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flames at one another and huffing. Aleksandr ignored them,<br />
glancing at the sun again and again. Why wouldn’t the damn<br />
thing move Finally, blessedly, the night came.<br />
He stayed in front of the house until the moon was high<br />
overhead and the cold made his bones feel heavy as oxen. The<br />
dragons nipped at his feet and drove him inside. So he waited in<br />
his chair by the fire. In his lap, Aleksandr cradled Minchka’s doll,<br />
hands loosely closed over the little cloth chest. He had found the<br />
tiny doll a week after Minchka left, wedged amid the rags the two<br />
dragons used as a nest beneath the sleeping platform. One of the<br />
dragons had sharpened its teeth on the carved wood of the doll’s<br />
face, making deep gouges like the tracks of tears. It was a child’s<br />
toy and his daughter was no longer a child. Seven years gone,<br />
but he could not picture her as anything other than the little girl<br />
he’d held that last night. The doll wasn’t even a proper present as<br />
Minchka had already owned the thing. But she had loved the doll<br />
so much. Would she still Would she still love him<br />
The night trickled away with no sign of Minchka. She<br />
had to come. She had to. His fingers tapped out the minutes on<br />
the chair arm. The fire burned lower in the hearth but he didn’t<br />
add more wood. His legs wouldn’t work anymore. If she didn’t<br />
come....<br />
When morning’s first pink touched the sky and Aleksandr’s<br />
eyes had drifted shut, there was a knock on the door.<br />
Aleksandr started awake. The knock came again. He was frozen.<br />
Unable to open the door and see. If it wasn’t her he was afraid<br />
something would break inside him that couldn’t ever be fixed.<br />
“Papa” A soft voice called.<br />
His breath caught and he clutched the doll tighter.<br />
“Papa, are you there”<br />
Aleksandr’s hands trembled as he rose and shuffled to<br />
the door like an old man. The dragons snorted smoke rings in<br />
disgust, racing to the door and back five times before he reached<br />
it. The wood was cold and pitted beneath his palm.<br />
“Minchka” Aleksandr whispered. His hands shook harder<br />
but he fumbled the door open.<br />
58 Writing Tomorrow Magazine