METRO 2033: The Gospel According to Artyom. (4 page)

             
I have quite a lot of free time now – about an eternity, so there was plenty a chance for me to think everything over. I have a little theory: the Dark Ones were no demons. Quite the opposite, they were an embassy of angels on Earth sent here for our salvation and trial. Should we have proven capable of suppressing the beast within ourselves, of seeing the white feathers beneath their jet-black exterior, find a way of understanding them despite the pain and disgust – we'd have passed the test and received forgiveness for the sin of destroying the world we didn't create.

             
We were incapable of such a feat.

             
I was. I alone!

             
Thus I, as if cursed, am walking to the place of my eternal vigil – to the Gardens. It's
neither a punishment nor
penance. I just can't live without doing this, though I can't understand why. I don't even want to think of the reasons.

             
I keep digging in the ashes with a long stick, keep picking up the pieces of molted metal. I might have gone through all of this accursed field already and, without noticing it or finding anything, just started all over again. Then again.

             
What am I looking for?

             
A blade of grass? Or a bone of the being that wanted to accept, even adopt me – a lonely kid? Or the shadow of the trees that grew here the day when mother took me for a walk here? Forgiveness? Hope?

             
Soot and ashes. Ashes and soot.

             
I sit right on the ground – so what if it is radioactive.

             
A plastic bag is swept towards me by a gust of wind and attaches itself to my face, completely blocking the visor of my gas mask. I don't even raise a hand to remove it – I'm too tired. Too tired to live.

             
A new gust of wind comes and the bag flies up and away.

I'm still staring at my boots.

I wish there was a tree to hang myself on.

I finally assemble enough spite and desperation to go home – back to listening to the myths of my heroic deeds and enriching them with more colorful detail. Back to my real penance.

Then…

God…

I close my eyes and open them again, trying to pinch myself through the gray elephant skin of protective suit… No, it's no ghost.

The visor gets foggy at once, and I rip the mask away, just like that time at the tower.

He's still standing here.

Forgetting everything I, awkwardly stepping with my cumbersome boots, run towards him, tripping over the melted metal pipes and other debris…

I don't know what
I should
tell him. I don't even know how to talk to him at all…

But I'll find a way!

God, please let this not be a mirage or an illusion.

I come closer to him… I don't know where did he come from and don't want to ask so that not to scare away the miracle. I simple believe in him, and belief leaves no space for questions.

He turns towards me.

Disproportional
ly
long arms, huge jet-black eyes with no whites or pupils, glossy black skin… He's still very little – less than half my height, so he looks up at me. It seems there's only emptiness in his eyes, but...

I take off a glove and gently touch his head with my bare hand. I fear I might scare or hurt him.

And I understand that he's alone in the whole world.

He has only me.

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