ex nihilo | fyodor dostoyevsky x reader

ᴡᴏᴇ

Woe

ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛᴇʀʀɪʙʟʏ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅʏɪɴɢ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ʏᴇᴛ ʟɪᴠᴇᴅ.

- Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

. . .

And in cases of such a interference, rule number one would be to remain calm. So you did.

"Good mister, what do you want from us?" Your lethargy came off as too bold, and as such, surprised the man behind you. He took a moment to respond.

"I want you to drive somewhere. I'll be giving you instructions on the go. Understood?"

"Sir yes sir!" You would also salute if you could.

Fyodor was amused by your behavior. He started the engine, but did not hit the pedal.

"What are you waiting for?" The man questioned nervously.

"It's too cold, the engine should heat up before we go," Fyodor explained.

"That's bullshit. Now drive."

"Where to?" Fyodor asked sweetly.

"Just... forwards," said the man.

"Your wish is my demand," your lover spoke in such a fake mellow voice that you barely held back your laughter.

"Oi, what's the matter with you two?"

"Nothing, master," you responded, to which Fyodor snapped back, "I'm the only one you're allowed to call master."

The three of you fell silent, although, your skull was, no wonder, full of your internal screams.

Until the man spoke up, "will you two just shut the hell up?"

"Yes, sir," you almost yelled.

"And drive the goddamn car, bastard."

Fyodor evidently disliked the tone the person was using, so a response from his side was lacking. He did as he was instructed to do.

If you were to discard the nonsensical blabbering of yours, you would reveal that indeed, both you and Fyodor were doing something useful.

In the rear view mirror, you spotted some details about this enemy of yours; he was in his thirties, he wasn't the prettiest lad in the streets - he was lanky, pale, had hollow cheeks and eyes such, that their whites had turned yellow. A generally frail, unhealthy appearance, was his predominant attribute. And an important fact: he held a knife. A rather poor choice of weapon, you'd say.

It was obvious the threat was nonexistent. The only problem would be, how to resolve it. Such a bother! If you were to murder him, then you needed either a weapon, or a direct, strong source of light to amplify it. You had none of it, therefore, you had to leave the matter to Fyodor - who would have done something if he were able to. You had to wait for a better opportunity to manifest itself.

He hadn't driven much though, when he stopped to let some pedestrians cross the street. And once he continued, the man behind you grumbled yet again. "You're shitting me."

"This is so annoying. I wanted to have lunch around one o'clock. Could you consider - " Fyodor was cut off by the man.

"No," was all he said, how reasonable of him. You looked at the driver, who hadn't looked back at you. His behavior was sketchy.

"I haven't eaten for two days..." Fyodor complained quietly, which you knew was a lie. What was the meaning of this? Hunger in both cases, one o'clock, two days... numbers. One, then two. He was counting down, you assumed. What for?