I'm Coming Back, отец

It was the December the 25th, 1990, in Moscow. The shivering gusts had finally settled. The snow crystals fell as the people smiled through difficulties. The USSR had almost collapsed, and its people had become more or less feeble, some physically; some mentally. The Kremlin had been trying its best to recover. They were well afraid of the dirty strategies of the west, after a prominent and certain collapse of the USSR. And yet they had learned to smile through the difficulties. After all, it was Christmas.

Dzinev was lying in his bed, in an old hospital. It had been serving the Soviets since the start of the century. But the current conditions had bought even the giants to their knees. Dzinev was a former KGB officer in the Kremlin, but had left the job a decade ago. He had been battling with cancer. 

He looked out of the window, looking at the moonlit sky. He and Мишка, his teddy were the only one in the room. Dzinev didn’t have anybody else. Мишка had been gifted to him by his father, a great patriot, on the death bed while Dzinev was six. He had been shot in the head in WW II. Dzinev remembered how his dad told him death was nothing sad, and he was just going to his lord, his owner, his caretaker— God. He was going back to where he came from. He was going home.

Dzinev had always wondered what death was from then on. And now, it was his turn…

He had’t gotten any medicines since 3 days. But the economy was evidently too weak to help him. He knew he would die. He smiled and told Мишка— “Не волнуйтесь, я иду к Богу, и нет ничего лучше этого.”. It meant “Don't worry, I'm going to God, and there's nothing better than that.” These were the same words his dad told him 50 years ago. 

The clock struck 12, midnight. Dzinev smiled and said, “I’m coming home, отец.”. And he left. A journey to god— the one not all want to go, but have to. 

Short Story by— Hasan Wadud

© | Copyright | Hasan Wadud | 2026