Bradley Stafford
Photography
The Lost Soviet
He arose one bright morning and peered out his window. The river below mirrored the cerulean skies above. He gazed to the left and then glanced to the right and quickly realised he was in a world no longer familiar to him.
Where once there had been banality there was now colour. Machines of yesterday had become relics of today. The megalithic structures of the city remained upright, yet the process of decay had begun.
Beside ancient dwellings now stood polished, new objects, objects unusual and alien to him. He wondered if he was trapped in a hallucination. The sudden, drastic alteration to his world brought him grave discomfort.
He rubbed his eyes in the hope that his organised, systematic world would return. But the ordeal would be prolonged for the wall had fallen and the coup had failed, bringing a timely end to a reign of terror and control.
He could not see this now and would never succeed in doing so. In remaining loyal and subservient to the past, he became lost and forgotten to the present.
