Kolya flung himself down onto the rough cobblestone street, covering the bloody man dying on the street. A terrifying scene of crimson carnage surrounded Ivan and Nikolai. Kolya unbuttoned the man’s shirt, struggling to rip a piece of cloth from the material to somehow stem the incessant bleeding from a wound in his throat. The man was sobbing uncontrollably, trying to speak, but unable. Kolya reached around hugging him with one arm while holding the cloth to his neck with the other, painfully unaware of the blood now slowly oozing down his arm. He looked back desperately at Ivan, looking for advice, for hope, anything to save him, but they both knew the man’s death was out of their hands. Kolya looked back woefully into the man’s eyes as he shuddered in pain. The man was one of many to die in the dreadful revolution of Moscow.
Kolya wondered what had happened. It had been so well planned out. Petrograd had fallen, almost without a fight, but not Moscow. Hundreds had lost their lives for his cause. Marx’s bloody revolution had begun.
© A River Runs Through It Photography