Era: Stalinism.
I: Russian intelligentsia prisoner of the political sort. Male. I appear like bald Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn just short of his release from the Gulag, gaze stripped of hope and dignity.
Location: Underneath a medieval stone castle immersed in sewage water, accompanied by two others: an unmemorable buddy, and an eccentric Golum-looking fellow.
We are discovered by a lady security guard. They kill off my friends. In a desperate attempt to survive, I climb up a tower, towards an opening. The outside is gray. It is the first time in a long time I see dry and sky. This fills me with such happiness and hope, I refuse to descend to the despondencies of prison. I jump out of the tower, serenely plunging to my death.
Era: Present
Location: Anywhere in Russia, where the youth frolics about bucolic landscapes on bicycles in numbers.
I: Am Johanna. A student of architecture, and I'm assigned to a group of progressive students who make beautiful models of concrete mixed with their own shit. I'm concerned over the best way to transport my shit in ziplock bags from home to studio without gaining stares. My fellow group mates encourage me to sell excess shit to the proletariat for $1.00 in dollars.
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