Nikolai the Painter

by a 2nd floor denizen

God bless you, my western comrades.  I am Nikolai Dementiev, but you may call me Mikolka.  I am a painter, and a very good one at that the great orthodox painters of the renaissance can’t hold a brush to my masterpieces, seen everyday by all who pass through these halls.  But does anyone care to know the identity of this magnificent artist?  Oh, forgive me, forgive me.  My pride precedes me.  I truly am humble, really, despite what I have said.  Forgive me, friends.

I am worthless.  Truly, I am the dirt that people scrape off of their shoes when entering a building.  No, much worse I am a sinner.  There are those in this world, extraordinary men, who are gods among us, guiding the mindless sheep of this world, begging to be led, inevitably to the slaughterhouse.  I am a sheep, as are most of us.  I can never hope to be more than I am.  I am expendable.  When the great minds of this world write the history books, it is these great men, these who act above the parameters of this world that will be remembered.  It is myself, and others like me, who unknowingly sacrifice ourselves for these great men, who will be forgotten.

I deserve to suffer.  I killed them!  It was I!  Why will you not condemn me?  Why will you not crucify me, as I truly deserve?  I deserve to suffer greatly for my sins I want to suffer.  The evidence is there for you to examine, look for yourselves!  The earrings, oh, those earrings they smell of their blood, their blood that I have on my hands.  I was in the building when it happened.  Dimitri did not know of my plot; don’t concern him with this inquiry.  Punish me, punish me alone! 

This man, this Raskolnikov, he is innocent.  Why do you pursue his and set traps for him?  True, he is a sinner.  Let me suffer for his sins let me suffer for all sins.  He defends me, he tries to convince others that I am not responsible, but I deserve to be punished.  The evidence is against me.  The investigation would have convicted me, and then I would be executed for my sins.  I don’t want to die I don’t deserve death.  I want to suffer and be left with my mind to agonize me every day for the rest of my pathetic life.

I am no carpenter, or other such trade of value in this world, nor am I a Lycurgus or a Mahomet I am a simple painter, an ordinary man.  There are real geniuses that do so much good for this world.  They advance thought, culture, science, and society.  There are only a few of them, and our world needs them.  Why punish them for such petty things as murder?  They are above such things.  That is what the laws of nature decree.  People like me are here to sacrifice themselves for the good of humanity.  So you see, I have a purpose in this world; I deserve to suffer, nothing more.  Do svidaniya, comrades