"Father, I had a bad dream"
You take a sip of vodka and roll over. You stare at the clock tower on Sobornaya Square it’s 3:23. “Go back to sleep, there is work tomorrow.”
The familiar warm buzz of vodka starts to sink in. You can barely make out your daughter’s pale form in the darkness. “Why is that, devochka moya?”
“Because in my dream, when I was about to go back to sleep, the thing wearing Mother’s skin sat up.”
You pause, and face your daughter and look at her intensely. The figure behind you begins to stir.
“Don’t talk that way about your brother, it is not his fault we have no money for coats. Such is life in Moscow.”