METRO 2033: The Gospel According to Artyom. by Dmitry Glukhovsky Page A

and rubbed them on my palm.
     
    –         Yahoo! Snow! – the boy was ecstatic.
     
    –         That's just ashes, – I said .
     
     
    *               *               *
     
     
    I'm a coward, so I'll be their hero.
     
    I won't ever muster the courage needed to tell them what had actually transpired. And should I even spill my guts, they'd still never believe me – or they'd think the Dark Ones had actually managed to put my mind under control.
     
    There are already legends being told about me, and some crazy old man's even writing a book: a boy from a backwater station has to cross all of Metro to save his home along with humanity in general from hellspawn invading from the surface… Having weathered numerous battles and becoming stronger he gets a hold of the powerful weapon devised by the ancestors and strikes the evil abominations down. Trying to escape their fate the despicable creatures assault the boy's mind but he overcomes this final exam, does not yield to the temptation and triumphs…
     
    Our children won't know how to write, the children of our children won't even know what letters were . There won't be anyone left capable of reading the book about the Metro, but the troglodytes still living in the tunnels will tell this tale one an other while sitting around their fires gnawing upon the bones of their enemies for as long as they retain the ability to speak. I have firmly secured an eternal central place in the legends of the cannibal savages for myself. A fitting punishment for my cowardice.
     
    When asked about how did it all start, I always tell that it all started that day we opened that airlock at the Botanical Gardens. We – meaning yours truly and two of my friends. We were mere kids back then and we had no idea what were we doing. Sure thing, we broke some rules – but has there ever been a boy who never broke any rules?
     
    Who's brilliant idea it was to visit the abandoned station, who took the others along? I always tell them that I don't remember, that it was either Vitali “the Splinter” or Eugene. 
     
    I always lie.
     
    It is a safe lie, for there's no way to ascertain the truth – both Vitali and Eugene are dead now. And even if they were still alive, they'd cover for me. Just like I'd always covered for them.
     
    No, it did not start the moment the massive airlock doors shrugged and opened with a grinding sound, opening a road to hell for us and a road to our home for the demons.
     
    It was a totally different day – a sunny, sparkling-fresh yet warm, filled with incredibly sweet scents that I can't even remember, though I definitely know I never experienced anything like that ever since.
     
    –         So, Artyom, – my Mom smiled to me. – How about going for a walk in the Botanical Gardens? What do you say?
     
    –         Great! – I shouted. – I'm all for it!
     
     
    I remember how we rode there in an almost empty Metro carriage – it was a day off after all. I remember how we took a short escalator to the surface, how we exited a spacious glass pavilion and saw a street buried in verdure. I remember the small clouds moving across the limitless sky and soft, cool wind on my face. There was an ice-cream stand right at the exit, so we got in the line.
     
    –         Which are you going to have – a wafer cup or a chocolate chip one?
     
    –         W afer! Chocolate! Both!
     
     
    –         You have to choose one, – replied Mom with a shade of strictness. – Can't have them all , you know you're allergic!
     
    –         Well, maybe you could get the chocolate chip one while I get the wafer cup?  And then we both share!
     
     
    –         All right, – she laughed.
     
    Even eating both ice-creams at once wouldn't have done me any harm that day, for that would basically be the last dessert that I had ever since.
     
    Then we entered the Gardens and walked