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Nikolai’s earliest memories were of his mother’s Ukrainian lullabies, his father’s rough, calloused hands teaching him to walk, and the biting winters which they endured together. These memories were fuzzy, and he sought to be rid of them for good.
He’d been born with heterochromia, and the superstitious grandmothers of his town called him a curse. His mother thought his eyes were beautiful. His father thought they made him look freakish, and several times, he was tempted to invest in colored contacts for his son so that the whispering would stop.
As he grew older, he became more aware of his surroundings. He lived in a small village in the mountains with spectacular nature on all sides. He’d often venture into the woods and return covered in dirt with his knees scraped from climbing trees. In the summers, his skin gained a healthy tan, and his white hair grew long and wild.
In the winters, he would sit alone in the silent woods, listening to the sounds of nature. He would lie on his back for ages and gaze upon the birds in the sky, longing to fly freely as they did. Nature was an escape from the terrifying words of the townsfolk. They whispered of God, and of the suffering which awaited sinners. They taught Nikolai to fear finely dressed men who came into town and snatched up those who spoke too loudly. Their endless ramblings about God, power, and control made Nikolai cover his ears and run into the woods, screaming.
To Nikolai, God and the finely dressed men were one in the same, and he hated them both.
At school, he became the class clown. Since it was common knowledge that smart children were targets for bullying, he hid his intelligence and true feelings about the world behind a layer of impenetrable comedy. His oddly colored eyes and inability to be at peace around others made him feel freakish, so he played his role as a freak to perfection. Though he was reprimanded for talking back to the teacher and pulling pranks on his classmates, this only further fueled his antics. It was proof that, perhaps, he could be liked if he simply lied to his classmates about who he was. Exaggerating the aspects of himself which he despised the most was freeing, and in that freedom, he found a respite from the world’s expectations.
On one winter’s day, when Nikolai was about twelve, his adventuring led him into the next town over. He was met with what he thought were the palaces from his storybooks – they were nothing like the grey, block-like buildings of his hometown. They harkened back to the architecture of the Russian Empire from one hundred years prior with their bright paint jobs and elaborate trim. He was so intimidated by these buildings that he ran home to ask his parents what they were.
Nikolai was told, as his mother cut his hair short, that those homes were where wealthy Russians vacationed at all times of the year. He was also told never to go there, for the rich vacationers would be angry if they saw someone of his status wandering their properties. He was told, very sternly, that wealthy people were not to be trusted, and Nikolai believed them.
For his entire life, the wealthy had treated his town like a circus. Women in lovely fur coats spat in the faces of his classmates and laughed afterwards, and their children left garbage in the woods. The upper class were barely human to Nikolai – they were animals who regarded the rest of humanity as a freak show. They sought to control his every movement, and the sensation of being observed was maddening.
Despite harboring such deep distrust of the upper class, Nikolai knew next to nothing about their daily lives. He’d never met someone from out of town. A desire to know more plagued him as he looked at himself in the mirror before bed that evening. He hated himself with short hair.
Naturally, he returned to gaze upon the homes the very next day. The skies were clear, and the sun beat down upon his back; however, it was terribly windy, and the wind picked up snow crystals which left tiny cuts across his cheeks.
He crept closer to the massive houses to get a better look at them. From the front door of a light blue mansion came a chattering family. They were finely dressed and holding ice skates. Nikolai looked up at the rest of the mansion and jumped back, startled.
He had made eye contact with a boy looking at him through one of the windows. Remembering his mother’s advice to never be seen, he ducked behind a tree and tried to steady his breathing. What if the boy reported him to his parents? What if they sent men after him to hunt him down and kill him for trespassing? What if he disappeared, just like his classmate’s father had a few months prior?
As he trembled, a quiet, even toned voice came from just behind Nikolai, so close that he could feel the warmth of the other person’s body.
“What are you so scared of?”
Nikolai nearly jumped out of his skin, and for a moment, he swore he could feel the sensation of his skin ripping from his bones entirely before he came to his senses. He turned around and met the eyes of the boy from the window. He was shaking in fear, yet unable to look away. He’d never met the eyes of a being so different from himself. The boy’s eyes were emotionless. They gave away nothing, and that terrified Nikolai more than the fact that he’d been caught.
Everything he knew about the world suggested that he and the boy may as well have been from different species, yet he was both terrified and fascinated, unable to run.
“Scared? I’m not scared.” He attempted to laugh. It was as much to appear casual as it was to put himself at ease.
“Don’t lie. Most people aren’t very good at it, and you’re no different.”
Nikolai felt as if he’d been gutted. He made his classmates laugh with his lies. They always fell for his jokes and his fake laughs. Why was this alien so different? Why was he impervious to being fooled?
Upon seeing Nikolai’s wide eyes, the strange boy smiled faintly before coughing into his arm and leaning upon a tree for support.
“Are you sick?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I was born premature and weak.”
Nikolai’s Russian was imperfect, so he wasn’t sure what premature meant, but he refused to look like a true fool in front of this alien, so he nodded along. “Is that why your family left you behind?”
The boy nodded. “I’m not supposed to be in the cold. It’s bad for my health.”
“But they dragged you on a winter vacation anyway?”
“I asked to be left at home, but they wouldn’t allow it.”
“That’s a shame.” Nikolai sighed before feeling shocked at himself. He was conversing with someone he’d been told to fear. They were having a normal conversation! He’d learned long ago that people like him were unable to make normal, honest conversation. How was this possible?
What if it was all a ploy to capture him and take him away?
“You can relax. You’re acting like I’m here to kill you.”
“You’re not?”
At this, the boy laughed outright, and his laugh became a coughing fit. If his coat weren’t so dear to him, Nikolai would have offered it to the boy.
“Why would I kill you? What do you people think of us from the big city?”
“It’s not that!” Nikolai straightened his posture. “I’ve just never had the chance to talk with someone outside my town before, especially not with someone of your – how do I put this – wealth?”
“Oh, I understand now.” The boy managed to stand on his own. “My family may be with the government, but I think they’re all bunch of fools.” As he stood, a prayer rope fell from beneath his shirt, and Nikolai gasped. So this was the privilege of the wealthy! Freedom of religion, as well as freedom to mock the government openly!
The boy noticed Nikolai’s wide eyes and tucked the rope back into his shirt. “Do you believe in God?”
Though the question made Nikolai tremble, he felt compelled to be honest once more. “Not really.”
“Why not?”
“If my every move were controlled by a higher power, I wouldn’t be myself. There would be no point in living.” Nikolai had no idea why he was sharing his deepest, most personal beliefs with a boy he’d just met, but the words flowed of their own accord. There was something about the boy that made it impossible not to answer his questions.
Upon hearing Nikolai’s reasoning, the boy nodded and smiled, as if understanding immediately. “God gives free will. He doesn’t control us like puppets.” He straightened the hat he was wearing as he spoke. “I do believe, however, that His will is made clear when necessary, and that it was fate for us to meet today.” He tilted his head, waiting for a reply.
“Why?”
“You’re the least boring person I’ve ever met. My prayers for a respite from this vacation have been answered.”
Nikolai had no idea how to respond, but he thought it was a compliment, so he smiled back. “You’re… also interesting.”
“You’re not terrified of me anymore?”
“No.” Nikolai shook his head, feeling life return to his heart and mind once more as his fear left him. The smile upon his face was, for once, genuine. “You’re one of the aliens I’ve been told to avoid all my life, yet I can’t stop talking to you.”
It was now the wealthy boy’s turn to look confused. Nikolai thought he was making perfect sense. Had he said something wrong? Perhaps his accent was unintelligible?
“I haven’t even asked your name!” Nikolai’s hand suddenly flew to his mouth. “Please tell me your name, alien boy!” The nickname made the boy smile once more, though Nikolai, once again, had no idea why the boy reacted that way. It was meant to be insulting.
“Dostoyevsky.”
“No, silly, your given name.”
“Isn’t it a bit too early in our friendship for such a thing?”
Nikolai laughed. “You’re in the countryside, far from stuffy Moscow. Do away with formalities!”
“Fyodor, then, and I’m from Petersburg, not Moscow. You?”
“Nikolai Gogol. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand for a handshake, yet just before their hands could touch, Fyodor jumped away as if Nikolai held a knife.
“Oh, have I done something wrong?”
“No, you haven’t.” Fyodor’s voice trembled ever so slightly. “I prefer not to be touched.”
Nikolai wanted to know why so badly that curiosity burned his chest. His heart was beating against his ribcage like a sledgehammer, but he shoved that feeling away so as not to lose the only true friend he’d ever made. “It won’t happen again, then.”
A woman’s voice called Fyodor’s name from afar, and he turned to look back at the house.
“The maid,” he explained, rolling his eyes. “I can never have a moment alone.” He began walking towards his mansion again.
“Wait!”
He turned around to look at Nikolai once more.
“Meet here tomorrow at this time?” Nikolai’s heart fluttered in his chest, as if it longed to break through his skin and soar like the birds he so admired.
“Sure.”
.
The two met in the woods and talked for the remainder of Fyodor’s vacation. Nikolai found Fyodor’s company infectious. He didn’t feel the need to perform around him – he could be himself. He could openly share his irreverent thoughts without fear of retaliation.
For the next few years, every winter and summer, Fyodor would visit his vacation home, and he and Nikolai would wander the woods and talk. In the spring and summer, Nikolai found work as an entertainer at an old amusement park in the vacation town. The job suited him well, for it was the same as entertaining his classmates with mindless jokes and pranks. He used his small salary to buy little gifts for Fyodor – nothing more than candies or foreign teas. He knew that his gifts were nothing compared to what Fyodor had access to, but he was compelled to give them regardless.
They found ways to sneak into Fyodor’s vacation home while his family was absent. The wonders of the house dazzled Nikolai, who had never seen such wealth before. The home had gold trim, chandeliers and expensive wallpaper. There were display cases of hand painted pottery, matryoshkas, and original Fabergé eggs. The rugs were imported from Turkey, Fyodor said. The plates were French. The paintings were Italian. The record player was American. Fyodor spoke of his wealth so casually that it made Nikolai nearly dizzy. He despised the hoarding of wealth, and he detested his mind for desiring such splendor for himself.
Despite the grandeur of the mansion, Fyodor’s own room was sparse. He had colorless bedsheets, a dresser, a mirror, a prayer table, and a cello.
“Why don’t you own anything yourself?”
“Wealth is a distraction.” He sat on his bed. “It forces people to form an opinion of you, so in that regard, it makes a good disguise. Otherwise, it's useless.”
They both turned to gaze at the frozen lake. Fyodor’s family had gone into town, so the lake was empty.
“Shall we go skating?”
Fyodor frowned. “I doubt I could withstand the activity. I've been ordered to avoid physical activity. Besides, the neighbors all know of my condition, and they gossip."
“Come on, don’t be boring!” Nikolai mindlessly grabbed Fyodor’s hand to drag him off the bed, and before he could begin to realize his mistake, his head hit the wooden floor. Fyodor had shoved him away.
“I thought I told you not to do that.”
Realizing his mistake, Nikolai assumed a prayer-like position on the floor. “I’m so sorry!” There wasn’t an ounce of sincerity behind his words, and Fyodor knew it, so he ignored Nikolai and walked across the room.
“You wanted to go skating.” He reached into his dresser and pulled out a pair of skates. “Will you need a pair?”
“Nope. I always have them with me.” Nikolai smiled and waited for Fyodor to leave the room before pulling a pair of skates from his coat. On occasion, his curse was infinitely useful.
They both made it to the lake and began to lace their skates. Though the weather was lovely, the wind was fierce, and ice crystals scraped and danced across the frozen surface, creating a haunting sound which reminded Nikolai of wind chimes.
Nikolai, who adored skating, glided onto the lake, assuming Fyodor would follow. When he turned around, he saw Fyodor struggling to stand, and Nikolai laughed.
“You can’t skate?”
“I’ve never been allowed.” Fyodor’s cheeks were slightly red, and he avoided eye contact. “Just have fun on your own.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Nikolai reached down and offered a hand to Fyodor, knowing it would likely be slapped away. “Come on, I want to see you skate!”
They locked eyes and stood in a stalemate for several long seconds before Fyodor hesitantly took Nikolai’s hand. Once again, Nikolai’s heart fluttered like a desperate bird in a cage as he helped Fyodor to his feet.
He could feel that Fyodor’s hands were soft, unlike his own calloused ones. He supposed a rich, bed ridden monster had no need to work. The only thing that ruined Fyodor’s hands was the area around his nails. Both the nails and the surrounding skin were bit to shreds. The abrupt change from soft skin to torn skin startled Nikolai, but what startled him more was the revelation that he was studying Fyodor’s hands rather than helping him skate. He grabbed Fyodor’s hands firmly, pretending that such a thing had never happened, not meeting his eyes.
With Nikolai’s guidance, they navigated their way across the pond, Nikolai teasing Fyodor for his ineptness the entire time. After a few minutes, Fyodor began to understand how to balance, and it became easier for them to stand. Their laughs carried on the wind above the treetops. If he couldn’t fly with the birds, Nikolai thought, at least his voice would.
Everything was perfect, absolutely perfect. Nikolai was having the time of his life when, to his horror, the ice underneath their feet creaked. The wind picked up, and the ice began to crack as small chunks of ice, carried on the wind, pierced their soft skin. They met each other’s panicked eyes just as the ice beneath Fyodor gave way.
Nikolai had no reason to save him, yet something about those panicked eyes haunted him and forced him into action against his better judgement. He jumped towards Fyodor and wrapped them both in his coat just before Fyodor was completely submerged. An instant later, they landed on the riverbank, half-soaked and shivering.
Fyodor tried to jump away, but his weak, shocked body betrayed him, and he fell backwards into the snow.
“Why would you do that?”
It was not a question of what, but of why. Nikolai realized, from the nature of the question, that Fyodor was gifted as well.
“Why wouldn’t I? You would have drowned.”
“Abilities are chaotic, sinful things, and they’re dangerous to use in public! They cause nothing but harm! Don’t you know you could be arrested for such a thing? Why would you use your ability for me?” Nikolai had never heard Fyodor lose his composure in such a way before, and he was taken aback by the anger – no, fear – in his voice.
“Are you not gifted yourself?”
Upon hearing Nikolai’s comment, Fyodor looked truly terrified, like a caged animal. He attempted to grab Nikolai’s arm, eyes burning, but he could barely sit up.
Though he had the sense that he would be in danger if Fyodor touched him, Nikolai could do nothing but laugh hysterically at the sight. He felt immense joy bubbling in his chest, and it had to escape. His laugh burned his throat, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
“What’s funny?”
“I changed fate! I went against the will of God, who fated you to die!” His smile must have looked mad. “I do have freedom after all!”
“Did you only save me to prove that, or was morality clouding your judgement?”
Nikolai’s laughter stopped abruptly. Had he not acted of his own free will? Had he not challenged God by saving Fyodor? He’d only tried to be kind, yet in his selflessness, he’d once again doomed himself to following the doctrine of a higher power.
Those were the last words he would hear from Fyodor for many years. As he felt hysteria creeping into his mind, he saw Fyodor’s family coming around the side of their mansion. They began screaming Fyodor’s name and running towards him. Not wanting to be blamed for the incident, and having been disturbed to his core, Nikolai used his coat to vanish into thin air.