A Letter Home – C. Taylor

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Dearest brother,

How are you? I hope you are well. As of this writing, it is my third week in the city of shining lights, and I am enjoying it as much as a пьяница enjoys the last sip of vodka in his bottle. Inappropriate, I know, but there is no other way to express my love of this magical place. It is a city that never seems to sleep, that is always buzzing with the collective heartbeats of its always active citizens.

At every block exists a dazzling skyscraper, its glass shiny like brightly polished brass in the day and dull like smoothed stone in the evening, and some like the Empire State Building seem to rise up into the sky, never ending. The people everywhere move down the sidewalks like unbreakable waves, only stopping to turn into one of the entrances to the метро trains.

Those trains, how wonderful they are! The platforms might be a dank, dark places of crime and filth, but the trains themselves whisk you around the city as fast as our Army’s MiG-22s! They come rumbling into the station like untamed beast, roaring and howling with all their might, before stopping as suddenly as they arrived. The car’s doors then open, letting an unending deluge of people flood our platform, and you have to fight your way inside.

However, my first time riding the train was not amazing. The State Committee hadn’t yet taken down and replaced the English on the route board, so in my confusion, I accidentally disembarked three stops ahead of where I had to go! How silly I felt having to walk the remaining streets to Headquarters in the frigid cold. I can’t even put it into words, Nikolai! It was quite embarrassing.

Speaking of it, did you see the pictures of the Headquarters they published in Pravda? What an inspirational building! In person, it truly is an awesome sight. Its impenetrable stone walls, high, windowed towers, and the breathtaking marble statues of the heroes of the Rodina gaze over the city like watchful protectors. Oh Nikolai, every time I look at it my breast burns with the great fire of patriotism, it is that inspiring! Soon I hope those same statues will begin to stir that same feeling in our new Amerikanskiy comrades.

It has been quite sad and disheartening  with how much they have resisted the Revolution! In fact, I had to watch a firing squad yesterday kill some of the dissidents that were trying to keep the yoke of Capitalism on the American people. They had attacked a breadline with vigor like that of a ferocious wounded animal, screaming some absurd and unintelligible tirade about “freedom” and “democracy,” and this hasn’t been the first attack. We had an entire squad mauled when we were demolishing the stock exchange on Wall Street, and another overrun when we were replacing the books in the new State Public Library with great Soviet works. It’s as if they believe it’s 1962 and before the war, with that demon Kennedy and his great steely accent still in power. It has depressed me greatly, but I hold onto the hope that they will come around to our perfect system eventually.

Oh, Nikolai I’m afraid I have to go, and I’m sorry I have troubled you with such a sad letter. Please tell Mother and Father I love them.

Love, Viktor

New Moscow,

American Soviet Socialist Republic, 12/7/65

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