Previous installments: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
kremlin.ru
When your alarm goes off, your first thought is that the whole thing was a terrible and wonderful dream.
Here’s another chapter of Vladimir Putin fan fiction to keep you warm during these long winter nights! (But only if you print it out and fashion it into some kind of blanket.) Note that what it lacks in brevity, it makes up for in being extremely, extremely long.
Previous installments: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Image credit: ruleaks.net
When you open your eyes, the sun is already high in the sky. You are alone in what appears to be a fairly lavish guest room, tucked into a large, canopied bed. Looking around the unfamiliar room, it takes you a moment to remember where you are. Then, all at once, your memories of the day before come flooding back.
Because three (!) people asked for it, here it is: another chapter of my amazing Vladimir Putin fan fiction.
If you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s Chapter 1. If you’ve read that and still don’t know what I’m talking about, then there’s nothing more I can do to help you. Best to cut your losses and move on.
Image credit: kremlin.ru
You are perched in the passenger seat of a canary yellow Lada Kalina, speeding down the M4 highway so fast it feels as if you are flying. Every muscle in your body is tense and alert, but no matter how much you try, you can’t seem to make yourself relax. That’s because, sitting only an arm’s reach away, is Russian president Vladimir Putin.
It has been three long months since you landed a job in the mailroom at the Kremlin (thanks Monster.com!), but something about it still makes you feel nervous and on edge.
Maybe it’s because you’re spending so many hours alone in the cavernous basement mailroom, sorting through stacks of mail as high as St. Basil’s Cathedral. (Well, like a 2-foot-tall replica of St. Basil’s Cathedral.)
Maybe it’s because you’re not always sure what’s going on, because you don’t speak any Russian.
Or maybe it’s because your breath gets caught in your throat like a prisoner in Siberia every time you catch a glimpse of your boss—Vladimir Putin.
USAID
As a special treat, I’d like to share with you an excerpt from the Hamid Karzai fan fiction I’ve been writing. It’s still a work-in-progress, so go easy on me!
It is a hot and muggy evening. (Author’s note: By “muggy,” I mean both that it is humid and also that it is filled with muggers.)
