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Summary
Mikhail shook as he, his mother, and his sisters were led into the prison camp that would be their home for the next few years. Just fourteen years old, he'd seen his father put to death, a death that began their own damnation into the hell that was the gulag. His family was worked all day, every day, given only thin soups and porridge to live from. Every night they were forced into the cramped barracks, forced to huddle together with strangers to keep warm. Every night Mikhail would prey for their deliverance. For ten long years he prayed every night, growing bigger but much much weaker. The guards used him as an example when any of the newcomers tried anything. It all came to an end one day when a strange dying old man came to him while he held his sister. "God isn't listening my son. I know of someone who can be persuaded… for the right price." He croaked, voice not unlike that of a raven. "I have nothing I can give." Mikhail replied desolately. "Oh my… no. That is where you are wrong. You still have one thing the guards cannot take from you." The old man reached out a bony hand to tap at Mikhail's chest, right over his heart.