutes ago. A clean, good looking man with slicked hair and a small moustache. He was wearing the same uniform that he ditched in the trash several minutes ago. Almost unrecognizazble. But how did the TV station obtain the picture? He began jogging away from the TV. He had to lie low. Surely they would forget him after several weeks. In the meantime, he would have to find out more about himself.

 

He spent several minutes combing the hot beach when he found the place where he was awakened. He scanned the ocean, and saw nothing. Not a boat, or anything out of the ordinary. Cuba was in that general direction though, Pavel was sure. He spun around and saw the view of Miami that he first saw.

 

 

He stared at the condos, and at the tourists sitting in lawn chairs on the beach. Most of them were fat. He continued down the beach, looking for clues. But he did not find a thing. He could tell that the message of his escape was getting around, because people were talking about it as he walked. He finally turned up, and walked back to the road. Cars zoomed by, with music thundering out of their stereos. Here, they were free to do so. Pavel groaned as he crossed the street and looked at a condo.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

Edited September 7, 2007 by Vive La France

[Vercetti21]

Although this sounds like it has the potential to be a good story, I was a bit disappointed at the style you've written it in. Read over it again. You use no details at all, you don't try to be creative with imagery, and you don't explain why Pavel feels the way he feels. The result of this makes the story very vague and leaves the reader to feel disconnected from the story and characters.

 

 

As he sniffed, a car zoomed past him, with loud music playing. Those guys would be apprehended real soon.

Instead, try something like this: Pavel sniffed, feeling the cold December wind rush into his lungs. A lone car quickly zoomed past him on the desolate streets, bass thumping loudly. Pavel felt the vibrations bouncing from the car as it passed, and shrugged with an emotionless glare, despite the fact that he knew those guys would be apprehended soon.

 

Err, there's some more I saw in the story, but it's late and I'm tired. I might see if I can help you some more later.

 

 

[Vive La France]

Although this sounds like it has the potential to be a good story, I was a bit disappointed at the style you've written it in. Read over it again. You use no details at all, you don't try to be creative with imagery, and you don't explain why Pavel feels the way he feels. The result of this makes the story very vague and leaves the reader to feel disconnected from the story and characters.

 

 

As he sniffed, a car zoomed past him, with loud music playing. Those guys would be apprehended real soon.

Instead, try something like this: Pavel sniffed, feeling the cold December wind rush into his lungs. A lone car quickly zoomed past him on the desolate streets, bass thumping loudly. Pavel felt the vibrations bouncing from the car as it passed, and shrugged with an emotionless glare, despite the fact that he knew those guys would be apprehended soon.

 

Err, there's some more I saw in the story, but it's late and I'm tired. I might see if I can help you some more later.

Thank you for the advice. However, the first few passages were a false memory, so they are supposed to be written in a sketchy tone. However, when I am writing the real bits, I'll keep that in mind.

[Vercetti21]

Although this sounds like it has the potential to be a good story, I was a bit disappointed at the style you've written it in. Read over it again. You use no details at all, you don't try to be creative with imagery, and you don't explain why Pavel feels the way he feels. The result of this makes the story very vague and leaves the reader to feel disconnected from the story and characters.

 

 

As he sniffed, a car zoomed past him, with loud music playing. Those guys would be apprehended real soon.

Instead, try something like this: Pavel sniffed, feeling the cold December wind rush into his lungs. A lone car quickly zoomed past him on the desolate streets, bass thumping loudly. Pavel felt the vibrations bouncing from the car as it passed, and shrugged with an emotionless glare, despite the fact that he knew those guys would be apprehended soon.

 

Err, there's some more I saw in the story, but it's late and I'm tired. I might see if I can help you some more later.

Thank you for the advice. However, the first few passages were a false memory, so they are supposed to be written in a sketchy tone. However, when I am writing the real bits, I'll keep that in mind.

False memory, I got you now. I must has misunderstood that last paragraph when I was reading, it confused me at first but when I checked over it again it made more sense. But still, even at the parts where he is in Miami, the writing style remains the same. Just try to beef up your imagery a bit more and you'll be set.