General Fiction posted July 19, 2025 Chapters:  ...7 8 -9- 10... 


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No Brakes
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate

Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 9

by tfawcus




Background
Dmitri suffered from catatonia after losing his twin sister, Mira, in a bombing. He discovers an aptitude for art, which is helping his recovery.
As Dmitri gradually gained strength, he took on more jobs around the house and garden, sometimes with Leila, but more often on his own. He continued to paint and draw in his spare time. She, for her part, heeded Elena's advice and carefully maintained an emotional distance.
 
Their interactions were generally banal and playful. She teased him constantly, and he gave as good as he got. These lighthearted moments increased their connection. They navigated disagreements with laughter and grew to appreciate each other's spontaneity and sense of humour. Needless to say, their friendship deepened, but Mira always hovered in the background, holding Dmitri back. The more he connected with Leila, the more sharply her mannerisms and personality reminded him of his dead sister.

The second time they played chess, he won easily. She hadn't ventured into his territory since that first encounter and was uneasy about the intimacy of being alone with him in his room. She masked her discomfort with mischievous banter.

'Let me see that drawing you told me about in the orchard. The one with me as a harpy. I'd like to see what you really think of me.'

'No, you wouldn't.'

She ignored the defensive tone of his answer and pressed the point.

'Yes, I would.'

He felt cornered and wished he'd never mentioned the blasted sketch. It exposed too much of himself, but at the same time, part of him wanted her to see it—and to understand. Anyway, he had come to realise, once she set her mind on something, there was no easy way out. A chill had settled on the room, and there was only one way of dispelling it.

He thumbed through his sketchbook reluctantly.

'There,' he said. 'The infamous harpy, seizing my queen.'

She had only meant it in fun. She had wanted to see the caricature so she could make light of it, but she was unprepared for the raw intensity. It was not his depiction of her as a harpy that made her catch her breath, but the rubble flying through the air and the orange glow of war, the taken pieces strewn haphazardly in the debris, and the face he had painted on the white queen. It was the face that pulled her up short.

'That has to be Mira,' she breathed. 'She's so beautiful.'
 
She knew she had stepped on sacred ground and wasn't sure she was welcome. She could have gone on to say how much he must miss her and how sorry she was for his loss, but there was no need. It was written all over his face. Over her face, too. The moment was beyond words.

'You have such talent, Dmitri.' She sensed that the compliment embarrassed him, so she swiftly followed up, saying, 'What do you intend to do with it?'

The question caught him off guard. 'I haven't really thought about it.' That was a lie. He had thought about it a great deal. 'Maybe, one day, I could become a war artist.'

'Depicting other people's grief, you mean? Not just your own.'

'Yes. Something like that. There is so much horror in this country. So much suffering.'

Leila leant forward to touch his arm, but she thought better of it. Instead, she swept up the pieces and returned them to their box.

'You may have won at chess today, but don't go bragging about it. It was a sheer fluke. Beware the harpy. She will strike back.'

'Oh, yeah?'

***
 
The sketchbook incident led to a temporary uneasiness between Dmitri and Leila, and they both withdrew to safe ground. They were aware that a boundary had been overstepped. However, the familiar rhythm gradually returned, awkward at first, but steadier with each shared task.
 
A few days later, Leila was in the kitchen with Elena. They had been shredding cabbage and carrots to make a batch of sauerkraut to lay down for winter. After adding sugar and salt, Elena packed it into a large earthenware crock.

'Take this down to the cellar, dear, while I make us a nice cup of tea. You'll find weights there to press the mixture while it ferments.'

When she returned, they sat opposite one another with their elbows on the table, steaming mugs of black tea between them.

'Another job done.' Elena glanced out of the window, where Dmitri was picking walnuts from the ground before the squirrels got to them. 'I don't know how I would have managed this autumn without the two of you. You've been such a help.' She took a sip of tea. 'And it's good to see you getting on so well together.'

'But carefully,' Leila said with a laugh. 'I'm beginning to understand what you meant about Dmitri.'

She went on to tell Elena about the second game of chess and the drawing that Dmitri had done. 'It was unbelievable,' she said. 'He has such raw talent. Did you know he intends to be a war artist one day? He told me.'

'Is that so? If he's serious, then I may be able to help him. I have a friend who has a studio in town, and I may be able to persuade her to take him on as a student.'

***

When Elena broached the subject of art lessons with Dmitri, he was delighted, and he promised to work even harder as a way of repaying her.

'Don't be silly,' she said. 'You already do more than enough. You give back in ways you don't even realise. Winter will soon be upon us, and you'll have more time to practice your art. You're going to find Pavla a hard taskmaster.'

She arranged with her friend that Dmitri would have a lesson each Thursday morning at ten o'clock, but only on a trial basis at first. Pavla was a good friend, but she made it clear she didn't suffer fools gladly. If Dmitri was prepared to apply himself, then she would be happy to help him. Talent is useless without hard work. She likened it to owning a car and not knowing how to drive it. However, in Dmitri's case, as things turned out, it was having a bicycle and not being able to control it.

The town was still too far for him to walk, so Elena had rummaged around in an outhouse and uncovered a bicycle that might once have been new, though not in this century. Its tyres were bald, its brakes squealed like a rat caught in a trap, and its bell didn't ring so much as cough. He spent half a morning doing what he could to fix it up: brushing the cobwebs off, oiling the chain, pumping the tyres up, and adjusting the height of the seat. God only knew when it had last been used, and it was to God that he offered up a prayer when he eventually mounted it and lurched off down the garden path.

Choosing to go downhill was his first mistake. The bicycle took off like an unshackled carthorse released into a meadow. He squeezed the brakes, and they squealed in agony without doing anything to arrest his headlong career toward the lawn, where Leila was raking up leaves and piling them into a wheelbarrow. However, at least they provided her with some warning of her impending doom. She looked up in time to see him bearing down on her like a wolf on the fold. She flung herself aside, and he veered into the wheelbarrow, scattering her precious leaves all over the place.

'Now who's the harpy? I thought my last day had come.' Leila picked herself up, brushed a leaf off her sleeve, and said, 'You want to look where you're going with that infernal contraption.'

Dmitri looked up at her, doubled over with unrepentant laughter, and said, 'I was looking, but not much I could do about it. No brakes. Sorry!'

She scooped up an armful of leaves and deposited them on his head.

***

After breakfast on the following Thursday, he wheeled his trusty steed out onto the forecourt. It was now furnished with a new set of brakes. Elena and Leila were there, ready to bid him goodbye and godspeed.

Elena presented him with a folded satchel. 'You'll need this,' she said. 'It used to belong to Stanislav. Perhaps it will do until you've got a better sense of what you like working with.'

Dmitri opened it. Inside were charcoal sticks, a putty eraser, a small tin of graphite pencils, and a brush-pen set with dried ink tablets. He looked up, astonished. 'You didn't have to—'

He gave her an appreciative hug and a peck on the cheek.

Leila, not to be left out, stepped forward and said, 'Me, too.'

He clasped her awkwardly, and she whispered in his ear, 'Good luck, maestro.'

With his heart beating a little faster than usual, he swung one leg over the saddle, wincing slightly at the effort, and gripped the handlebars, then he pushed off, wobbling down the drive like a fledgling foal on ice. Leila, watching from the garden gate, gave a whoop of laughter and cupped her hands to her mouth.

'Take care!'

He raised a hand in mock salute, just managing to stay upright as he rounded the corner and disappeared down the hill.

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Characters

Dmitri, a teenage boy recovering from catatonia (a state in which someone is awake but does not seem to respond to other people and their environment).
Mira, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena, a volunteer carer looking after Dmitri and aiding his recovery.
Leila, a foreign girl employed by Elena.

Setting: Somewhere in Central Europe.

British English spelling and grammar used throughout.

Thank you for reading and reviewing. I welcome honest, constructive criticism.

Photo by Rahul Pugazhendi on Unsplash.
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