In the summer of 1985, hunger swept across the Soviet Union like a silent plague, killing hope before it reached the table. And even though Zhenya was too little to recall any of it, it was all his fault. 

Unlike the other Bogdanov boys, Zhenya came out of the womb silent and shrivelled, and as blue as the sky on that blazing hot August morning. Nobody thought he would make it, even the nurse who cut the fleshy noose off his neck.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “But maybe it’s for the best. One less mouth to feed.” She added, handing his stiff body to the doctor.

The story should have ended there. Any other baby would have accepted its own fate and dissolved into the primordial void or whatever dead babies did. But he wasn’t just any baby. He was a Bogdanov.

While his mother wept and wailed, Zhenya used his remaining energy to sink his roots deep into the soil. And, oh boy, what a parasitic leech he was. Greedily, he slurped life’s energy out of everything green and luscious, and soon, his small sunken belly began expanding.

The more Zhenya fed, the more of the world died. One by one, all the crops withered, and all the trees turned brown and crispy. Lifeless carcasses of apples and pears fell off the branches, turning into ash right before they hit the ground. As if they never existed. 

And so, as the famine of ‘85 reached its peak, millions of babies starved to death.

Millions but one.

The same sunny morning, to everyone’s surprise, the blue parasitic baby finally began crying in the arms of the unsuspecting doctor. 

That’s the story Father told Zhenya at the dinner table, making hair rise on little Zhenya’s neck and his eyes widen in awe.

“You were born so hungry, you nearly ate the entire world,” Father added, pouring water into a glass so small, it was probably made for babies. Maybe the ones who had starved.

The entire world, Zhenya recited in his mind, clenching his fork like a mighty sword. The world had to be big. Bigger than their kitchen. Maybe even bigger than their apartment building, which towered over the other commie-blocks in their neighborhood.

Suddenly, Zaika jumped on the table, nearly knocking Zhenya’s plate with his big fluffy paws. “The world is much bigger than our building,” Zaika said.

“Really?” Zhenya asked telepathically. "How big?"

Zaika spread his arms wide, drawing a broad invisible circle. “This big.” 

Zhenya gasped. That was big. Really big. If only Vova and Vadim weren’t at baba’s… they wouldn’t believe their ears when they heard how much he ate as a baby. Mother too. 

His head buzzing with a million questions, Zhenya gobbled down the remaining half of the milk sausage. Meanwhile, Father sat by the table quietly, eyes buried in the newspaper as if he wasn’t surprised by Zhenya’s world eating abilities.

“But if you ate the world, then…” Zaika said, scratching his chin. “Then why are you hungry now?” 

Zhenya shrugged. It was true. He had licked his plate squeaky clean, but his tummy wasn’t quite full yet.

“What if Father lied?” Zaika asked.

“No!” Zhenya yelled telepathically.

“You’re right, sorry.” Zaika nodded and sat on the edge of the table, paws dangling mid-air. 

Silly Zaika.

Zhenya got up and slid his plate on the kitchen counter. He'd usually leave it in the sink, but the crooked tower of dirty cups and plates had grown so tall, he couldn't reach it.

It was nice not to have mother around, but Zhenya wished she could come back to do the dishes. She couldn't, of course. She was having one of her moments—“hysterical suka moment” as father called it—so she had to leave for baba's, and so the tower grew.

Zhenya wanted to visit baba more often too but he was a boy, not a hysterical suka.

Yet, he wasn’t born a regular boy. He was born blue and hungry. And it worried him.

“Father?” The word slipped Zhenya’s lips before his mind could register it. As soon as he realized what he had done, his heart began beating like a wild drum; not only in his chest, but in his head too.

Father grunted. “Yes?” he said without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.

Zhenya bit his lip, peeling a streak of dried skin with his teeth. 

“It’s alright,” Zaika said softly, his black-button eyes gleaming with reassurance. 

That’s right. He could do it. 

Zhenya forced down a dry gulp and stepped forward, facing Father. “If I ate all the world,—” Zhenya paused to inhale, “—then why am I hungry now?”

Silence. 

Worried, Zhenya peeked at Zaika, and Zaika smiled.

Father lifted his gaze. “You?” Father sighed, his stale, sour breath tickling Zhenya’s nose. “Hungry?” 

“Yes.” 

Father threw the newspaper on the table with a sharp, deliberate slap, the kind of sound that always made Zhenya jump. “Do you have any idea how hard I have to work?—” he said, his broad shoulders rising even higher, and Zhenya suddenly felt smaller than he usually did “—To feed the four of you?”

God, Zhenya was dumb. So dumb. Why did he have to open his stupid mouth?

“Take, take, take. That’s all that you do, you and your mother," Father said bitterly.

Breathless, Zhenya felt his throat tightening, and his eyes suddenly became itchy. He looked at Zaika again, but he was gone. 

“It’s always you and your mother.” Father continued.

This wasn’t right. Zhenya didn’t want to be like his stupid mother. He wanted to be cool. Cool like Vova, like Vadim. Like Father. But he was dumb, and he was weak.

“Man up!” Father commanded, and Zhenya realized he had been crying like a hysterical suka. He wiped his tears with the corner of his sleeve, but they kept flowing and flowing; and for a brief second Zhenya got scared he might run out of water and whither like those crops on the day he was born.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Father roared, and a fiery ache suddenly pierced Zhenya’s cheek, sending his head flying backwards. He wasn’t sure what had happened, and even though his jaw hurt and his mouth tasted like metal, he suddenly became lighter. Softer. And he stopped crying.

Pleased, Father quickly chugged his drink, and then poured another baby-sized glass to the brim. “You cannot just take everything, ya know?” Father said calmly. “You gotta pay for everything.”

Zhenya now was so light, he had to grasp the corners of his chair or he’d end up flying up high. He might even slip through the cracks in the windowsill, and sail up into the sky like a hot air balloon, and nobody would be able to find him. 

“Pay?" Zhenya was sure he had said the words himself, but his voice sounded distant and foreign. "How?"

Father smiled, as if posing for a picture. It was an odd sight, seeing him smile. Odd, but pleasant. And kind. Almost like Gena the crocodile. Zhenya wished he didn't have to focus most of his attention to gripping the chair so that he could enjoy this view more. He wanted to freeze this moment and frame it.

“Hunger,” Father said after a minute. “Eternal hunger is the price you pay for starving us all.”

Eternal, Zhenya thought. That was a big word. Whatever it meant, it had to be Important.

White from the pressure, Zhenya's knuckles suddenly gave out an he released his grip. "Oops," he gasped as his body drifted up the air, lighter than a feather. He rose higher and higher, until his head bumped into the ceiling.

“Isn’t it cool?” Zaika said, hovering next to him like a balloon. He must have been here the entire time. "We can fly now!"

Zhenya nodded, waving his arms like a bird.

"Look look," Zaika said, excitedly pointing down to the window. "It's snowing, it's snowing!"

"Beautiful," Zhenya said, but he didn't mean it. He didn't feel it. He didn't feel a thing.

Baba was nice. She had packed a bag full of jars, each bigger than the other. They were full of pickles and red jams, and some other foods Zhenya couldn't name yet. A real feast was about to begin later that evening.

Zhenya had missed his brothers. He really did. But it was so nice when there were just the two of them, Father and him. Zhenya could have the big chair instead of the stool, and he got to drink from Vova's metal mug too.

But they now were back, shoulders rammed to one another as they all sat at the dinner table.

Zhenya was the first one to finish all of his food that evening (never happened before!), even the borscht with all the red gooey pieces. He was the first to get the dessert too—thin swirly waffles with strawberry jam—while his brothers were still slurping the soup, eyes black with jealousy.

Zhenya dipped the waffle into the strawberry jam and shoved it into his mouth.

"Chew or you'll choke," mother said, and Zhenya rolled his eyes. He ate the entire world, so a wee waffle was nothing to him.

But he chewed nevertheless. Not because mother said so, because he decided so himself.

Oddly enough, the strawberry jam wasn't sweet, and the waffles tasted like cardboard. He ate one more, and one more, but they all tasted the same. Like nothing.

"That's enough," mother said, pushing the plate of waffles away from Zhenya. "You'll explode."

What a hysterical suka, Zhenya thought.

"Psst, over here," Zaika whispered, standing next to the empty kitchen sink with both hands behind his back. He then swung his hands forward, revealing a waffle. "Tadam!"

Zhenya's face lit up, and he went back to the boys room all giddy.

He ate the Zaika's stolen waffle in his bed, hiding under the blanket. There were crumbs everywhere, on his chest, under his bum, and on his pillow too. Mother would be furious if she saw it.

The waffle tasted like nothing again. Zhenya even broke off a small piece and gave it to Zaika. "It tastes like air," Zaika agreed, and they both nodded in unison.

Something was off. Zhenya had a looming feeling that the world had changed overnight, and everyone knew it but him.

Zhenya's belly was full; so full, he barfed all over the carpet later that night, making Vadim scream like a baby. But Zhenya still felt it, all over his body, and not just the belly and the guts, the heart too.

Hunger,

He felt sharp, numbing hunger.