In perusing my large collection of Timofey Mozgov closeups for the perfect thumbnail image, I’ve noticed something: Mozgov has the greyest eyes ever. They are greyer than grey. The are both gray and grey simultaneously. Unlike some special snowflakes who characterize their eye color as “hazel” or “green” (both being made-up colors), Mozgov’s are legit grey. How’d they get this way?
—
“Alexiy, I don’t know if we should be playing in there,” a nine-year-old Timofey said nervously as he and his friend stood outside an abandoned factory building in Leningrad. “My mom said never to go into buildings like that.”
“Don’t be a wimp, Timmy,” Alexiy replied. “If it was dangerous they would have tore it down by now. Duh.”
Timofey eyed the letters written in faded paint on the side of the brick structure. ‘Compound 18 Nuclear Processing Facility” it read, but Timofey didn’t understand what those words meant. All he knew was that his mom would be mad if she found out he had gone in there. And, if he was being honest, he didn’t like the look of the building, which was scary and dark. What if there were murderers living in there?
But he didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of his friend, who had always had a persuasive quality about him. “Fine,” Timofey conceded. “Just for a minute. I wanna get home before cartoons come on.”
Alexiy rushed forward towards a door that had been pried open some time before. Timofey followed slowly.
The inside of the complex was dimly lit by what little sun could make it through the broken windows. All across the floor was strewn industrial detritus; planks, broken machinery, metal tubing, and the like. Timofey stood and took it all in, feeling a strange sense of isolation that his young mind couldn’t make full sense of, while Alexiy, apparently feeling no such things, happily ran up a set of metal stairs to a catwalk. “What are you waiting for, Timmy? Get up here! You can see the whole place!”
Timofey was startled out his reverie and obediently climbed the stairs. He and Alexiy walked along the maze of overhanging catwalks, Alexiy occasionally grabbing a loose bit of something and tossing it over the edge. Timofey was fine with just looking, but Alexiy soon became bored and wanted to do more.
There were some barrels up ahead marked with what Timofey knew was the “biohazard” symbol. He hoped that Alexiy wouldn’t notice them, but that hope was dashed quickly: “Hey Timmy! Check these out! I bet they have something really cool in them!”
“I don’t know, Alexiy. They’re probably dangerous. What if they have, like, poison in them?” Timofey demurred.
Alexiy was already trying to pry the lid off one of the barrels, but it was stuck in place. Looking around for a crowbar or something else to use to pry it open, he soon found a pipe which gave off a strong, sick metallic smell. “Here, Timmy. You do it. You’re a lot stronger than me.”
Timofey couldn’t argue the point: Alexiy was almost malnourished in his skinniness. He took the pipe, but hesitated, not wanting to do something his mom would disapprove of.
“Do it! Do it!” Alexiy semi-chanted, pushing Timofey towards the barrel. Feeling pressured, Timofey decided to get it over with; he wedged the pipe underneath the lid of the barrel and pushed. Soon, the lid flipped off, and Timofey looked into the barrel to see what was inside.
At the first sight of the glowing, bubbling green substance, Timofey’s eyes immediately began to burn in agony. “AAAH! My eyes! My eyes! Aaaah!” he yelled, blindly stumbling back from the barrel. He rubbed his eyes vigorously but when he opened them again, he found that he couldn’t see. “I’m blind! I’m blind! Alexiy, help me, call the hospital, I can’t see!”
Timofey heard Alexiy run back down the metal stairs and out of the building. Not knowing if his friend would return with help and quickly overwhelmed by panic about losing his sight, he began to cry. Unbeknownst to him, the tears falling out of his burning, devastated eyes were fluorescent green in color.