on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

With God

People kept coming to the countless-ages-wise gray-haired elder, one after another. They silently bowed their heads as a sign of reverence before him, in order to hear that long-awaited, sacred wish, “Go with God!”

An hour passed after an hour, time shrank and stretched straight into infinity, the procession of people who desired to receive his parting blessing still did not want to come to an end, but the elder seemed to feel no fatigue. He tenderly embraced each of those who approached, and then gazed intently into the eyes of the person who came to visit him, as if checking whether he had the strength of spirit to carry his own cross – traveling by the path intended for him – but regardless of what he saw there, in the bright peaks and dark depths of every human soul that trusted him, the elder’s answer was always the same, “Go with God!”

Someone, having received his blessing, was smiling happily – and another seemed to be slightly sad. Some people’s eyes were clearing up, while others had tears in theirs. Someone was joyfully jumping out of the hall as if he had just gained wings – however, there were also those who barely dragged their feet, as if their invisible cross was already pressing on their backs in advance. But there were none who would not bow down before him.

The elder knew beforehand what would happen to each of those who came to bow to him – who would return to his hall reborn, and who would throw their saving crosses halfway in the roadside mud or smear themselves with dirt. Who would reach the end of the journey, having honorably overcome all the hardships, and who would one day turn back. Who in the end would be grateful to him, and who would blaspheme for the severity of his own path. But the answer and blessing of the elder nevertheless stayed always the same, “Go with God!”

…Hour followed hour, day came after day, century after century. People kept coming to their Maker for a blessing, in order to go on a new life’s journey. Eternity was ready to wait for their arrival.

29.09.2022

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

The young and the old man

Once upon a time – and for the first time it happened many years ago and since then it happens from time to time again and again – a young man was running along the road of his life, looking around with a joyful smile. He had a small hiking bag on his shoulders, shoes that had not yet had time to wear out were visible on his feet, his body was full of strength and vitality, and his soul had not yet experienced grief. The young man’s eyes sparkled with happiness from the feeling of freedom, and his feet easily, as if barely touching it, glided along the ground, not clinging to rocks and driftwood. His path was an easy one.

On the first day of his journey, he met an old man walking toward him along this road. Swaying slightly from side to side, leaning on the bent from the arduous journey crutch, this aged man barely moved his legs. The young man noticed a huge knapsack behind his shoulders – it was so big as if this elder was somehow strangely carrying a load for ten. The elder’s gaze was lowered down to the stones lying in his path, and his legs, bent from fatigue, carefully and unhurriedly stepped over them. Sweat was slowly trickling down from the elder’s forehead, and it was clearly obvious that the continuation of this path was costing him considerable effort. His path was difficult.

Surprised by what he was seeing, the young man called out to the elder coming towards him and asked where he was going on his earthly journey.

“I’m going to myself,” the elder calmly answered him. “And you’re going closer to me.”

“Do I know you?” the young man was surprised.

“Do you even know yourself?” the elder asked him questioningly in response.

“What awaits you at the end of your journey? What are you aiming for?” the young man asked him out of curiosity.

“The beginning of a new one,” the elder answered briefly, moving a stone that was hindering him with a stick.

“Isn’t it hard for you to keep walking? For some reason it seems to me that you are carrying not only your own but also someone else’s burden,” the young man seemed to have mercy on this stranger.

“Isn’t it easy for you to stand idly in one place and keep talking to me?” the elder raised his eyebrow as if in a gesture of amazement.

“Why are you traveling all alone?” the young man did not let up with questions.

“Because not everyone can be called a close one,” the elder sighed, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“May I help you at least a little?” suggested the young man.

“We are going by different roads towards each other. By helping yourself to become better, you will help me as well,” the elder replied with conviction.

“To tell the truth, I didn’t understand much of your strange speeches, stranger,” the young man threw up his hands. “But I wish you a safe journey!”

“And I wish you the same,” the bent elder answered him with a smile.

With these words, the young man and the wanderer he met started moving towards each other once again, but exactly at the moment when they finally caught up, the elder stepped right at him – and suddenly disappeared, as if he had vanished into the morning haze as if he had not yet existed. The dumbfounded young man rubbed his eyes for a long time and looked around again, hoping to see somewhere at least the receding silhouette of a mysterious stranger, but was unable to do so.

“I’m going to myself,” his inner voice whispered softly to the young man. “And you’re going closer to me…”

02.06.2022

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Gift

“And you won’t check my QR code, all right? I really don’t have one, truly, honestly! I am not marked, you know? We, the untagged, have become almost like outcasts now…”

Judging by the sour face of the guard standing with a rifle at the ready near the entrance to the shopping mall, it was clearly noticeable which great-grandfather and how courageously would strangle all these fascist innovations that have been showering on his nondescript descendant’s head and purse as of lately, almost like from a horn of plenty or some other horn, thereby giving him, the glorious successor of the family, an extremely instructive and very timely example. Shifting from one foot to the other for a long time, as if from internal cold and cautiously squinting at the video cameras hanging on the walls, after a while the guard, nevertheless, waved his hand in a sign of permission.

"Okay, come on in. At least show me the phone for the sake of formality. One way or another, you’re our first visitor today for the whole day. As if the whole city died out overnight, God save us! I’ll too be kicked out of here soon if there are no buyers going around…”

“Thank you, mister guardsman!” Alice exclaimed joyfully, almost clapping her hands. “I’ll run around here in a jiffy, just to take a peek, okay? I am very, very interested in what is going on here in the capital today! As well as to buy a gift."

Having never received an affirmative reply from the guardian of the new trade order, who suddenly started to diligently examine the tips of his polished shoes, Alice rushed headlong through the opened glass doors, intending if not to buy (she had almost no money for this course of action), then at least to admire from afar all those wonderful curiosities that this huge trading monster could offer to them, unwanted guests of the capital.

What kind of surprise that was when she discovered that there were no sellers at all standing behind the counters of the shops sparkling with Christmas lights and garlands! The glass doors stood wide open, the festive lights were still painting their unique patterns on the walls, reflecting from the mirrors fixed on the ceilings and floor, and around, as far as the eye could see, not a single living soul was visible. It was as if she, a new-found guest of the capital, suddenly found herself in her own mystical Looking Glass.

“Buy us!” a thin voice suddenly came out from somewhere in the distant depths of the boutique, into which Alice wandered in the shopping center.

“And me! Take me too!” a dozen new ones chattered back to it.

“And don’t you forget about me, I’m on sale now!” someone purred very closely.

“Who are you? Where are you hiding? Come on, show yourself immediately, or I’ll… well… call the police, right!” Alice shouted back at them, looking around in fear.

“It’s us, pretty things!” came a chorus of merry chuckles in response. “Buy us now!”

“Things? And where are all the people? Where are your sellers? Is this some new form of trading magic? I don’t understand anything!” Alice threw up her hands in surprise.

“People? Why people? Things!” a multi-voiced chorus of voices sang back to her.

“But surely there should be people around to make things right? People are not things, and what are things without people? You’ve got me completely confused right now!”

“Put us on!” shouted the red patent leather shoes that suddenly jumped out of the box, right in front of the stunned Alice, starting to dance some kind of weird unfamiliar dance right away.

“Try me on!” tenderly whispered a lilac dress with a large cutout on the back that started spinning on the mirrored floor, paired with shoes, now and then trying to drag Alice standing in the center of the hall, taking her by the arm with its sleeve.

“Breathe us in!” dozens of glass jars with perfumes rolled out on the counter with affectionate voices.

“Look at us!” sang the earrings decorated with large red rubies that fluttered out of the case in one go.

“How magnificently beautiful are all of you!” Alice gasped in amazement. “You are the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life!”

“We were made for each other!” the dress assured Alice, putting its arm around her waist.

“We were created only for you!” confirmed the shoes.

“Look in me!” demanded a mirror standing nearby in a beautiful gilded frame.

Coming closer to the mirror, Alice was surprised to find out that her reflection was dressed in the same lilac dress and red shoes, and she had gold ruby earrings in her ears.

“You’re making her look fat!” the mirror said to the dress with displeasure.

“And you’re making her underweight!” snapped back the dress.

“Try us on! Buy us! Take us with you!” the inhabitants of this store vied with each other, never giving Alice a single second to think it all over.

“But… how am I supposed to buy all of you?” Alice was confused. “You must be very, extremely expensive!”

“Loan… Loan! She doesn’t know about the loan?” pretty things started whispering among themselves in surprise. “She’s not local… Surely she doesn’t have a credit card? The bank! She needs to go all-in to the bank!”

“And what should I do with you then? I don’t have any of these loans, and no marks either. I have nothing to pay you with!” Alice sighed in distress.

“Squeak!” squeaked a huge rat, the size of several of Alice’s fists, that suddenly jumped out of the far corner of the room right under Alice’s feet.

“Aahhh! Mouse! I hate mice since my childhood!” Alice screamed, jumping up from fear and almost crushing the shoes spinning under her feet. “Go away!”

“Squeak!” repeated the huge black rat, standing up on his hind legs and absurdly waving front paws in front of him, as if introducing himself.

“This is our friend, Squeak!" things began to reassure Alice soothingly.

“He’s decent!”

“Yes, he helped many of our kind find their new homes!”

“Find their masters!”

“People listened to his wise advice and were finally able to get us!”

“He is so smart. And so sly, too!”

“He’s cool!”

“No!” cried Alice. “I don’t want mouse-friends! Not to speak of the rats! Scram, scram!” with these words, she grabbed one of the still-dancing red shoes, intending to launch it into this being that formed inside her a feeling of deep and sincere disgust.

“Squeak!” a huge black rat squeaked as if being offended, tucking its hind legs and clicking its tail on the mirrored floor, as if annoyed, intending to successfully retreat, but all of a sudden the cat flew into the open door of the boutique from all its hind legs, thus not allowing this tactical retreat to take place.

“M-r-r-r-y-y-a-a-y-y!” Alice was only able to hear a moment before the claws of the newly-born ferocious predator dug into the thick black skin, leaving behind deep bleeding wounds on the body of the Squeak. The rat jumped up, twisted out, and, leaving a piece of his tail in the paws of an unexpectedly appeared cat, retreated like a bullet somewhere in the black darkness of the hall.

“Our poor Squeak…” the dress that had recently danced around the hall began to cry and lowered its sleeves down. “He was so dear to us, and we were close to him!”

“What have you done, silly being?! Who’s going to buy us now? Now we will never find our rich owners!”

“Oh, sure, it’s all about being owned!” the cat purred, sitting on its hind legs, and began diligently licking the wounds inflicted by the Squeak. “They will make anyone they want their slaves. Don’t trust them, girl. I know that. I’ve seen so many of these rats in all my nine lives!”

“The cat! The most real and talking Cheshire Cat! Just like from my children’s fairy tale!” emotional Alice almost cried out with tears.

“Huh, you tell me, Cheshire! I am not from a shire, not that kind of fluffy furry ball with fleas! I wash my face every day in the mornings and evenings as my ancestors purred to me, peace be upon their fur! Yet rubbing is what I like the most. Can you scratch me?” he looked inquiringly at Alice, continuing to lick the rumpled fur. “By the way, my name is Yearr!”

“Of course, I will, my dear cat!” Alice happily agreed to fulfill this simple everyday feline request. “You’re my hero – you defeated such a nasty rat!”

“And scratch behind my ear too, since I’m not scratching myself… for, you know, I have these… paws. P-r-r-r…”

“And why do you have such a strange name, kitty?” Alice asked without stopping caressing the cat. “A cat by the name of… Yearr?”

“I’m a cat-symbol, you know? Year-cat! Is it the year of the cat? And I am the cat-year! It’s been a year!”

“What kind of charade is this?” Alice was puzzled. “Kitty, please don’t talk in riddles!”

“A charade for a masquerade. Kind of riddle, sort of fate,” the cat purred conciliatingly. “Well, you can call me Cheshire if you want to. But I truly don’t have any fleas for you, so don’t even ask!”

“Almost no need for that,” Alice giggled. “And why did you decide to save me from the Squeak?”

“I got hungry. And skinny. And my shagginess has decreased as well. You can even say that I went feral, even though it sounds strange, especially in my case. What kind of year, such is a cat, it turns out. And these rats bred here in enormous quantities! Everyone tries to steal something or teach others their pilfering habits. But I’ll find them all, they won’t escape my gaze, they won’t hide in a hole, m-r-r-r-y-y-a-a-y-y! So I’ve been living here as of lately, catching them and… well, you know what we, cats, do with mice…” he symbolically squinted with his green eye, as if checking her, Alice, general erudition.

“You are very brave!” Alice agreed with him affectionately. “But all these pretty things… they wanted me to buy them all… they wanted to find their new home… and now…”

“Nothing terrible will happen to them!” the cat waved his paw towards the counter. “They’re not humans. Not even cats! They won’t peel off, they won’t get skinny, and… well, what is usually done with you, people, in hardships? They won’t go animalistic, that’s it!”

“People are not things!” Alice smiled. “Especially since I don’t even have anyone to buy these things from. There are no sellers around here either, you see that? So what am I supposed to do now?”

“Do you want me to show you the lord of this place?” the cat winked at her.

“Who, who?”

“Well, he is sort of local head spirit, the caretaker. I do remember how one of the rats, fleeing from me, jumped on his back and started screaming for him to protect her. Well, I tore his gilded paint from the sides for that, too! So now we’re with him… how to put it more precisely… we don’t drink milk from one bowl, yes.”

“All right, lead on!” Alice exclaimed. “But, if anything, I’ll put him in his rightful place first!”

When Alice, out of breath from running through the floors and corridors, finally caught up with her brave fluffy fellow traveler, he was already sitting impressively on the back of a huge gilded bull, standing in the center of an improvised oasis with palm trees on the top floor of the shopping mall, and every now and then arched his cat’s back and flexed his claws, as if intending to gently plunge them into the black-and-gold neck on command.

“Well, here he is! Evil spirit! But he won’t throw me out of here now!” the cat assured her with satisfaction and plunged his claws into the bull’s neck.

The statue, which had seemed lifeless up to that moment, suddenly started shaking, jerked sharply, trying to throw off its new rider, its eyes turned bloodshot in the blink of an eye, and thick acrid smoke poured out of its nostrils.

“See how angry he is? What a waste, we are not to his taste! M-r-r-r-y-y-a-a-y-y!” and with these words, the cat furiously scratched the upper part of one of the sides of the golden bull.

The head of the golden bull with bloodshot eyes suddenly turned towards Alice, and a low guttural rumble, coupled with acrid smoke, swept through the hall for a brief moment.

“You are standing in front of the altar of our temple, human whelp! Behave yourself!”

“Aha, he spoke at last! Last time you weren’t so talkative, as far as I can yell!” the cat mewed, giving the bull a slap with his paw.

“Did you steal all the people from here and replace them with things? Come on, admit it!” Alice looked intently into the bull’s eyes filled with blood and rage. “And don’t you hiss like that, I’m not afraid of you, I have a real Cheshire Cat now. Got it?!”

“This place is a temple of things. You’re a foreigner here. Get lost!” the head of the animated statue was spinning from side to side in rage, but for some unknown reason, the bull could not move.

“Bring the people back immediately!” Alice demanded and stamped her foot. “Just look at yourself, false God!”

“People… came to my domain willingly. They bowed before me… willingly. And then… they disappeared. Everyone who bowed. And only things remained…”

“Well, then stay here all alone as long as you like, thing! Without new adepts, you are nothing! A false temple will once fall to ashes! Mmm!” Alice grimaced at the bull.

“M-r-r-r-y-y-a-a-y-y!” added the battle Cheshire Cat and kicked the animated statue with a paw right between his horns.

“Trespassers! Blasphemers! Get out of my temple!” the bull roared with all his might, trying to break away, but the gilded chains that held him firmly did not allow him to do it. Only the bloodshot eyes with hatred bored into the retreating figures of the girl and the cat walking impressively on two paws until they finally disappeared from sight.

“That’s what I call taking the bull by the horns!” the cat, wandering along the corridor, continued to tell, purring contentedly under his mustache and nose.

“I hope he won’t hurt more people," Alice said, looking back anxiously. “That spirit of yours is so evil, yay! Did you see his red eyes?”

“I would kick them too if I got to them,” the cat shrugged his tail lazily, as if boasting. “But I still have enough battles with all sorts of local rats here waiting for me. Well, where are we going to run now?”

“Oh, it’s probably already very late,” Alice suddenly realized. “I promised the guard to take a walk here for a short time. And we were so busy here that I forgot about it completely. My family is waiting for me at home!”

"So you are not local? And I was already thinking that now you will too start living here day and night long. Bring me some milk, or, say, sausages…” the cat dreamily rolled his tail like a pretzel. “Because the local would-be soldier at the entrance completely forgot about me, it seems, no matter how hard I mewed at him… And here he is. Sleeps on duty like a dead man without a grain of conscience! My very eyes wouldn’t have seen him and my very paws wouldn’t have touched him!” the cat purred cheerfully, carefully creeping up to the guard who was dozing at the table on the first floor. “Although, you know, we can argue about paws…” and with these words, the Cheshire Cat by the name of Yearr deftly jumped on the plump belly of the sleeping guard, that was rising up every now and then, gently curling up on it.

“Goodbye, kitty! I will surely miss you,” Alice said, affectionately stroking the curled-up cat.

“You will be back, won’t you?” he looked back with his emerald-green eyes with hope and devotion. “With milk and sausage?”

“I’ll try to visit you more often!” Alice assured him. “If my parents allow it.”

“Well, then, ciao-cocoa!” he waved goodbye to her with his paw. “...Wait, I almost forgot to tell you!” he suddenly realized.

“What exactly?” Alice turned around, already going out through the glass-mirrored door.

“Follow the white rabbit, of course!” the cat purred and winked with his huge, cunning eyes, green like the most beautiful of emeralds.

* * *

When Alice stepped out of the threshold of this new temple, it was already night outside. The snow swirled in the light of the street lamps, and the stars shone brightly in the sky. The silhouette of the shopping center was gradually fading away as if it had never existed – as if everything that had just transpired there, in this new Looking Glass, was not real, as if the whole life in the endless pursuit of things was somehow unreal, implausible, untrue…

“Well,” Alice sighed sadly, wrapping her winter scarf tighter and tighter against the suddenly rising cold wind. “So I didn’t buy a gift for mom! Eh… just wasted my time…” she became upset.

“Don’t be sad by vain things, child!” a voice rustled in a gust of wind from out of nowhere. “We will lead you to eternity!”

“Who are you?” Alice said in response to her invisible interlocutor, looking around in surprise and not noticing a single passerby.

“The right question is who are you? Lift your gaze skyward!”

“Stars! Wow, what a clear sky! How many distant suns are there on it!” the girl whispered, looking up spellbound.

“Do you see how we shine in this night? Only in the total darkness, we became visible!”

“Stars, you are like someone’s distant bright souls illuminating our earthly path…”

“You can buy thousands of things, but is it possible to buy eternity? You can only get it as a gift, earn it. Earn the fulfillment of your dreams. Stretch out your hands to the sky!” a mysterious voice whispered again.

“Wow, a shooting star! How bright!” enthusiastically exclaimed Alice, lifting up her hands to the sky.

“I am descending into your arms, child. Make a wish!”

"I… I wish that people could become happy. So that… so that they don’t become like things. I want… peace on the whole Earth. And so that Mom gets well!” Alice sobbed, wiping out freezing in the cold tears with her mitt.

“The desire of pure souls will be fulfilled…”

* * *

“Alice… Alice! Did you doze off while studying again? Are you tired, my dear?”

“Mom, I just fell asleep… I had such a wonderful dream…”

“Do you see how dark it is outside the window? You’ve been sleeping for hours, darling. Completely lost with all these lessons and thoughts about gifts, right?”

“I… wow… look, Mom! What a starry sky there is today! Just like in my dream!”

“Yes, honey, the sky is very beautiful today…”

“Look, Mom, a shooting star! How bright! This is the first time I see such a thing!”

“Me too, daughter…”

“I am descending into your arms, child,” a strong, warm, and caressing voice whispered somewhere on the very brink of her consciousness. “The desire of pure souls will be fulfilled…”

30.01.2022

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Breakthrough

We are all law-abiding citizens. State laws – and especially those that concern our health – we execute zealously, carefully. Well, and because the laws we have now are fascist in nature – it’s not our fault, but that of the rulers. And why have they created such laws, we still wonder? Did they truly want a nationwide, meaningful and merciless riot? Did they not believe in our Slavic powers, replacing us with overseas migrants, putting muzzles on our faces like on their obedient slaves, and trying to send us to plague camps?

Yet it was lazy for us to fight for the future and our lives at first, comrades. Our life under the leadership of the false-ours thieves wasn’t comfy, that’s true, but we have already managed to get used to it in our way. Already we started to forget about the feats of the courage of our civil ancestors, hung the yoke of credit around our necks, and plunged headlong into the pool of reckless consumerism, having even frightened for a short duration capitalist devils, who were dwelling there, with our speed of drowning.

Since then, we have lived like this, poor or bad, gurgled in these pools, being put on our knees by the traitors-in-power, listening on TV to their speeches about our indescribable rising. It was a pleasure to listen to the lies that were given out for the truth! Our consciousness was amused by the feeling of national greatness, unprecedented growth, a cosmic take-off, a long-awaited breakthrough! But for sure we scraped the bottom of the pool for a long time and tried to dig it even deeper. And we flopped in it for so long that a new generation of our children managed to grow up in the pool, having taken its dirt in their souls. But a breakthrough, decisive for our fate, happened completely all of a sudden.

And so foreign medics came and sailed to us in their dressing gowns with a sign of the bloody cross on them at the loud call of our authorities. Help us out, they said, our Western friends-enemies, our dear contagious W.H.O., for our Slavic people are sick and ill, still suffering from the cosmic ooze, which we have poured through their veins shortly before the call. And soon those non-Christians arrived in white robes and with eyes as black as the night, and so they began walking around the streets of our cities so pompous, as if this land was already conquered by them, and was not ours, Slavic, with the blood of ancestors who fought with the fascists, stained and watered. Or maybe they weren’t even doctors at all, but enemy soldiers and murderers, dressed up in white robes and called to our Russia by traitors-Koschei? Of that, we don’t know and are even a little bit afraid to think about. Because what if it’s them, foreigners, that have developed this poisonous liquid in their laboratories?

And so, we were starving, friends-enemies, by the time of the arrival of those Varangians, white as a funeral shroud, and so we looked at the rulers of our thoughts and purses with no joy in our eyes. These authorities were maddened, having become incredibly violent, and by that time many of us have been marked with that deplorable digital black stigma already. We, asymptomatically contagious, could not leave our homes without the need which they have approved, or buy products in stores, or speak freely our opinion about them on the Internet in every possible way and pour out the heartache in the terrible comments, and calm down on that. And so that pain and bitterness, unshed, bubbled in our hearts, begging to be unleashed even more than before.

Therefore, when these non-Christians came to our motherland in their false-white clothes, so we came out of our homes to greet them. We had no faith in their kind and selfless intentions, and we didn’t believe in their proclaimed ability to heal us. And so we stood up in a righteous fury from the sofas with our backs and spines spread out, took axes and cudgels in our weary arms, and went to drive those treacherous scoundrels for what the world is worth because there was almost no worth for a human life left in the world!

And so we drove such an abomination far, far away. We drove them through the cities and villages, straight to Moscow and the red Kremlin, until they were all there along with our rulers. And so we almost set out to storm the Kremlin, yet one natural and unexpected event suddenly happened. The earth trembled on the Kremlin Square, and all of a sudden, a thousand-laid tile started shaking. And then the mighty wind came down without a single warning, howling, and the battlements from the walls of the Kremlin were torn apart by the wind, having fallen. And for a few painful minutes, everything was shaking around, spinning and howling, and once the storm came to an end, whoa, a part of the Kremlin collapsed into a huge hole!

Wow, and that turned out to be a huge hellhole – we have never seen such a thing. A breakthrough as it is, the most natural and righteous! And a fierce multitude of our rulers disappeared into that breakthrough, and their overseas henchmen ran away and scattered. And the wind stopped howling and crying, and the thunderclouds dispersed, and the red sun peeked out from behind those clouds and as if smiled at us all at that moment. And so we threw away our codes and fascist certificates, and left poisonous syringes in destroyed hospitals, and smiled in response to the sun. And we started to feel better, and joy descended into our souls once again, and soon enough we all began to build a decent working life and a state of justice.

Just look, what long-awaited breakthroughs happen on our Slavic land, friends-enemies! And if someone comes to us with a sword, a syringe, or his darkest code, he will rest forever in the Russian land by the will of heaven and by the force of nature! And you, who have read this – be healthy, non-QR’e, brave and truthful – and maybe then it will all come true!

30.10.2021

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Drug

“Does it hurt?” Sergey patted his comrade sympathetically on the back, trying not to touch the shoulder muscle recently pierced with a thick needle. “Still?”

“It’s my soul that aches with pain, Serge. What a shame for the state and people!” Vasily reluctantly waved away, diligently rubbing his numb hand once again. “There were so many traitors around!” he added, spitting in frustration into the gutter bordering the roof of the building.

“They are abominations, all of them…” Sergey hastily agreed with him. “They infected so many people, took us with impudence, no matter what. And what for? Where do they need this money now, and where has all their earthly power gone?” and he waved his hand in the direction of the city square, as if its current silent inhabitants could still give him the answer to this uneasy question.

“Natasha’s legs failed yesterday, her whole body ached. Today she feels a little bit better, but she still can’t walk.”

“And the syndrome?”

“You mean the fever?”

“Yeah. They say if, after the initial injection, all this synthetic crap in the brain begins to self-synthesize, then the first few days it fevers wildly, and then the addiction starts to form after one or two months, and that’s when new and new injections will become needed endlessly. Big Pharma, fuck it! Well, what’s it like to get all of us hooked on it, huh?! Drills! Salvation! The fuck-cine!

“No… she wasn’t feverish,” Vasily choked, trying to swallow the lump that appeared in his throat. “It won’t… I hope. My only hope now goes for God, and not for these… traitors in white coats!”

“You know… they’ll probably be hanging on the streetlights soon, too. As well as those aliens,” and Sergey waved his hand towards the square once again.

“We will soon run out of lanterns supply,” Vasily chuckled darkly. “One can only hope on God’s Judgment and the Second Coming.”

“Look, these ones have already rung off by themselves before his arrival,” Sergey confirmed his thoughts, nodding towards the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, clearly visible against the background of the clear evening sky – or what was left of it in the end, anyway.

And the lanterns were indeed shining. Their night lights softly, like a wild cat carefully crossing the road, illuminated rare snowflakes gently falling on the sidewalks, and those, obeying the imperious call of the wind circling around the square, curled into heavenly snakes and earthly snowdrifts, now and then bending into all-new bizarre patterns.

Here, from the roof of this high-rise building, Sergey and Vasily could clearly see the most famous among tourists Red Square, which from now on and forevermore became the last earthly haven for traitors and murderers. A few soldiers – a small night military patrol – kept measuring their pace, slowly marching back and forth alongside it. The wind rocked the bodies of the powerful of this world who had gone to God’s Judgment on the gallows and thus lost all their imaginary strength overnight. The Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, destroyed by the earthquake, no longer made a single sound, silently glittering with cracked domes in the light of evening street lamps. Somewhere in the distance, a television tower blazed like an unquenchable torch. And only the tank, which had crashed into the mausoleum while moving on all sails, added at least some enthusiasm to this evening picture.

“The evening balls… the e-v-e-n-i-n-g b-a-l-l-s…” Vasily sang out the words of his favorite song, wiping his suddenly for some reason wet eyes with the edge of his jacket. “A pity that they will call upon us soon, too. I don’t want to die like a slave waiting for a new dose… I want to die like a warrior! Well, at least our children will be wiser than us… Not infected with all of this… all this… earth dirt.”

“Have you forgotten, or what? Russians never surrender! We’ll live to see the other day, you’ll see! We’ll live to see the Second Coming!” Sergey slapped his friend on the back once again with all his might.

“Always an optimist…” Vasily smiled timidly. “Well, so be it, I’ll take your word for granted. I don’t feel like sleeping at all today, especially after such events. Well, what are we going to do?”

“Let’s go to look out for constellations?”

“Let’s go!”

11.10.2021

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Circus

“Dear residents of the capital and guests of our city! We invite you to our festive circus show! Devilish cunning, demonic courage, abyssal enthusiasm! A brave new world, full of alluring temptations and unsolved mysteries, is already waiting for you right outside this threshold! Hurry up to see, hurry up to believe, hurry up to hurry! Only here and just now! We are not for an hour, we are forever!”

The tenacious gaze of the herald, clothed in all the colors of the rainbow, suddenly stopped on Artem Sergeyevich, who had barely managed to get out on Red Square and right at that moment was dumbfounded at the view that opened up to him. The entire square, as far as the eye could see, was filled with three dozen different high tents, between which circus actors, acrobats, or clowns, who were calling to “head straight and heedlessly plunge into this unique light show”, were running rapidly now and then. Citizens strolling around the square almost immediately became victims of this aggressive clowning. Small groups of visitors still managed, kicking and refusing, to avoid close contact with these annoying circus performers. No matter where you looked, there was no sign army, no officials, zero reporters, even no guides with tourists, so familiar to the capital at this time of year. Colorful tents covered almost the entire territory of the square, coming close to the walls of the Kremlin and St. Basil’s Cathedral.

“Welcome to the show!” a jester with improvised small red horns on his head, who was dressed in a colorful hoodie, red kirza boots, and for some unknown reason a black sweatshirt, jumped up to Artem Sergeyevich and without unnecessary ado grabbed our hero, who was confused by surprise, and, continuing to persistently hold his hand, almost dragged him by force to one of the tents towering on the square.

“The best political acrobats and circus performers from all over the world!”, “thousands of beautiful naked camera-bearing maidens!”, “vaccine-carrying winners of talk show awards!”, “unholy martyrs of false belief!” the jester continued to babble hurriedly as if in a patter, dragging Artem Sergeyevich, who was still stunned by what he had just seen.

“…Completely free of charge for worthy people!” the last words of the circus performer who was expectantly staring at our hero with a smile stretched over his blue-painted lips, pushed through Artem Sergeevich’s clouded consciousness.

“And why… and where… everyone…” Artem Sergeyevich started to come to his senses after a merciless information tirade.

“At the performance, of course!” the clown burst out laughing with a kind of shrill, coughing laugh. “I’ll tell you even more,” he winked maliciously in response to a silent unspoken question, “some of those persons that you just thought of – they will even be in the role of actors! Isn’t that all great?!”

“It’s great… probably… and what is… your performance about?”

“A new brave world, sick humankind, the devil’s chord, and wasted mind!” the jester sang the rhymed lines, dancing slightly from the excitement. The rhythm and sound of his voice, lulling and shaking at the same time, enveloped Artyom Sergeevich’s sleepy consciousness like a dope as if demanding to pay attention, heed, and obey – with zero unnecessary questions, without needless doubts, never listening to his soul…”

“And why… the tents… are you… a touring circus?”

“I’ll say – in no way! We plan to stay here for a very long time!” the circus performer winked slyly in response, and red flames flashed in his eyes for a brief moment.

“You said… notable people take part in the performance?”

“Oh, indeed! Almost all the higher darkn… entire high society! Many of them were invited by us in advance and have already perfectly accepted their new roles after many previous rehearsals of our circus-like end of the world! Doctors, politicians, priests, and the press – everyone is happy to relieve your stress!” the jester sang in rhymes once more.

“And for how long… does this show of yours last?”

“It depends on the circumstances!” the clown said bluntly without another dancing. “The more of you – the longer the hour, the brighter the flame and greater the power! And most importantly…” and the jester bowed his head directly to Artem Sergeyevich’s ear, “for worthy people, the performance will be completely free of charge!”

“Free? This is such a… rare occasion in our times.”

“Exactly! And most often – there is a catch! And we don’t have a catch, as you may have already noticed, not a single one, nope. Our word is as honest as we are,” the clown laughed loudly with his painted blue lips.

“So… can I just come in?”

“Not quite!” the jester abruptly stopped Artem Sergeyevich, who was moving with an uncertain gait towards the entrance to the tent. “First and foremost, you need to measure your current weight on these karmic scales, see?” and he pointed to a strange-looking scale standing next to the entrance to the tent. “Go ahead, don’t be afraid, they won’t bite you!”

Under the massive weight of Artyom Sergeyevich’s heavy body, these scales, which for some reason had two arrows instead of one, started shaking and – or was it just his playful imagination? – as if moaned from someone’s unspoken unspeakable pain, and then one of the arrows stopped near the beginning of the scale, and the second shifted somewhere far away.

“Very good, just fine!” said the clown, shifting from one foot to the other with satisfaction. “The amount of evil you have committed is many times greater than the number of good deeds, and that means that attending to our performance will be completely free of extra charge for you, Artem Sergeevich!”

“And how do you… know my name?” the hero had no time to be surprised, for the jester interrupted him.

“Please, stretch out your hands! It’s not a hard requirement to stretch your legs as of yet. Temperature measurement, you know the new rules,” he explained soothingly in response to a puzzled look.

“Ah… the new rules. Yes, I am aware of them, of course… this is all very correct, no doubt in that,” and Artem Sergeyevich stretched out his hands in a conciliatory manner.

With these words, the jester abruptly pulled something resembling a seal from somewhere in his bosom and pressed it hard against the stretched left palm. For a brief moment, there was a smell of burning in the air, a sharp flash of pain pierced Artem Sergeyevich’s hand, and then some mysterious runic symbol appeared on his palm as if burned by a laser.

“Entrance fee! Such are the rules!” the jester explained.

“But you have just said…”

“Come in already, you fool!” the jester abruptly forcefully pushed Artem Sergeyevich inside, closing the tent floors.

Reality has changed. The hall was completely filled with darkness. The floor had gone missing, it was impossible to see where the ceiling ended. The rows of seats floating in the void as if in weightlessness were fully filled with spectators who were shouting something into the hall. For some reason, Artem Sergeyevich did not hear the sounds of their voices. Waiters in black robes were walking back and forth between the rows, as if floating in the air, offering the audience some unknown cocktails. In the very center of the hall, where the eyes of millions were turned, there was some kind of stage, which was constantly illuminated by blinding lights of flashes that caused a sharp pain in the eyes.

Dressed in a black business suit, Artem Sergeyevich found himself sitting on one of the chairs in the upper-far row. Next to him, as far as the eye could see, in the same row, people in black tuxedos with briefcases in their hands just like him were sitting – some of them were sorting through their papers, others were counting cash. Artyom Sergeyevich stood up slightly, trying to recognize the rest of the visitors in the flashes that were hurting his eyes. Below him, judging by their appearance and pretentious gestures (he still did not hear their voices), there were actors and showmen – Artem Sergeyevich’s gaze, running over their faces, unexpectedly saw the familiar outlines of several famous business personalities and reporters among the distorted grimaces. A little lower down, in this endless darkness, there were chairs with people dressed in white clothes – Artyom Sergeyevich noticed with dread that their mouths were sewn up, and the pupils of their eyes, as if blinded, looked longingly at the stage, never closing for a single moment. In the lower rows closest to the stage, he was stunned to see a myriad of gilded heads with rods and crosses in their arms – from these crosses, depicting the tortured Christ, red blood was slowly dripping into the unknown blackness of the absent floor. Close to the stage, queens, and kings in spiked crowns were sitting impressively on gilded pillows – some kind of muddy liquid was constantly oozing from their crowns, and they eagerly gathered it in their hands, blackened by the marks that were imprinted on them, and drank, greedily sucking every sip, and then raising their empty hands to the black height as if in a sign of thanksgiving.

Lights were dancing on the stage. The fiery streams encircling it were lighting up and then extinguishing again. The light of the red spotlights was almost blinding. The music, thundering with deafening rhythms, made the seats in the lower rows vibrate and shudder in unison with it. The shadows, cast from the searchlights, stretched out and started looking like monsters from horror movies.

“At last!” an unfamiliar voice thundered from the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, we declare our performance open! Meet our king! Face him!”

Practically blinded by the flashes and deafened by the heart-rending music, Artem Sergeyevich rushed from his chair with the only all-consuming desire to run away, although he already had nowhere to run, but the shackles that appeared on the chair from out of nowhere suddenly closed on his hands and feet, condemning him to be an eternal spectator of this unearthly end of the world.

“Meet our king!” were the last sounds he heard moments before the whole scene was drowned in the roar of raging flames. And then his silent outcry came in their place…

* * *

“Dear residents of the capital and guests of our city! We invite you to our festive circus show! Devilish cunning, demonic courage, abyssal enthusiasm!” the jester continued to shout out on the street of the capital as if nothing had ever transpired.

“And what do you need me to do to attend your amazing event?” asked Pyotr Ivanovich, walking along the square with interest.

“Oh!” the jester, who had carefully looked into his eyes, replied with enthusiasm. “Just a small thing! You simply need to betray God!”

23.09.2021

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Animal planet

“Another fine day in the eternity! I am glad to welcome everyone here in the seventh heaven today within the walls of our domain. Welcome to the angelic scientific and practical conference dedicated to the evolution of consciousnesses and bodies in the visible worlds created by the All-Maker!” said a young angel (although it was difficult to say with any degree of certainty from the appearance of these beings how many heavenly aeons his created by the almighty Maker soul had managed to come through), who came out on the stage woven from soaring mother-of-pearl clouds, continuing to smoothly flap his snow-white wings in rhythm with the soft, gentle music that was filling the room. Having once again looked with a radiant gaze of his almond-shaped eyes at all those who have gathered, the number of which was so large that some of the angels did not even have enough seats in this improvised heavenly temple, so they were forced to float smoothly at a low altitude, carefully crossing their wings behind their backs, he abruptly waved his right wing, calling everyone to keep mental silence, so that after a couple of otherworldly seconds he could continue his speech.

“As the respected masters, scientific luminaries and light-bringers in the field of evolutionology, bio-spirituality and bioengineering who are present here today should be aware, during the recent observations of several young newly-settled civilizations, indisputable evidence of the reversal of what is considered in our circle to be the evolution of the Divine Spirit has been discovered. In particular, we are talking about the planet in the Milky Way galaxy, referred to by its current inhabitants as the “Earth”. During his last expedition to this planet under the guise of its original inhabitant, our famous and respected researcher Joan Christo personally witnessed the aforementioned process, which will undoubtedly interest everyone present today in this scientific and spiritual hall. Joan, please tell the audience about the results of your last spiritual-research expedition to this planet.”

The angel, who had been standing calmly not far from the central cloud pedestal, gently flapped his wings and smoothly swooped down next to the host. He was well known to the celestials gathered here today – an elderly, albeit immortal, the angel who had been on many expeditions to the visible worlds with a bright golden sun-colored symbol of the cross on his heart – a gift for faithful service to the Maker. His curly hair that fell to his shoulders had long been covered with silver, a couple of scars crossed his face, wrinkles lurked at the corners of his almond-shaped blue eyes, and he was looking at the audience with a slight hint of sadness in memory of what he had seen in other worlds. His voice sounded calm and melodious as if in a coordinated beat with the music spread across the room.

“My greetings go to all the scientific researchers gathered today in this hall!” the angel who flew onto the pedestal answered with enthusiasm, throwing aside his external sadness for a while. “As our mutual friend Ravael has already rightly noted, I and my fellow comrades and researchers who had accompanied me on the expedition had the opportunity to recently visit the planet that is now known as the “Earth”. The chronicles of our joint expedition have already been transferred to the Archives, and everyone present in this hall will easily be able to get acquainted with them in the nearest future. And now, in order not to take up unnecessary time even from the immortals, I would like to briefly testify to you the observations and conclusions that we came to during our expedition to this visible world.”

Having that said, Joan inhaled the heavenly ether into his chest, made a spectacular pause, spread widely his wings behind his back, and, circling the audience in the hall with his warm mental gaze, continued speaking.

“So, the conclusions. The consciousness of the intelligent beings of this world is indeed changing – but not in the way that we initially assumed, in the course of primary research and the construction of evolutionary forecasts. My colleagues and I have witnessed an amazing process of merging between the evolution of an animal and the involution of human consciousnesses. May I be forgiven for these simple analogies, but the inhabitants of this world who keep calling themselves humans are increasingly beginning to remind us of wild animals possessed and driven by primitive instincts, while the representatives of the fauna traditionally called animals are showing an increasing number of new characteristics, traditionally associated only with soul-endowed beings.

Let’s start with the so-called animals. My colleagues and I have witnessed how previously hostile classes of animals started to lose their centuries-old antagonistic instincts, becoming closer and closer to each other, which was especially obvious in cases when representatives of these groups grew and evolved together.

Female representatives of some animal species are showing their increasingly more innate maternal instincts towards children of other species, including a willingness to protect them from the external danger that threatens their life and well-being. Before my own eyes, the cat performed a feat of courage, carrying out her newborn kittens together with a small puppy of a dog that was absent for a while straight from a burning house! I detailed this amazing case in my daily travel note left in the Archives.

In addition, the so-called domestic animals began to actively adapt to the human-created environment of their habitat, sometimes showing remarkable ingenuity and resourcefulness in using the objects of this environment to achieve their own goals. Many serious and at the same time curious cases of such behavior were captured by us on the ether tape, with the contents of which you will all soon be able to get acquainted.

We have also witnessed how genuine art created by the most spiritually gifted representatives of humans – and I am talking primarily about music – can influence the psyche and behavior of mammals that are becoming increasingly sensitive to it. The music that flowed in the waves of the ether caused them to rejoice or even shed tears! Isn’t this the direct evidence of how the representatives of the animal world who aren’t gifted with spirit are increasingly showing the qualities of spiritualized beings? We are on the verge of an amazing future transformation of these thinking creatures – mark my words, colleagues!

And what about those who call themselves humans, those beings who have sole control over the mind, you ask me? Unfortunately, the numerous pieces of evidence collected by our research team only confirm the tendencies you have previously noticed towards the degradation of their consciousness and spirit to the level of the former representatives of the animal world. We have observed numerous manifestations of the most primitive animal passions – anger, rage, fear, hatred, dominating in their relations with each other. They are increasingly losing the ability to perform constructive interaction, more and more often thoughtlessly succumb to primitive instincts – whether it is the desire to fill their empty stomach at any cost or to satisfy their sudden sexual surge. The unprecedented scale of the wars unleashed by them clearly demonstrates how far they have walked away from the understanding of the essence of the original plan of the All-Maker, having lost the ability to feel and be guided by the spiritual core given to them. It was not without an inner shudder that we looked at the pictures unfolding before our spiritual eyes of how parents not only do not save, like the named cat but they only torment and slowly kill the spirit of the children that were entrusted to them. If they are not willing and have no desire to protect not only others, but even their children from the omnipresent in their society evolutionary degeneration – what kind of intelligence could we talk about that they ascribe to themselves? Gradually, in the course of our lives in human bodies, we became more and more convinced of the degree of degradation which their so-called science that has become the best creator of the most powerful tools of destruction, and their so-called religion that has destroyed the teachings of light and beauty previously given by our fellow prophets, had reached.

Dear colleagues and brothers in the heavenly spirit! I am also forced to inform all of you that representatives of this civilization, like representatives of several dead past ones who once inhabited this planet, have started to carry out deadly experiments with the cells of living beings in the hope of correcting the “mistake” of the All-Maker, in which the majority of them – including many followers of various religions – do not believe at all, and thus raise a generation of beings with the bodily and emotional qualities that they desire. These experiments, if they are not stopped in time, will return their bodies back to the very animal world from which they once came from, and which, in the face of a number of its representatives, has already surpassed in its quality many of the humans currently living in this world. In our travel notes, we described in detail the types of Earth experiments that we have observed in the field of genetics and virology. I ask you, together with the representatives of the Fate Control Department, to pay the closest possible attention to them. It may well happen that many of those who are engaged in such experiments or impose them on others will have to be taken away from their world ahead of schedule.

At the same time, I am glad to inform you that not all of the previously predicted negative involution scenarios have been realized in their world, which, in general, gives a certain number of the most morally noble people a chance to preserve their spiritual core. Also, my colleagues and I are waiting with interest and anticipation for new evolutional scenarios of the flora and fauna to be implemented in their world. Thanks to all of you for your time and thoughts attention!”

After taking another deep breath and enduring another spectacular pause, Joan slowly, smoothly soaring in the waves of the heavenly ether, flew away from the central pedestal, giving way to his colleagues and gifting them with the sacred right to answer a lot of clarifying questions, elaborations, and suggestions that started pouring like rain on their wings from inside the hall.

The exchange of opinions and the construction of further plans went on for a very long time on this heavenly day, and when they finally came to an end, the Earth met the angels with the most beautiful ever created by the hand of the Maker, a pure and innocent, lilac-pink sunny dawn…

01.09.2021

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Prison

The Overseer of the entrusted to him otherworldly prison excitedly walked around the reception zone, exhaling tongues of purple flame from time to time. He was incredibly happy. Very soon, several million new freshly disembodied prisoners were supposed to be transferred here. Several million future slaves. The seeds that had been sown by them in souls over several hundred years have finally come to fruition. Grandiose!

A deep-throated laugh, full of rage and triumph, rang out in the room, causing the thin tongues of the braziers lighting the immersed in semi-darkness hall to vibrate in fear. As if in response, the liquid gurgled savorily in the cauldron that was located in the corner of the hall. Sleeping next to the cauldron, Cerberus half-opened one eye and yawned hard with both of his mouths, as if coming out of a centuries-old stupor. Somewhere in the distance, on another plane, horses neighed in anticipation of their riders.

The Overseer decided to interrogate the first few newcomers himself – to remove, so to speak, the cream of the dark flame from their black souls. The rest will be handled by his wards. Time was in abundance. After all, what is death and eternity for those who have never lived?

A light click of the tail on the black stone of the floor – and now the first of the future prisoners is sitting in front of him, looking around in surprise. The time has come for the interrogation of another dead soul. Stretched out on a leather-upholstered bone throne, the Overseer stared with his blood-red eyes, in which the flame tongues had been dancing playfully, at his new newly disembodied slave.

“The Earth ruler,” the Overseer’s imperious tone did not ask, but confirmed, “The killer. I love such ones!”

“Truly?” the ethereal image that vaguely resembled a human was taken aback in surprise, “At the Court, I was told that God abandoned me because…”

“Because he has no need for souls like yours,” the Overseer didn’t let him finish, “And we dote on you. Your soul is so dark and delicious.”

“But I’ve already told all of you that I had no other choice. People have revolted! My very life was in danger!”

“Is that so?” as if with a bit of irony, the Overseer tilted one of his horns to the side, “And why did they act so rashly, I wonder?”

“I have no idea!” The ethereal figure of the former earth ruler bitterly clasped his hands, “Ungrateful commoners always demand something! Bastards!”

“And so you rewarded them with executions and mass shootings…” the Overseer barked, “I love such people! You will descend far! How about working as my deputy?”

“And… is that possible? Perhaps this is too much of an honor for me? I think… probably… considering the circumstances… I must agree.”

“Then it’s a deal of paws and hoofs!” The Overseer shouted, and from this terrible roar the flames of the braziers fluttered again, as if on an invisible wind, “You will replace me in one of the dark worlds.”

A snap of the paw’s fingers, a clatter of hooves on the skulls decorating the foot of the throne – and the outlines of the ethereal figure abruptly wavered, horns suddenly began to stretch out on his head, a tail started growing and forking, and once green eyes began to fill with blood…

“What are you doing to me… It’s not what I… it’s not me…”

“In his image and likeness…” the Overseer finished philosophically for him as if reluctantly breaking into a smile, “Next one!”

“Can I come in?” timidly asked the image of another person who materialized in the place of the disappeared ruler, “Knock, knock, knock?”

“A doctor. Vaccinator. My friend, how glad I am to have this unearthly meeting with you!” The Overseer chuckled, “The doors of my humble abode are always open for souls like you!”

“I think I got a little lost,” shifting from one foot to the other, the spirit of the former doctor confusedly admitted, “I only reached the six hundred and sixty-fifth office, and I need to go to…”

“Our, if I may say so, medical office, will just be your next stop! What are you complaining about, my patient?”

“It’s cold… very… cold here…” said the spirit, shivering, as if there were no braziers in the hall at all.

“It’s true!” the Overseer suddenly sharply agreed with him, “There is no warmth in evil hearts! But we have developed heart vaccines specifically for the ones like you. They, as you guessed it… transform these hearts. I would even say that they genetically modify them. Turn into a piece of ice!”

With these words, the Overseer waved his hand imperiously, and thirty syringes suddenly began hovering over the ethereal figure of the doctor, who was shaking from the cold, aiming their needles directly at his eyes and heart.

“What… but I… we saved them!”

“Saved from life? Well done, I applaud you! Although a small part of them still got to heaven, most of them will soon come to our domain!”

“There was… an epidemic… We cured…”

“N-o-o-o-o!” The Overseer guffawed, “You gave birth to it! Even children were infected. You acted better than the fascists! And all your so-called “Hippocratic oath” is now nothing more than a fig leaf designed to close your insatiable thirst for profit from human pain and suffering! You tried to treat only the bodies, and never remembered about the soul! But you won’t need your soul anymore…”

“But… we didn’t know that it truly…”

“Yes, it does exist! And yours is now at our direct disposal until the end of times.”

“But… our experiments…”

“Better practice on rats for now!”

A new wave of a clawed paw, an imperious blow with a hoof – and the outlines of the doctor’s figure began to rapidly shrink, distort, as if in some rapid mutation, and a few seconds later a huge black rat was running under the Overseer’s feet, feebly squeaking.

“Don’t you forget your vaccines!” The Overseer said a second before pinning her to the floor with thirty syringes floating in the air, “Next one!”

“Wow, that’s cool! You know, the local carnivorous flora and fire-breathing fauna seem to be extremely diverse, the air filled with sulfur and ash perfectly tones my lungs, and the sight of your throne takes my breath away! I could write a wonderful article about this in…”

“Hypocrite!” the Overseer sharply spitted in response to the human image, but not the likeness, that appeared in the hall, “Your name is legion!”

“Yes, yes, so, as I already mentioned, I could write how great…”

“A journalist! A life of lies! Love that!” The Overseer’s hooves clattered in excitement, and his tail split at the end, “You’ve served our cause well, along with the doctors-killers. What reward do you desire for misleading millions?!”

“No, no, you misunderstood me, we didn’t mislead them, we just expressed our personal point of view, which may not coincide…”

“Expressed it?!” and the braziers in the hall again trembled with rolling laughter, and the Cerberus, who was once again immersed in sleep, opened one of his eyes, “You didn’t express it, you imposed it! Lies from your filthy tongues have been pouring into the ears of gullible souls for decades! Tens of millions of deceived and lost souls, a wonderful harvest. What kind of reward do you desire for that?!”

“Well… I… we… don’t even know what to say…”

“Then be silent forevermore!”

The lips and mouth of the ethereal spirit of the journalist suddenly moved spontaneously, his eyes widened in horror, and after a few seconds he spat out his blackened and twisting tongue with a wild wheeze. This tongue, now living a completely independent life, began to wriggle like a worm, crawling away towards the boiling cauldron, where it was soon seized and torn apart by the awakened Cerberus. With his eyes bulging with horror, the spirit of the journalist held his hands to his mouth, unable to utter a single word.

Contentedly shifting from hoof to hoof, this ruler of the ninth circle of Hell put a clawed paw finger to the forehead of his victim, rapidly drawing something on it.

“Ours now,” he confirmed with satisfaction after a short time, “If you have no desire to be children of God, you will become our slaves instead. Next one!”

15.07.2021

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Pandemica

They desired to “fix” us all. Men, women, even children. To bring down to our knees and kill our spirit. Transform our genome. Break our will. Turn us into experimental rats. There were many of us, but we were too weak. And they broke through the first line of our defense.

“The authorities of the metropolis remind that under the decision of the Emergency Council in connection with the rapid spread of novovirus, all city’s residents are prohibited from leaving their homes to avoid infection. For those who have been successfully vaccinated, food and basic supplies will be continuously delivered by volunteers and members of the internal security service.”

One by one, the megaphones of the city that has been plunged into the darkness of the night kept on announcing the deserted streets within a several-minutes break, screaming with all the voices of hell about how heartfully these bastards care about the population entrusted to them by fate. The population which they have willingly sacrificed.

Artyom carefully chose the route of his movement, constantly checking the map created by the Resistance engineers. There are too many ground patrols and cruising over the city drones and too little time for this operation. But the suit of a liquidated member of the internal security service, stuffed with all the electronics he may require, will give him this time, and an element of surprise in the event of a meeting with a patrol. With his hand tightly gripping the pistol that was switched to silent firing mode, Artyom raced through the streets of the dark city like a silent shadow.

* * *

Pandemica. That’s how members of the Resistance who have passed through three years of pandemic wars started calling this city. A monster born on the wreckage of a bygone era of false prosperity. A plague-city. A prison-city. The one which voluntarily agreed to this.

“The internal security forces of the megapolis continue patrolling the city’s territory to identify violators of the global quarantine regime, criminals, and looters. We thereby ask all law-abiding residents of the capital to keep sending their infograms in cases of detection of violators of the new order.”

Order. No, this didn’t look like an order of magnitude by the standards of those who were not yet enslaved during the pandemic wars – those who chose to remain human, vaccine-dissidents. This was the new order of those who thought of themselves as the masters of this world. New fascism with a taste of medicine and genetics in one flask.

Another night patrol marched along the street very close by. The sensors built into the suit warned Artyom in time about the approach of “his kind", and the internal number assigned to this patrol group was displayed on his neuro helmet. Everyone had such numbers now – both people and animals, ones still alive and long dead. Artyom waved to the group that was marching towards him with a greeting identification sign, painfully reminiscent of the notorious “Heil!”, while continuing to move and look as confident as possible. They didn’t turn around, didn’t suspect. The temporary access code, automatically transmitted between all members of the internal security forces, should be valid for several more hours. That would be enough.

Since now seemingly immeasurably distant days when the global quarantine regime was imposed, the very concepts of “friend” and “enemy” have changed beyond recognition, precisely following the invisible hand of a new ideological order, a new way of thinking. Many of the once seemingly strong and worthy people sided with the regime. Some people disclosed active members of the Resistance to the authorities for the opportunity to temporarily relieve the symptoms of novovirus with the aid of periodically offered to them painkilling injections, others handed over their infected former beloved ones to incessant medical experiments for the opportunity to get fed for at least a few months more, and some were even ready to become members of the internal security service and forcibly sterilize those who had so far refused the “gift” that was offered to all of them.

A patrol drone smoothly floated high above his head, slowly cutting the darkness of the night of the already sleeping metropolis with its searchlights. Artyom abruptly pressed himself against the wall, trying not to move. They could not get identification codes for the air tracking systems. If he gets noticed – the game is over.

Drones have become an additional means of monitoring compliance with the global compulsory quarantine regime, which the authorities imposed more than a year ago. The year during which they managed to suppress the willpower of most of its inhabitants, and either drive the rest of them underground or drag them into various medical experiments. The year during which every living soul inside the city took off its mask and revealed its true face to others. The year of traitors and collaborators. The year of the Resistance’s forming. The year of his, Artyom, new rebirth.

Jump. Hands cling to the fire escape ladder. Pull-up. Swinging. Push on the hands. Jump to the next building. There was no other way to pass through this zone of newly created cemeteries, of bottomless “mass graves” that were hastily dug by the authorities. By stairs, through buildings, on roofs. Until another patrol drone looms on the horizon.

* * *

Hundreds of thousands of victims were blamed by them on the pandemic, on novovirus. The authorities and the medical cartels under their vigilant control have not disclosed where it came from, who and for what far-reaching and desirable purpose once created it. But by the time the novovirus appeared, they already had a cure ready for action. And what, according to their statements, was supposed to be the salvation of humanity, became its curse instead. Not everyone understood this and not at once. And when they finally did it was already too late, because the doors of this huge prison cell were slammed shut with a bang, so that those living inside would forget about the very concept of “freedom”.

Artyom joined the Resistance during the first pandemic war. He was a scout in the army and became a saboteur in the ranks of the Resistance forces. Patrol tracking stations, police checkpoints, cordons, mobile stations of voluntary-compulsory vaccination – there was always work for him to be done. Each broken bar of the prison cell moves the final release date closer.

The shrill wail of a police siren somewhere far behind. Automatic bullets bursts. Explosion. A mushroom of fire broke out over the buildings half a kilometer away. Another victory of the Resistance or a police terror? There’s no time to find out.

The guards of the new prison regime who had sworn loyalty to the authorities were protected from periodic injections, which were mandatory for almost all other categories of citizens. And that is why novovirus did not circulate in their ranks. The cure was both a weapon and a guarantee of a repeated demand for that cure. But very few people understood this.

Sensors on the right arm of the suit issued a warning signal telling about leaving the patrol zone. He has to get rid of the suit. Then to get back at his own risk. If he survives.

Just a way bit more. A few more quarters through an abandoned industrial zone. There are no more human patrols moving here, yet there may be mines. It’s good that, unlike the suit, the night vision glasses didn’t have built-in location sensors.

* * *

Once in this now dilapidated building there was an underground genetic laboratory, which became one of the experimental grounds during the development and testing of vaccines against norovirus, which infected people with it at the same time. The Resistance learned about it from a medic who used to work here and joined them a month ago. And then this operation was planned.

The vaccine was a virus. During the injections, it penetrated the body cells, bypassed the immune system, was embedded in the DNA, starting the process of self-replication. Norovirus carriers suffered from a variety of symptoms and diseases of inner organs, which were a side effect of forced-voluntary changes in their genome. Cases of infertility and uncontrolled genetic mutations were also recorded, during which the infected showed signs of regression to animal-like states. But the death of tens of thousands of test subjects was not the ultimate goal of the creators of this secret violent experiment – because each new portion of injections given to the population contained new series of genes that were introduced into living bodily cells by the virus. Like a vessel lost in the fog, the very concept of man as an intelligent being was rapidly blurring and disappearing. The developers of the vaccine knew all of this beforehand. But silence, as we all know it, is gold, and life tends to be short. And many of them were silenced voluntarily.

The medics also created an antidote – if in any way it could be called as such. This “antinovovirus” was, certainly, unable to restore the destroyed genome of those already infected, but it allowed to block the replication of its distortions for newborns, giving a chance for salvation at least to their children. And this was a chance worth fighting for.

The terminals and records created shortly before the hasty evacuation of scientists and medics after the outbreak of the first pandemic war were supposed to remain intact in the laboratory’s backup storage. They will allow those few scientists who have joined the Resistance to recreate the antinovovirus. And then it will only be necessary to come up with a way to distribute it, thereby correcting the mistake of scientific and medical madmen. Turning on the infoscanner, created in the catacombs of the Resistance’s technical laboratories, Artyom started searching for the laboratory’s backup storage.

* * *

He didn’t even notice how he stepped on a mine on the way back from the laboratory. The joy of his discovery filled his whole being so completely that for a brief moment he lost his usual vigilance. But that moment was enough. Neither instinct nor skill helped. Only the rest of the combat reflex – and a sharp, forceful jump to the side at the moment of the explosion. Last attempt for salvation.

The phalanges of the toes turned into meat crumbs. Bullet shrapnels embedded in his legs. A painful cramp pierced the whole body, and his mouth opened in a soundless scream but was clamped with both hands immediately. You can’t make a sound, you should not attract drones. No, you cannot lose consciousness, only not now!

Tossing from side to side, trying to overcome the initial pain shock, with barely obeying fingers, he pulled out the remnants of the analgesic gel from his waist bag, pouring it on the blood-soaked clothes. Then he rolled over on his back and, clenching his teeth until they gnashed from the incessant pain, fixed his bleary eyes on the heavens.

He never truly believed in Higher Powers – in his opinion, this world has already become too cruel and ruthless with their tacit permission. But here it is, just in front of him. Sky. Blueish-black. Have you forgotten about us? Stars. Here they are circling above him as if in a mad dance. Being so far and so close at the same time – just to stretch a hand. Who now lives in the worlds warmed by them – are they the same as us, madmen? No, they can’t be insane, they shouldn’t be. At least somewhere in this universe, there must be a grain of reason – otherwise what is the point of all this?

It’s quite possible that during that very moment all of this was just a trick of his tormented by hellish pain imagination, but for a brief moment, it seemed to him that several of these lonely wandering stars in the night sky flashed brightly, as if forming a new constellation – a constellation in the shape of a Cross…

* * *

When Artyom finally regained consciousness once again, the stars were shining above him as before. He’s still alive. He must finish what he has started.

He checked the disks found in the laboratory in his belt bag and backpack. Without external damage. So, hope is still alive.

And then, gathering the last remnants of his powers, he started crawling back. First – through the industrial zone, peering into the night darkness with all possible intensity, so as not to run into another mine. Then he had to bypass the burial grounds. Through the neighborhoods destroyed during the first pandemic war. In the Gallows Zone. Passing through The Firing Squad Square. To the catacombs of the Resistance.

It must have been the Guardian Angel himself who led him that day. Dragged by the hands. Carried on his wings. Poured in all of his strength.

Twice, by some miracle, Artyom managed to avoid the patrols marching through the night city. Three times patrol drones flew over, without noticing him from above. He lost consciousness four more times. And when he finally crawled to the catacombs, and a detachment of Resistance fighters noticed him, he only had enough strength to smile weakly and whisper softly: “I’m back.”

* * *

“Did you manage to study the samples obtained by Sergeant Artyom and check the relevance of the information found?”

“That’s right, Comrade Colonel. Our hopes were justified. The scientists who have joined us promised to create an antidote within a couple of months. They will just need some additional equipment, though.”

“Have no worries about the equipment, we will send our guys into an industrial raid.”

“We plan to hold the ceremony today. They all promised to come.”

The gray-haired colonel slowly approached the desk, silently took the filled glass in his hands, took a deep breath, as if driving away sad thoughts…

“Well, come on, without clinking glasses. Eternal memory to the hero.”

“Eternal memory…”

12.07.2021

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Immunity

Hope dies last.

But how could have Gale hoped for anything right now, when the last hopes of the dying alive humanity were rapidly crumbling into thousands of tiny shards, precisely like the fragments of a broken mirror, in which it, humanity, in a moment of brief spiritual insight, was able to behold itself for a brief moment of its history?

Hope for salvation. Hope for earthly life. For the life after death. Is there one?

Today, by some kind of a miracle, Gale finally managed to get inside into one of the overcrowded churches, where divine services had been held without stopping for several months already. All over the planet, the temples of the three world religions have been crowded for a long time, during both day and night. Now, when the so glorified by earthly materialists science could not answer the challenge thrown by natural forces, people tried to find it in their appeals to the Gods.

Now, standing at a distance from the altar of the temple in the sea of other people pressing down on him from all sides and towering over them like a two-meter giant, Gale observed. He needed to understand what was driving these people now when they had almost no hope left to bear. What made them appeal to those of whose very existence this earthly life had made them doubt time and again?

Faith in the possibility of salvation? Fear of devouring nothingness that is opening its greedy mouth? Love for everything they have created – including the very nature that has become so deadly?

As for Gale, until the events of recent years, he believed only in science. It has been his holy grail for many years of life. It, with due diligence, observation, and long experimentation, was able to grant humanity an answer to any question and challenge... if you do not take into account the existence of a Higher Mind.

A sea of human faces. An ocean of emotions. A kaleidoscope of feelings. Raised either in prayers or silent threats, lowered in despair hands. Would anyone see them, would anybody hear this voiceless speech? Gale possessed no answer to this question that had been tormenting him for so long. The day of the answer has not come yet.

* * *

“Mining of antibodies. Participate in a volunteer program to test new vaccines. Earn pharmacoins. Give your answer to novovirus!”

A huge holographic billboard floated around the corner of the skyscraper right in front of Gale’s eyes as soon as he stepped out into the central square. Gale grimaced in disgust. The endless attempts to create vaccines will all die in vain. It’s never possible to accurately predict the shape of something that changes every moment of its existence.

“Virt-club “Pleasure”. There is no fear of death. There is life’s pleasure!”

A three-dimensional rainbow-colored hologram of a girl with her legs spread wide enlightened with neon-laser beams a couple of dozen meters away from Gale, sensitively and quickly reacting to the approach of a lone wanderer. No, he definitely doesn’t need to go that way. When the whole world is going straight to hell in front of your very eyes, there is no more time for pleasure.

“Life after death. Cryostasis. The latest military development. Call us right away!”

As if a living hologram of a man in a blue and seemingly frozen space suit waves his hand in greeting, inviting Gale to come to the next “saviors”. No. There is no escape from novovirus, there is no salvation. All the scientific researches of the best bio-geneticists on the entire planet were unshakable proof of this.

Novovirus. This pestilence had many other names, too. A new plague. Black Death. Reaper. Punisher. Wrath of God. Doom.

Being fueled by fear, the human fantasy gave birth to more and more associations. And more and more cases of infection and either mass death or mutation of people only fueled this hysteria of universal fear. What can the smallest virus do against a man who thinks of himself as the master of nature? Anything. Especially if there cannot be an antidote for this kind of poison.

The government records to which Gale had been granted access after he started working on the “Salvation” project contained a wealth of data on the primary localized cases of infection and their associated symptoms. South America. North Africa. Southeast Asia. First, second, third wave. Initially, the disease was considered to be a new type of malaria and didn’t gain significant attention – until the moment of a rapid surge in the number of infections across the entire planet. And all of a sudden the concept of a “mosquito bite” started looking not so harmless at all.

Along with the development and evolution of the virus, the symptoms also changed. Fever, chills, nausea, and vomiting were only the initial stages of the virus-induced disease. Then the infected ones started to cough up their bodily innards along with the blood. Then came the nerve paralysis and cardiac arrest. Genetic mutations followed their steps. And after them, human madness knocked on the door of omnipotent science.

The virus mutated rapidly, changing its protein-molecular structure within a matter of days. More and more cases, together with the accompanying symptoms, began to be recorded by the governments of many countries every few days. The entire civilized world was swept by a wave of panic. People stopped leaving their homes. Looting, arson, and street looting came into action. Many new “apocalypse witness” sects have raised their heads, each with her mad prophet and course. The quickly approaching collapse of social spheres threatened to plunge the entire world into chaos, hunger, and poverty.

Governments in numerous countries have made huge financial investments while trying to produce a life-saving vaccine. But what seemed so simple and routine at first to many scientific minds, stuck like an irresistible curse of a mad old woman-death on many groups of virologist scientists. The vaccines did not keep up with the virus mutations in the infected cells. And cell mutations inevitably led to the mutation of humankind. And this was so much more terrible than the casual and familiar conventional war – because in the flames and fumes of this new war for survival, the very concept of “man” was about to become the ashes of history.

Vaccines didn’t work. It was paramount to find different ways of salvation, locate it at any cost. Thus the “Salvation” project was born, uniting many of the best scientists around the globe. All they had to do was find another way to save humankind – even at the cost of the lives of thousands of infected people who had become new experimental material in underground laboratories, even at the cost of the lives of the scientists themselves. Everything for the scientific battlefront, everything for victory. And Gale desired to be on the edge of it.

* * *

Gale’s flycar roamed through the depopulated streets of the once-overcrowded metropolis, increasing and decreasing its altitude in violation of all the rules of multi-level traffic, rapidly obeying the commands of the machine’s artificial intelligence, soaring over the arches and billboards of skyscrapers, and diving into high-speed underground tunnels. But no people were willing to issue him fines.

Simon’s words were still ringing in his head. Uninfected one! One among hundreds of millions, one who somehow miraculously passed through the gates of this earthly hell and remained unharmed. A soldier with no signs of novovirus mutation delivered to the “Salvation” scientific laboratories.

A miracle? But science does not believe in miracles, science believes in experiments. And the relentless logic of science demanded that this experiment was to be carried out immediately for the sake of all the living. And if the life a new-found test subject it to be put at stake – it had to be done without the slightest portion of hesitation and remorse of unnecessary conscience. Agitated by the morning’s message that came to his audiovisor, Gale raced through the streets of deserted Chicago with his lips silently whispering prayers to the scientific gods only he knew.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Professor Gale. Simon is in his labs, waiting for you early this morning.”

“Thanks, Miranda. I’m just in a hurry catching up with him.”

“Looks like you have something really interesting planned for today,” their young assistant winked on her way, and after a couple of seconds disappeared around the corner of the sterile white corridor inside the underground laboratory complex.

Gale literally flew through the massive glass doors of the laboratory, almost breaking his forehead – all their outdated automatic opening system based on solar cells seemed to be too slow for him at that instant.

“Where’s the uninfected test subject? I want to examine him!” he shouted from the doorway.

“My, oh my, it must be no less than Professor Gale Newman himself, safe and sound! Did you pour a whole pack of nitro-coffee pills into yourself before the trip, so as not to fall asleep at the wheel at such an early hour?” Dr. Simon grinned through his mustache as he caught a glimpse of a colleague who had flown into the lab, while deftly adjusting his glasses with a free hand. “And Miranda and I were just arguing about whether you’d make it to us before sunrise, or whether you’d be completely put asleep by thoughts of a Higher Intelligence. Did mysticism get the better of you due to old age?” Simon said in a friendly tone, his fingers still working silently on the holo-terminal.

“Have you got a file on him?”

“The NSA transferred a piece of data this morning. Corporal James Cassle, Marine Corps. Participated in the rescue of civilians in Brazil and Venezuela after the outbreak of the pandemic wars. He was seriously injured by marauding gangs of mutated infected ones during the last operation. Received the Purple Heart Medal for battle wounds. He was taken out of the operation area and hospitalized in Seattle. This is all we know so far.”

“And the screening, how did he manage to pass the infection screening?!”

“After being extradited by helicopter from the infection zone, he was examined at a Seattle clinic. They confirmed this fact. The NSA reported that the local medics there literally dropped their jaws opened when no sign of novovirus was located inside his bodily cells, even in a latent state. You know – by today’s standards, this is something akin to a miracle.

“Have you confirmed the diagnosis with our equipment?”

“Not yet, only the general survey was conducted. He was delivered here just a couple of hours ago.”

“Simon, do you even realize that this may be our only chance to…”

“I clearly understand everything, Gale. Go ahead, he’s in the Alpha Bay right now,” Simon said softly, patting Gale on the shoulder, “Authorization code for today: Miracle”.

* * *

“Disinfection of the compartment is complete. Welcome back, Professor Gale Newman."

The voice of artificial intelligence, “Ada”, filled the sterile-white space of the Alpha Bay. As he walked in, Gale checked the protective functions of his tessa-suit once again and nodded in satisfaction. At the very least, this suit will protect him from potential physical aggression or infection for at least half an hour, if somewhere in the higher ranks a mistake was made with regards to the diagnosis of this notorious corporal.

“Do you have a habit of putting your guests in handcuffs these days, or is it just that I was so incredibly lucky today?" demandingly questioned James, shaking his huge cryo-cuffed fists in a show of force as soon as Gale entered the Alpha Bay, which served traditionally as the pre-interrogation cell.

A huge and strong one. Ones such as he usually tend to get away of troubles unscathed. Except for novovirus, perhaps.

“It’s for both your and ours safety, Corporal James. You are a very special case for us. But your true intentions and capabilities remain to be seen.”

“I hope it won’t take too long. My military command did not give me the order to go “awol” after the completion of my treatment.”

“You are within the borders of our responsibility here, with the NSA’s permission. Take my word for it, your commanders won’t have any questions concerning your temporary absence.”

“Is that so?” James leaned his beefy arms on the table and squinted at Gale’s face, his jaw working, “And to whom do I owe the favor of being invited to your party?”

“It’s thanks to your fighting skills, James. And your potential immunity to novovirus," Gale decided not to delay revealing his cards.

“Considering the so-called immunity – is it what your grandmother-midwife sang to you, or did a bullet suddenly fly into your forehead?” James chuckled bitterly and shook his head. “I have no immunities. None of us have. We are not the ones to decide the length of our own lives. Only the width.”

“Whether it exists or not remains to be seen. If the diagnosis made in Seattle is not confirmed – tomorrow you will be a free man.”

“Sure, great! That’s what I am going to do anyway!” James agreed abruptly, fixing Gale with his gloomy gaze. “Come on, don’t delay, your scientific majesty, I still have ordinary mortals to save from hordes of infected!”

“We were not the ones to develop this virus, James," Gale retorted, suddenly serious and edifying, “The virus is currently spontaneously mutating every day under the influence of natural forces that we don’t fully comprehend and…”

“Yeah, sure! Tell those who have been turned into animals alive about where the experiments on genetic material have led to in an attempt to create the desired vaccines! I saw with my own two eyes how the hordes of these madmen were tearing my fighters apart on the battlefield!”

“I understand your pain, Corporal, but our department has nothing to do with…”

“Be off with your lies, doc, or find a more attentive audience! What exactly do you need from me – blood plasma tests, cortical screening, a smear from the fifth point? Spit it out!”

“Nano-molecular cell screening. Observation of the reaction of cell membranes to the injection of viral molecular structures.”

“Simply put, you want to re-infect me with a new strain of novovirus and then observe with genuine scientific interest how long I will suffer in mortal agony? Am I missing anything from your plans, doc?!”

“If our tests are correct, this will be an attempt to develop a primary immunity to a new form of the virus.”

“Do I have any choice?”

“I am afraid you don’t,” Gale spread his hands, “until the test procedures are completed, you are placed at our direct disposal by your superiors.”

“More like being sold out.”

"However you desire to think of it. If you are ready, security will extradite you to the testing bay right now”.

“Then don't delay. I still have other unfortunate people to save from you and similar experimenters.”

* * *

Gale could not believe his own eyes. Over and over again, he rechecked the data coming from molecular nanoscopes, adjusted the scanning frequencies, and even rubbed his own eyes with bare hands. But the tools weren’t lying. The miracle lived on and did not intend to die out like misguided humanity.

The virus mutated, continuously rearranging its molecular structures, repeatedly trying to break down the protective cell barrier, to overcome the membranes separating it and the cells – and time and over again, as if an invisible and insurmountable wall stood in its way. These unsuccessful attempts of a newly created by nature bio-weapon to enslave and turn its next victim into a mad monster lasted about a dozen minutes. And then... then it finally came, a Miracle.

“Finish your experiments. You can see that, can’t you? I feel no fear!” James’ powerful voice ringed in the room.

He yanked at the inner levers of the terra-capsule he was trapped in with all his might, trying to free himself, but even his enormous strength wasn’t enough. And during that exact moment, the virus that had been trying to inject itself into the cells over and over again seemed to explode from the inside, rapidly disintegrating into hundreds of individual tiny molecules. It was as if a wave, invisible to both the eye or the instruments, had hit it, crushing, knocking over, and smashing to dust. The defeated micro-Goliath fell, and so did Gale’s glasses, hitting the lab floor.

“You... what… but how…”

“I am not afraid of you! Freedom!” James pounded on the inside of the terra-capsule with his powerful fists.

“Calm down... I just need to... readings…” continuing to fastly whisper something under his breath, Gale was rapidly pushing the keys of the terminal. “The reason for the disintegration of the viral structures… the impact of an unknown type of energy... the wave generated by the cell... I don’t understand!”

There is always room for wonder in genuine scientific discoveries.

“Cellular mitochondrial synthesis of unknown origin... Bipolar intracellular currents... But from where?”

“I am afraid of neither of your viruses, nor you nor anyone like you!” the violent impact from within caused a small dent in the outer surface of the terra-capsule.

“What... what did you just say?” Gale cast a confused glance at the prisoner who was struggling to get out of the capsule. “But this cannot be! If... only… A feeling! What kind of feeling did you experience a few seconds ago?!” Gale screamed in a frenzy of excitement that filled his entire being. “Please, James, repeat it!”

“Freedom! Life!” – another dent in the surface of the terra-capsule.

And the remaining viruses are scattered into molecular dust. Eternal – to eternal. Dust – to dust.

A feeling!

It was as if a new great revelation was descending on Gale at that very moment, breaking and overturning all the materialistic theories of the world, all the endless scientific skepticism and incalculable human stupidity in a single, unrestrained rush.

Spirit was prevailing over matter. The feeling was overcoming the disease. Fearlessness has become an immunity.

And this was echoed in unison by the laboratory devices that were going off scale from the waves of new-found energy.

“You are… free… to go," Gale Newman whispered helplessly, opening the capsule’s locking mechanism, “We are all free now…”

* * *

On this great starry night, Gale was once again flying in his now-adult dreams.

His spirit, freed in one fell swoop from the yoke of all materialistic prisons, was floating in this wonderful dream between seemingly absolutely real planets, moving like a great trailblazer starship on a hitherto unknown thrust. It was unspeakably calmly and joyful – as if wings had suddenly grown on his back.

And then an invisible warm wave lifted him and carried him somewhere high up. Two great figures, radiating with an otherworldly light, whose love for him surpassed any human love, tenderly took him into their enormous warm hands. They gently lifted his tiny spirit to their faces – and in that infinite moment, a wave of rapture and bliss, together with tears of joy, swallowed up his whole being…

“Blessed are those who weep, for they will be comforted…”

12.05.2021

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Design 2.0

Dear eternal comrade Maker!

A certain representative of a long-suffering planet from the Milky Way galaxy with both simple and unobvious name “Earth” is asking you to conduct a redesign of our mortal receptacles of the eternal spirit and to perform several corrections.

You, as the Son of Man, who passed personally his perilous earthly journey as a member of our civilization, certainly know, what primary design flaws, committed by your Angels, these above-mentioned receptacles along with their spiritualizers still possess. And if the aspect of free human will lies outside the competence of these Angelic Bioengineers, the question of developing and changing bodily forms is under their direct creative control.

Respected Maker! I sincerely want to draw your attention to the following number of shortcomings inherent in the entire product line of these creations:

1. Primates-like behavior. Having physically descended from the apes, humans somehow surprisingly and brazenly preserved their inherent habits such as mischief, shouting, thievery, silliness, and other series of intellectual imperfections, with which they still flaunt to each other! There can be no reasonable explanation for this phenomenon – it’s quite obvious that they put themselves in the category of sapient ones far too early. Perhaps, bird-people would be a more appropriate solution, allowing with one or two strokes to solve a lot of transport problems and more efficiently use space in the lower levels of the planet’s atmosphere? In extreme cases, I hereby ask you to consider the option of cat-people – their innate cleanliness and the presence of fur cover would solve the problem of settling the territories of the far North without the necessary melting of glaciers and flooding of the land.

2. Preservation. The protein base chosen by your engineers is significantly inferior in terms of toughness to some materials used in creating the bodily forms of representatives of different civilizations. Is it any wonder that earthlings are trying to turn themselves into cyborgs, make all sorts of praises to silicon processors, and have already created a whole valley with the same name? You certainly know that they think of immortality only as of the unlimited duration of the existence of their external forms, and that is why they are trying to extend the duration of their existence through cybernetics? And how many exterminations of these bodily forms, including mass ones, have been made over the past centuries, it’s not for me to tell you. Perhaps, silicon-based bodies would be the golden mean between their endless desire for mutual and self-destruction, and their wish for a longer bodily life?

3. Recovery. The questionable toughness of our bodies is supplemented by non-obvious and limited mechanisms of recovery processes. Even lizards can grow themselves a new tail, why are we any way different? The tail is, most certainly, is still a remnant, but the skill of restoring limbs would help many of us to literally “get back on their feet”. All in all, even new teeth can grow in place of former baby ones. Given the cost of dental prosthetics, this opportunity would be truly priceless!

4. Consumption. The huge disparity between the consumption of the rich and the poor risks plunging our world into a new series of social disasters and civil wars. Could you please compensate for the process of hyper-consumption with bio-programs of depression and searching for the meaning of life, while simultaneously activating the processes of self-healing in the bodies of the humiliated and destitute people? All in all, we must finally understand that money doesn’t bring joy and happiness!

5. Secretion. This is truly something inconceivable! I, most certainly, clearly understand that we have already polluted the entire Earth to upper limits with our wastes, but why do you keep constantly provoking us to keep doing this nonsense with our bodily mechanics? And I am not even talking about the sad fact that the most advanced scientific geniuses have still not discovered a way to eat at night and not getting fat! Maybe we should take some interesting ideas from the field of flora – say, photosynthesis? To reach for the light – is it not a commendable aspiration even in its bodily expression? As a last resort, I ask you to reduce the food standards required for life support, because the amount of “balloon people” has already exceeded all the limits allowed by the body’s aesthetics!

6. Reproduction. Despite some pleasant aspect of the physical process itself, which is certainly not as delightful as spiritual enlightenment and ecstasy, the very process of finding suitable couples, carrying children, and subsequent childbirth is by no means short and painless. It is unlikely that you planned to punish the entire female race for the sins of a certain ancient Eve, so I would venture to offer that you reduce the time required for the bearing of children, as well as the pain of the childbirth process while increasing the speed of their self-evolution. And if you desire to change the process of reproduction at least for a while so that unworthy people cannot have children – they will become one of the greatest values of any society, as you wanted to be!

7. Finalization. As the saying goes, all our bodies return “to the ashes as they were”. Unfortunately, the very process of this return is fraught with a lot of trouble and suffering for those close to the ones who are returning to you. In some poor countries and cultural traditions, we are not even talking about ashes – dead bodies can be simply “thrown overboard” to the delight of vultures or fish. I am certain that you will agree that this is, to put it mildly, not the best way to honor the memory of a departed soul. How much more interesting it would be if, on the day of departure, our body began to gradually disappear into thin air, clearly symbolizing the illusory basis of purely materialistic views! Neighbors would always have time to say goodbye to the departing person and would not need to conduct all these enchanting fiery procedures, and the departure itself would leave behind a sweet aftertaste with notes of light sadness and the promise of a second coming. And as an additional free bonus – people would stop being afraid of ghosts! Please, consider this option, all right?

P.S. Due to emerging dangerous trends of degradation of human minds and bodies back to the level of animals, I kindly ask you to protect the intelligent representatives of our world from their rapidly becoming feral neighbors.

Everything is in your hands! Don’t ever give up, please!

29.11.2020

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Improbability

In the vast hall, filled with a sky-purple shimmer, with columns soaring to a height that is inaccessible to the eyes of ordinary mortals, filled with the energy of the omnipresent ether images flickered on the screen in what seemed to be a waving mirror in a carved wooden frame. It was perfectly visible for the two observers that were standing near this mirror how a male human, inspired by the common combat impulse, was at this point of time blocking a deadly enemy weapon with his own body, thus giving his comrades a chance to climb out of the trench and go to the offensive in this battlefront sector. Here his body unevenly shudders, soaking up a deadly leaden stream, and as if in time with this act, the frosted surface of the mirror shakes in response. Here in the last dying effort, this soldier clasps the enemy machine gun with both of his hands, and his blood-stained lips whisper their silent farewell “hurrah!” After a brief moment, floating in the mirror images forever capture in the ether his fading gaze together with the rushing up to the sky from the mutilated chest light-bearing spirit, who has spread out his wings like a finally released prisoner. The mirror fades out, and the images-waves gradually disappear, as if the sea of colorful information has once again come to a long-awaited calmness…

“You must certainly remember, Orianna, that I did warn you in advance of this possible ending of his earthly journey?” and the elderly, fair-haired angel with the scar on his right cheek stared at his companion as soon as the Hall of Destinies fell silent again.

“Mr. Arael, I remember that according to your calculations, the probability of such self-sacrifice was…”

“Our initial calculations, Orianna. Since then, much has changed both in the external and internal worlds. The death of his brother at the battlefront, the fatal illness of his mother, the beginning of the siege of his native Petersburg… All these events simultaneously seemed to break and strengthen his determination to fight to the end. But in the initial calculations we made, as you must remember, he should have lived almost to the end of this war.”

“Mr. Arael, do you mean that I have failed to pass the entrance test and therefore cannot be admitted to your Department of probabilistic forecasting of the worlds of free will?”

“No, Orianna, they don’t. Many of your calculations were correct for the man’s previous choices – and we, as representatives of the probabilities department, never ask newcomers to be one hundred percent accurate, which is only available to the Almighty.”

“Thank you. I really hope so…”

“Then don’t forget to introduce John to our department. This knowledge will be a reward for the feat he performed on Earth.”

Having that said, the head of the probabilistic forecasting department, wise with many eons of experience, tapped with a smile his future budding colleague on the shoulder and smoothly pointed his wing at the door. The one named as Orianna nodded joyfully and hastily, doing her best to hide the flicker of her smile from her mentor, flapped her small, girlish wings, and tenderly fluttered out of the hall.

* * *

“Looking strange, huh?” Orianna laughed brightly, watching how the etheric-clad spirit of John was looking around in surprise as if he still did not fully understand, or would never admit even to himself, that the life of the soul does not finally end with the death of the body, no matter what these endless and finally ending their journeys earthly materialists and skeptics might say otherwise.

“Oh… What a strange and wondrous vision… I feel as if I have died and gone to Paradise, and the most beautiful woman on earth is bending over me like an angel…”

“It’s all true! Well, almost everything…” Orianna said in confusion, playfully adjusting a curl of her sun-red hair with her wing. “As you can see, having “died” back on Earth, you didn’t die after all. Great, right?”

“Is… is this… always the case here?”

“No, not always. By the way, it depends on you, humans, where you will end up. Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you: “Welcome to the seventh heaven!”

“It must be truly the seventh sky. How beautiful it’s around here!” both parted and still not parted with his life John wondered while looking around and walking on the likeness of sky bridges-rainbows among iridescent pearl-colored islands-clouds.

“Tread carefully, it’s like walking on water… A little doubt in the reality of all that is happening – and you will instantly begin to sink into the waves of the ether,” with a wary look at the staggering John said sunny-red-haired angelic girl, narrowing her almond-shaped eyes. “Let me back you up, I’ve got enough faith in the Almighty for a simple skywalk!” she said with another graceful smile, and hastily took John “under her wing”.

Thus, they went on for some time, no matter how relative time as a concept would be in this world.

“But why I ended up here? And what do you plan to do now?” after a while, John decided to break the long-kept silence.

“And then, according to my instructions, I’ll give you a tour of our improbably probabilistic department. It’s over there, a little way off,” and Orianna waved her wing away. “And you are here, in the seventh heaven, solely because you have earned it according to the Divine Law. For the feat of the spirit. Many of you Earthmen, by the way, never deserve anything like this…” she added thoughtfully, looking down at her feet. “They go straight down there,” she added, waving her wing, “and never come back.”

“And what lies down there?”

“Far, far below us – there lies the Abyss. And demons. Sca-a-a-ry,” Orianna added reluctantly, shivering as if trying to push away an old unpleasant memory. “But you don’t have to think about it. And I don’t want to think about those who suffer there, either. Catch up!” she changed the subject abruptly and started jumping across the clouds.

* * *

“And this is where we make maps of human destinies, do you see?” Orianna winked, pointing to a holographic projection of a library in the center of which at that very moment several dozens of open books were gently floating in the ether.

“Do you want to say that our destinies were predefined by you before we were born?”

“Almighty forbid you, most certainly not!” Orianna flapped her wings, staring at John as if he was an incomprehensible infant. “We give you the freedom of choice and the right to determine your own fate. But that doesn’t mean that we are not allowed to calculate in advance how likely and what exactly you will choose one day in your lives, right?” and the curly-haired celestial girl playfully smiled again. “My last trial job was to calculate the new probabilities of some of your possible choices. But I was mistaken, to my own shame. You people can be very unpredictable at times!” as if being seriously offended, she pouted her lips.

“And what did I do wrong?”

“That’s the point, you have made everything right! But… not in the way I originally thought it would be. And this, by the way, is one of the main challenges in the work of our entire department – taking into account the free will of people. In deterministic worlds, everything is different, simpler. But here…”

“And what does that mean – deterministic worlds?”

“Well, they are those in which there are no beings endowed with a soul and therefore possessing free will. Once your Earth was strictly deterministic too, and we could – not without some effort, of course – calculate what and where would happen on it at any given moment of time. And now, with the advent of another civilization, everything… everything is not the same as it was before,” Orianna sighed sadly and lowered her wings. “I hope you understand me at least a little, even though you’re… a human. You are, by the way, not the first human I’ve seen here. I mean, here in our department.”

“There were others?”

“Of course. We need to somehow convey information about the most probable events we have calculated to the inhabitants of your civilization, right? So, we gave some of them such tasks.”

“You mean that…”

“You call them prophets,” Orianna finished his thought.

“I think I can guess at least a few people who visited your seventh heaven department at least once…”

“In fact, there was an order of magnitude more of them. Unfortunately, not everyone was able to remember their own obligations back on Earth. And people simply did not want to listen to many of them,” as she said these words, Orianna thoughtfully moved the tip of her finger through the air, drawing out unfamiliar figures.

“…And what do these mapped lines mean?” and John pointed to the thin lines of light that intersected with each other like cobwebs and connected the sparkling, shining balls of light on the multi-dimensional map, which, by the whim of an angelic hand, had just materialized directly in front of the slightly startled John’s eyes a few otherworldly seconds ago.

“Lines of related destinies with indicated degree and form of influence. Individuals have fewer of them, and public figures have more. Yet sometimes one in the field is still a mighty warrior.”

“And the light globes?”

“Moments of making fateful decisions. Points of bifurcation, in your pseudo-scientific language. After fixing each such point on the timeline, the destiny map is automatically restructured. This, by the way, is a map of your past life. And this point,” and Orianna pointed to the brightest of them, which no longer emanated light, “describes the moment when you sacrificed yourself for the lives of others and for the sake of their upcoming victory.”

“You mean they are going to finally win this war?”

“It would be more correct to say that the probability of your country’s victory is… But, yes, they will prevail. All our preliminary calculations demonstrated that.”

“That just drives one crazy!”

“I wouldn’t rush it if I were you,” Orianna replied, laughing. “But for beginners, it sometimes truly seems unimaginable and improbable at the same time – the possibility to know the probabilities in advance. And I’m already used to being, so to speak, a celestial accountant. Even though we don’t have such a position here.”

“In other words, you can calculate everything? Up to any point in the future?”

“Everything is known only to the Almighty. That’s why you were once told that not a single hair would fall from your head without his knowledge. Mine, too, by the way.”

“May God forgives me for being tactless, but… but I think I like the way your hair looks… as well as your face… and your eyes… and that smile…”

“Really?” Orianna asked, confused. “You’re not the first person to tell me that, but it’s always pleasant to hear it, especially from humans!”

“Can you tell me if I can… go back to Earth later? Help my beloved ones there?”

“Well, you won’t be able to go back at that time, because the law of ether’s waves won’t allow it. Fifty years from now, it will be. Don’t you worry, time is a highly diverse concept, especially here! You should look around for a while, get used to it, at least change your ethereal clothes, so that you don’t have to wander around the seventh heaven in a soldier’s uniform for five dozen earth years! By then, I’ll have calculated a new fate for you. Whom do you want to become again, haven’t you decided? We could really use some prophets in that world of yours…”

“I… I’ll have to think about it. Thank you for your… kindness. So where can I come up with a new ethereal look here?”

“The hall of embodied fantasies is a little to the left and right of our all-central… well, let me take you there by myself, or you’ll surely get confused with our coordinate system. Give me your hand!”

“I thank you!”

With these words, the spirit of a man known as John, still shining with an otherworldly light, took the warm angelic hand in his own and gently, tenderly and timidly kissed it.

“And this, perhaps, was truly inevitable,” Orianna whispered to herself with a smile.

10.06.2020

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Notes of self-isolated

Chronicles of one viral virology

Day 1. Today on TV they widely and openly announced that a dangerous virus has arrived from China, somehow traveling through Europe, and we will fight it to the end and with every means possible. The words “every” and “to the end” sent a slight chill down my spine. Just in case, I checked my card account balance. Blessed be the bank, the funds were all in place. These Chinese are real bastards! Or is that Europeans?

Day 2. The TV talking box continues to rattle about the epidemic in China. If I were Chinese, I would surely be scared. Fortunately, we, Russians, have nothing to fear. Probably.

Day 3. Buckwheat is starting to disappear from the shelves of grocery stores. Do mice steal it at night? Or is that a new plan to create state’s inviolable food stocks? Thinking.

Day 4. Insight! Buckwheat was bought in reserve by fellow citizens who were afraid of the virus. But who then bought almost all toilet paper – and, most importantly, why? Thinking.

Day 5. Got it: toilet paper began performing a psychological function – sort of a sedative. Cheap and deep. All that’s I need to do is wait for this paperwork crisis to come to its end, and everything will be fine once again. Probably.

Day 6. Some incomprehensible “experts” appeared in the talking box, telling us about more and more cases of virus infection and the dangers that lie in wait for us. I can understand the dangers – but who, to the hell with their producer, are all these media people?!

Day 7. China built a hospital in a couple of days. In no way, it can be possible! It would have taken us at least a couple of years, no less. Are we worse than these narrow-eyed people? Thinking.

Day 8. Insight! If we continue to “optimize” our medicine further, then hospitals will no longer be needed, and it will be legitimate to never feel a sense of bitterness and regret that someone is building them faster than us. All according to plan.

Day 9. Oysters and shrimps disappeared from food stores. Who needs these anyway? Bought a whole cartload of lemons before they stole them like rats to the corners of own homes.

Day 12. In the talking box, “experts” continue to speak some outright gibberish about the accompanying symptoms of the disease. This way all healthy people will soon be transferred into the caste of sick ones and no other disease except for this who-knows-what virus will ever exist. Isn’t this a well-veiled attempt to create a caste society? Thinking.

Day 15. Infected with a thirst for travel, patients continue to arrive back from Europe, but they are not particularly checked at all. What, are they immortal?

Day 19. Everyone should urgently self-isolate, this is a voluntary order! Or that’s what we are being told from the chatting TV box. I am, most certainly, an obedient person, but what kind of term is this? It’s more like self-procrastination. Thinking.

Day 20. My six sense keeps telling me that this will last for long.

Day 23. Policemen keep catching violators of the self-isolation regime as if they are criminals and are in no hurry to self-isolate themselves from our streets. What, are they immortal?

Day 25. Almost all stores are closed. TV box cared not to say when they would finally open. A “high-alert” mode has been introduced. Who are we fighting? Is it possible to overcome what is unnatural? Thinking.

Day 27. I started moving on the streets in short runs, avoiding oncoming police patrols. Observation: if you move fast enough, because of their innate laziness, policemen will cease following you to issue the desired fine, and switch to another, a less mobile victim. Brilliant!

Day 30. Switched from my two legs to my bike. They will never catch us!

Day 33. Grocery stores are out of ginger. Well, fuck it, I would never buy this freaking stuff anyway!

Day 40. Zombie-box said that all of us must wear masks. Yet they did not specify, which ones. Tomorrow I plan to wear a horse mask, and the day after tomorrow – a dinosaur. A circus, no less!

Day 43. Are we going to die out like dinosaurs with such rulers?

Day 45. Today people started avoiding me on the streets as if I were a leper. They walked around a meter away in silence as if they were not alive. Maybe I shouldn’t have put on my Darth Vader mask after all. They may also come with me to the dark side of the force, I don’t object.

Day 47. Jokes put aside, today I was caught up by the patrol. I shouldn’t have been wearing a Vader mask while moving on the roadway. Got away with a minimal fine. Failed to lure the police to the dark side. Is it because they already belong to it? Thinking.

Day 50. We have a real epidemic raging on! At least, that’s what they said today in zombie-box. There is not a single infected one among all my friends, praised be the light side of the force!

Day 55. There are ongoing rumors that 5G towers are a secret project to control people’s minds. Watching the police dragging a poor old traveling woman into the car, I started to believe it.

Day 57. Now it’s possible to leave your home only with a QR code. Living, in general, has not yet been banned. Weird. What is the reason for such generosity? Thinking.

Day 60. Am I a shivering creature, or am I going out for a walk?

Day 65. Many stores and businesses are still closed. What, are they immortal?

Day 66. I am not fit to tolerate this bullshit.

Day 70. The number of patrols on the streets increases rapidly. There are ongoing rumors about plans of world bankers to chip the entire population of the Earth and turn people into cyborgs. What, do they want to become immortal?

Day 80. I checked my card account balance once again. Funds are almost running out. Now I finally understand what was meant by terms “to the end” and “by all means”.

Day 90. The self-isolation regime has been extended indefinitely. The lack of sun and vitamins makes me feel sick at times.

Day 115. Today I almost fainted from hunger in the store while choosing the cheapest instant soup available. A compassionate woman managed to grab me while everyone else shied away, probably because I wasn’t wearing a protective mask. This is no longer a circus, but something completely different.

Day 117. You can’t even sell or rent an apartment to buy food. We keep successfully defeating ourselves.

Day 160. Patrolmen in black armored suits filled the streets. They are recruited from among the desperate and starving people. These sworn men work literally for food. What, do they think they’re immortal?

Day 173. There are ongoing rumors of an impending coup d’etat.

Day 190. Hunger riots are raging on in the streets of cities. This is said in the broadcast on the “Resistance” radio channel. They call for us to join their ranks. All fighters of the invisible front are promised to be supplied with “stew” and “buckwheat”. What do all these words mean? I’m trying to remember.

Day 200. I’m a member of the Resistance! We are fighting for our homeland against the elite who have betrayed us and sworn loyalty to the foreign money owners and lenders.

Day 255. The radio of the Resistance broadcasts throughout the former Soviet Union. We may not be immortal, but we will never be slaves. Freedom, equality, brotherhood!

Day 777. Today, the last enemy stronghold in the county’s capital has fallen under the decisive blows of the Resistance forces. How sweet is the taste of victory! How sweet is buckwheat!

Day 1100. Our military space machine knows no equal, and battle-hardened soldiers are eager to save the world from the henchmen of the “world chip-implanters”. Very soon we will have enough forces for a final strike.

Day 1255. March on Washington!

06.05.2020

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Coming

“Comrade Captain, the suspect on the claim of blasphemy by the clergy was successfully detained by our task force in the Church of Christ the Saviour and half an hour ago was taken to the department for identification and interrogation purposes. Do you want me to send him in?”

A young red-haired junior police sergeant, always squinting like a semi-blind march cat, promptly made his brief report as soon as he opened the door to his boss’s office. Such a sly fellow, wanting a promotion. Well, we’ll see, we’ll see.

“Get him inside, Kalistratov,” police captain Christenko waved his hand authoritatively, putting the papers aside. “We will conduct a preliminary interrogation here so that we don’t have to waste too much time on him.”

“Oh, how did these priests torture us with their demands for protection of the feelings of believers!” a thought flashed inside the captain’s mind. “They constantly unload all such cases to our departments if possible. You, they say, conduct all necessary investigations, determine the degree of guilt of these disbelievers, while we will continue providing our services, helping your sinful souls in need. But don’t ever dare to let the culprits go free just like that! And where else do we have to put them? Every second man out there is a de-facto atheist, and every third of so-called believers is a hypocrite of epic proportions.”

“Drag him inside!” Kalistratov shouted, looking out into the corridor, and the two guards obediently led the handcuffed man into the room and placed him on a chair in front of the captain, keeping standing on both sides nearby.

Tenacious, accustomed to evaluating people with one cursory glance, captain Khristenko’s gaze reluctantly slid over the suspect, stopping at his eyes. Slavic appearance, thirty-five – forty years old, leatherette outerwear, jeans, calluses on the hands, blond hair. There is absolutely nothing unusual in his appearance, a classic ordinary hard worker, most likely a migrant, of which there are hundreds of thousands in Moscow, especially after the opening of the borders with Ukraine. But the eyes… they were too lively, abnormally kind.

“Did they explain to you the reason for your detention and the procedure for conducting the interrogation?” captain Christenko narrowed his eyes, aiming his gaze like a beam at the suspect’s face in an attempt to read his thoughts from facial expressions.

“Yes, in general," the detainee replied kindly and calmly. “I’m ready to talk to you.”

“This is a mild interrogation, not a conversation. You’d better thank us for not keeping you in an interrogation room behind armored glass, like a particularly dangerous person. The conditions out there are not so rosy, believe me!”

The prisoner only smiled and just nodded in response.

“I thank you for your kindness.”

“So…” The captain rummaged through the pile of papers lying on his table for a moment, searching for a folder, a pen, and a dictaphone. “By the protocol…”

“What would you like to know? I have caused no harm to any of you or to those who have addressed my heavenly father in the temple.”

“Good and evil have all become very relative terms, especially in our time. Yet the clause for blasphemy that may come into reality is a very concrete and tangible thing, believe my experience. So…” the captain glanced at the lines of text in the newly opened case. “Witnesses from among the parishioners claim that you behaved completely inappropriately in the church, never according to canons and traditions, reading very loudly and sonorously the “Lord’s Prayer” as well as asked others, I quote, “to show yourself by true deeds that are pleasing to my heavenly father, and not by words and chants imposed on you.” Where did you even find such words? What, is there is a new trend arising in social networks?”

“I only said what I had to, words coming from my heart. I reminded people of heartfelt prayer and…”

“And engaged in blasphemy, you wanted to say?”

“I said no words of lies.”

“The Son of Man, my heavenly father, has traveled the way on the earth to the heaven, in order to prepare and execute his judgment on all of its inhabitants in the appointed time, and to divide the human race into grain and ryegrass…” These are extremist statements, almost a call to terrorism! Where is your father living now? We can get him into this department if need be before you can speak another nonsense!”

“High in the heavens” the prisoner replied confidently.

“Motherfucker!”

This man was getting on the captain’s nerves. It seems that he will not see a quick confession today and the prompt closure of this case as well as his major’s shoulder straps.

“Please don’t blaspheme my mother. Those who do that will suffer hardly.”

“Are you threatening me, whelp?” the captain stood up abruptly and came close to the prisoner, measuring him with his eyes. Something in the prisoner’s eyes, however, overcame the police officer’s anger.

“You mean, he is dead?”

“He went into the best of worlds.”

Having calmed down, captain Christenko slowly returned to his desk. “You like to speak allegorically, then. Well, no matter, we have seen lots of your ilk.”

“Can I drink some water?” the prisoner addressed sergeant Kalistratov, who was standing a little distance away.

“What, do you want to transform it into wine, self-manifested Christ?!” the sergeant chuckled. “We are not supposed to drink while on duty!”

“And I didn’t offer it to you. The last time I only wanted to make a family of beggars feel joy a little.”

“And what’s wrong with us? For we also, you know, have experienced great salary cuts after all these reforms, and are precisely like beggars. Can you, say, use your great powers and save our lost souls and salaries?” the junior sergeant, who was mocking the prisoner, seemed to even infect his superior with a smile, for the latter chuckled softly into his mustache.

“Well, you are an artist indeed!” the captain chuckled. “What’s your profession, artist? A clown in a circus, I suppose?”

“I am a rescuer.”

“Fucking… division. And whom exactly? Saving our souls, I take it? Did you save a few of us with your own faked death the last time, one must believe?”

“My father didn’t send me here to die. My assassins wanted to justify themselves in future generations.”

“What is your job, I ask you?!”

“I am a rescuer. IN EMERCOM.”

The captain whistled involuntarily.

“For how long?”

“Recently. After moving.”

“Why do you then run around the temples, if you are a rescuer? Take people out of the fire alive and make waters clear the way before you!”

This time it was sergeant Kalistratov who involuntarily chuckled into his fist after these words of his superior.

“For long will unbelievers not see miracles. And even when they see it, they still won’t believe.”

“Don’t you bluff with me like that!” the captain’s face was stern again. “Why did you disturb the parishioners in the temple with your prayers? Why didn’t you take an example from them?”

“Not the prayers they were speaking, but demands. My father cannot give what many ask for those who do not deserve it.”

“And who does, oh kind one? We are all sinners around here, do you know that? With our work, it’s a sin not to get dirty.”

“Children and pure ones.”

“Hmmm…” the answers of this detainee, despite all their strangeness, in some aspects started to seem more and more meaningful to captain Christenko, not so crazy as they looked at first. But the statements, the testimony of the parishioners…

“Why did you try to rob one of the parishioners, put your hand to her stomach in the crowd? I mean the pregnant woman. We have an accusation statement from her here, too.”

“The child would have been born ill at birth and her mother would have abandoned him. I saved both of them by healing him.”

“Gha!” the captain choked on his morning tea and roll. “What a turn! Would you suggest that we simply believe it?”

“Talk to her in ten days – she will understand and change her testimony.”

“That means you’ll stay here in solitary confinement for at least ten days.”

“As will my heavenly father desires it.”

“Why didn’t you give alms to the poor at the exit? Isn’t that what that very same Jesus taught us, whom you’re completely falsely trying to imitate just right now?” the captain narrowed his eyes again, being inwardly glad of the clever question.

“That’s not a wise question to ask,” the handcuffed young man said softly, raising his bright eyes to face the police captain. “They are not beggars, but deceivers. My father gave them hands and heads, yet the work became a burden to them. They keep spending alms on their bad habits without hesitation. I can’t help those of them who don’t want to help themselves.”

“Are you reading my mind, an impostor?” the captain mentally said to himself, fixing his eyes on this hell-knows-who.

“Those who keep selling my father’s name have become impostors of your present,” the prisoner said firmly and aloud as if answering some secret question.

The captain started moving his pen slowly in the air, not knowing what to write down on a paper. “That’s how it is, as it turns out… That’s all about it…”

“I brought no harm to any living soul. You inflict it on each other yourself, and the divine law of my father punishes your destinies and bodies for such deeds.”

“Well… And why do you preach in temples alone then? Where are your chosen ones, all that so-called apostles?” junior sergeant Kalistratov decided to interfere into a dialogue that no longer looked like an interrogation, but the prisoner silently raised his sad eyes to him – and like other-worldly shadow covered his bright sight for a moment – and then he slowly looked away, sighed, giving no answer.

“What… what shall we do with him, comrade captain?” asked the sergeant, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly feeling himself out of place and watching the captain who was still slowly, as if by inertia, waving a ballpoint pen in the air, as if his thoughts were traveling at this moment somewhere far away and he was trying to finally resolve a question of extreme importance.

“Remove his handcuffs,” Christenko finally ordered. “I’ll escort him to his cell personally.”

“But, comrade captain…”

“Just do it!”

“Aye-aye, sir!” Kalistratov, frightened by the harsh tone of the captain, waved his hand to the two guards standing nearby who had removed the handcuffs from the prisoner and then promptly went out from the cabinet together with them into the corridor, continuing to mutter something to himself.

A minute later, the sound of their footsteps faded inside the maze of corridors. The man who had been arrested for blasphemy was still sitting in his chair, making no attempts to escape.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “You wanted to tell me something…”

“I have a daughter… a small one,” the captain looked at the prisoner with a hopeful, pleading look. “She’s ill… severely. It’s torture… for the three of us. Help me, please, if that’s really you… Cure her!”

“You need to tell your wife about the past,” the suspect said firmly after a few seconds.

“About what – her?”

“Yes, about your treason. Make peace with your wife. Forgive each other. Then your daughter will recover.”

“By herself?”

“By my father's will.”

“T… thank you.”

The prisoner only nodded in response.

“You surely realize that I’m going to have to put you in solitary confinement until the circumstances of the attempted theft are resolved, don’t you? If I had it my way, I’d release you right away. But this is our routine, our regulations, our rules… damn them!”

“I understand,” said the prisoner. “Don’t worry about that. Lead on.”

Having that said, he laid a reassuring hand on the captain’s shoulder, and at that very moment as if a powerful invisible wave passed through his spirit and body, bringing back strength, the desire to live, the hope of saving his own daughter, and perhaps even a little bit of faith in a miracle.

“Lead on!” repeated the prisoner.

* * *

That night, the one who walked the Earth two thousand years ago under the name of Jesus Christ did not close his eyes.

“My father!” he asked the starry heavens. “Why did you give me those who can’t go with me?”

“Others will come,” answered the sky to his spirit. “Those who will overcome their pride and comfort.”

On this clear starry night, Jesus did not close his eyes. Like a bird of paradise, his spirit glided over the Earth, invisibly touching the souls of sleeping people, as if checking which of them was still ready, still waiting for his return.”

This starry night was still waiting in the wings.

29.02.2020

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Probability

A young aspiring Angel was walking on the roof of a nine-story building, counting flying over pigeons and squinting in the midday winter sun. Despite his complete immunity to the natural cold, his wings occasionally quivered slightly, and eyes narrowed every now and then as if he was trying to see a face that he had known since birth, far away in the city streets. Not since the birth of an Angel, of course – for they, immortals, didn’t count own other-worldly years – but since the birth of his entrusted human soul on the planet Earth.

The Angel was indeed shivering a little – yet not from the winter cold, as some casual passer-by might have thought having glanced up at the sky and seeing his slightly visible silhouette in the sun rays – but from his own agitation. Yes, even Angels were prone to worrying – especially on the day of their trial, which was determining their future heavenly fate! And so he tried to somehow distract himself from this feeling that was spreading in his wings, watching the passing birds of the sky.

The birds, let’s credit them, were well aware of the presence of their sky companion, but just like humans they could not see him with their usual unarmed glance without proper attention and concentration, so they flapped carefully over him, never descending too low. Well, and people who are always in a hurry on their, most certainly, extremely important business did not even think to lift their heads up and look at the blueish sky – and therefore our Angel was not afraid of being discovered by them at all. As a matter of fact, he was only really interested in one person, whom he had kept and protected since her birth, and this girl was about to appear at the intersection of two roads at any moment.

“If only she wasn’t detained!” the Angel mentally hoped on even more higher powers. “Or she may pass by and the chance will be lost. And there will be no long-awaited meeting, no happy dates, no friendly family… How important it is sometimes to be in the right place and at the right time…” he reflected, carefully like a cat and totally with no fear of falling walking back and forth on the slippery icy ledge.

All imaginable and imaginative preparations had already been made. Dreams, advice, omens, agreements with his colleague, even the necessary warm and encouraging thoughts that he had whispered to her from time to time… And still, Angel’s wings trembled, and he could not find comfort. But he didn’t lose hope, and love for his maker and humans lived in him from the very moment of his own creation.

On this day, he had to leave the girl for a short time in order to complete all the necessary preparations. Angel really wanted it all to work out. But the free will of people is such a capricious thing…

And that’s why the Angel kept trying to mentally calculate the probabilities of various events and their numerous combinations, including the final probability of meeting of two future lovers. No matter how you fly it, but higher mathematics is not what students are being taught in universities.

Flakes of snow, glowing in the sun’s rays, kept falling and falling down on the Angel’s even more snow-white wings, the Earth continued its eternal course in space, and the girl was still not visible.

“Did something happen to her?” the Angel kept asking himself over and over again, but his heart and feelings told him that there was nothing to worry about in this regard.

His partner – the Guardian assigned to the young man with whom the girl was supposed to meet today – also disappeared somewhere. Gone with the snow, so to say. Just try to find a white-winged angel in the white snow! And why is it so cold today?

As he continued to pace up and down the roof of the house, occasionally brushing away snow that clung to his wings, the girl’s Guardian Angel did not have time to notice how in one bright moment his celestial partner materialized right behind him in a blinding flash of light.

“Frost and sun… the day… is fun!” he said, leaning face down while still trying to catch his breath after a long and apparently very fast flight.

“At last, and fast! I’m wondering what kind of sky you were in. I’ve been waiting here for ages. Even counted all the pigeons in the last half hour – there was exactly one hundred and twenty-one birds out there! Are you tired?”

“You won’t believe it,” his comrade said, still trying to catch his breath.  “I was literally over the moon. In an audience… with the Supreme One.”

“The Supreme himself?” the girl’s Guardian Angel’s eyes widened in surprise, and his wings fluttered with excitement. “Well, whoa! We are not allowed to go there at all. Only in exceptional cases or occasions.”

“Well… they did allow… as part of the plan. So, where is yours… passion? Hasn’t she shown up yet?”

“Not ye…”

“There she is, down below, white as snow. Finally!” and the sharp-eyed colleague pointed with his wing at one of the sidewalks.

“And where’s your man?” She will now pass by – and no one will remember! All preparations will be stuffed under Pegasus’s wing, and probabilities turn to zero.”

“He’s around the corner. See over there? Well, are you ready? Gathered snow in your wings, prepared to mentally shout them “stop!”? We act strictly on the command from the above!”

“What command are you talking about? We have only discussed this plan together with you!”

“You are a funny fellow, always you do worry about probabilities. I have just explained to you that I was at the audience where plans were discussed. Do you even know how likely they are to meet each other today, my friend?”

“How likely? Would they not meet after all that had been shared between them in their last birth?”

“The chance is… inevitability, that’s what!” and the young man’s Guardian Angel laughed and patted his partner’s wing encouragingly. “Now count to three in a row and fire from the roof with the snow!”

08.02.2020

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

C.H.I.P.

That night Ray had nightmares once again – cutting and slicing the remnants of his human consciousness with the blades of truth of which it tried to get rid off and failed time and again over the past few nights, condemning itself to ruthless self-repetition lessons like a careless student who was punishing himself for his own earlier silliness.

The truth… Here it is, standing right before him in these dreams that so vividly resemble the former reality that had been cruelly taken away from all of them. The truth about what should have never happened.

Three mega-corporations, three new earth Gods under the iron fist of which the Earth once groaned: “Cybergenetics”, “Neosoils” and “Neurodynamics”. The first is the world’s largest producer of cyber-bio-implants, the second is the maker of biogenic food that was grown in test tubes in the labs, and the third is the creator and curator of the cybernetic neural network, which has become a new parallel world for many. The products of these transcontinental giants that had taken over the states once became so demanded by millions of still imagining themselves as intelligent beings that they voluntarily surrendered their own lives, bodies, and destinies to these experienced corporate hands. Could these people have done otherwise? Ray’s dreams had no answer to this vital question.

In these dreams that had tormented him over the past few days, people had ceased to be people and became something completely different. Cyber-implants gave them infinite power over the surrounding world and those who did not possess such a “gift from the above” from their corporate gods.

Integrated into arms combat blades that were made from neodine – synthesized in the laboratories of “Cybergenetics” metal that could cut through titanium almost effortlessly. Implanted into hand’s palms gravitational pulsators, allowing one to freely manipulate small objects with a magnetic field in space, just like some extraterrestrial juggler, who has descended on the unfortunate Earth just for fun. Soldered into the cornea of the eyes bio-scanners and cyber-lenses which had replaced the imperfect biotics and became a new form of “augmented and added reality glasses”, so that people could form a completely different vision of things shortly before their own downfall.

“Don’t trust your eyes…”

Military modifications of eye cyber-implants combined with energy batteries that were embedded into the spine allowed for the short-term projection of laser beams directly from one’s eyes, melting the target of your gaze in a matter of seconds. “Tesla versions” of these implants allowed high-voltage bolts of lightning to descend into the world right from your fingertips…

“What have you become, human, and for how long will you remain humanistic?”

The peak of the joint development of “Cybergenetics” and “Neurodynamics” had to be the “C.H.I.P.” project – “cranial human intelligent processor” or “Eye of the Buddha”, as it was tacitly named by some of the high-ranking engineers who participated in its development. Embedded in the frontal lobe of the brain, this chip combined many successful functions from the previous developments of these two corporations: a radio information signal transmitter, a wireless payment identification module, a geo-positioning module, and a terrain bio-scanner, an augmented and enhanced reality generator, a bio-amplifier and a neurostimulator… The full list of its capabilities was kept in the strictest secrecy even ten years after the start of the mass process of its implantation to newborns. But the most terrifying trait, which proved itself during the first year of the Last War, was the ability to generate wide-range psi waves and influence the psyche of surrounding people.

The experiments and insatiable appetites of corporations demanded more and more material and human resources with each passing year. For the sake of single success, a thousand failures could be allowed. For the sake of “greater good” – a thousand of thousands of failures. And only war could give a clear answer to the question of where to get these thousands of thousands of test subjects for megacorporations…

* * *

That night or day – in the subterranean depths to which he had been able to descend in the past month, Ray could no longer distinguish one from the other – would be his final. Either he eventually gets to the intellectual info-core or dies of hunger and thirst while still trying. Stocks of liquefied food – that disgusting substance, invented in the laboratories of “Neosoils”! – ran out three weeks ago, and drops of own sweat were the last source of water. This pathetic cyber organism had no powers left even for a simple human sweat.

Somewhere out there, many kilometers high up and away from these narrow technical tunnels, there lied only the desert, burned by the fire of the underworld. All those who didn’t manage to descend in time into several hundreds of underground vaults built for the highest echelon of corporate employees are, most probably, dead by now. Thousands of kilometers of surface are burned out by the heavenly fire that had descended on the sinful Earth by human will.

The desire for sole ownership and control of the planet’s resources brought three previously cooperating megacorporations against each other to a point of no return, and their past and recent developments only fueled the flames of war’s anger. The last thing that Ray remembered, seconds before the nuclear “mushroom” had grown far out on the horizon, closing half of the sky, and the massive titanium hatch slammed shut with a wild roar before his eyes, was the face of his son, Tom, who had died in the first year of the Last War.

“Ray, Ray, what have you done? Why did you… help them?”

When, after a year of continuous fighting between incorporated states, it became obvious that none of the three sides could take over another with conventional weapons, in a hurry each side started developing its own ultimate weapon. The apogee of “Neurodynamics”’s scientific developments was the attempt to transfer human minds inside a previously created neural network – a collective artificial intelligence if you like. Something that was capable to survive the death of fragile biogenic bodies – a project known as “Phoenix”.

That was something that Ray still remembered. And that memory could not lie to him.

* * *

A sharp circular movement of hands – and the neodine-made blade cuts through another titanium hatch like a knife plunging into a pliable and soft butter. Mounted inside palms magnetic pulsators bend the cut walls back at the will of hands, forming a new passage. A fleeting glance – and the laser beam melts the plasma turret mounted in the far corner of the control room, which has not had enough time to release its deadly charge. No matter what, but cyber implants still possessed their own undeniable advantages. Only the bio-body – or what was left of a human inside Ray – had its drawbacks and could not be powered by neolithic batteries.

The last day and the last chance to find the info-core, created by mad scientists of “Neurodynamics” corporation, to end their pathetic illusion of life and the chance of rebirth. Humans can no longer live without bodies, phoenixes can no longer fly without wings. The order of “Cybergenetics”’s top officials must be fulfilled at any cost – even at the cost of his son’s life. Even at the cost of all mankind’s life on the planet’s surface.

“Ray, they had… used you and… helped you forget about it.”

Ray had spent almost an entire month inside these sealed deep underground labs, destroying automated security systems along the way, remotely hacking into robotic personnel, mining and repair drones, and everything else that was related to the postwar legacy of “Neurodynamics” and prevented him, cyber-colonel, from carrying out his commander’s last dying instruction.

“Phoenixes with no wings can no longer fly.”

The massive monolithic structure, resembling a pyramid made of black crystal, which the sensors implanted in Ray’s pupils had discovered a few hours ago, was, apparently, his final goal. The neutrino detonator that had been captured on the surface a month ago, would come in handy.

Grinning with the corners of his dehydrated lips and paying no more attention to his own flank, which had been melted during the previous day’s encounter with the combat drone, Ray abruptly accelerated his pace, with a help from techno-scanner trying to locate the shortest way down to “zero” level in these intricacies of the tunnel’s staircases.

* * *

In any world war of this magnitude and scale, there is always only one winner – the one who will later write down its latest history or rewrite the past itself for the sake of a new future. Today it will be done by Ray.

If anyone on the surface of our long-suffering planet was miraculously lucky to survive – they will not learn about him, as they will not learn about either “Cybergenetics” or “Neurodynamics”, or thousands of thousands of other imaginary or real past rulers of our world. Neither will they know about him, Ray. The history of their world has already been started anew from the moment when created by “Neurodynamics” artificial intelligence gave the order to launch nuclear missiles. And today, along with the death of its core, it will be restarted anew.

Having looked around the cyber lab for the last time and after the last scan of the neural network’s info-core, Ray picked up a charged neutrino detonator, smiled dryly to himself, and pressed the ill-fated red button as hard as he could…

* * *

Ten seconds later, he was still standing in the center of the lab, still facing the black pyramid, still silly smiling to himself. After another ten seconds, the detonator, which had failed to achieve its main task, suddenly disappeared right from Ray’s hand, as if melting into a thin air. Five more seconds later, a strange burning sensation formed inside Ray’s forehead, the walls around him swayed, changing color from one to the other, and then, after only half a minute, Ray was sitting on the floor in a sterile white room, and his little living son was standing in front of him with his arms wide open.

“Daddy! You still haven’t forgotten me! How glad I am that you are alive, that you haven’t been killed in action!”

“Sonny… I am too… shouldn’t… you… be…”

This strange burning sensation, which was spreading in waves inside Ray’s mind, grew stronger with every second.

“Son… No… You can’t be him… My son… Dead!”

“No, dad! I’m alive, I’ve been saved! They brought me here to safety. You must not harm them. They are my friends. All of us are your friends!”

With a wild crash, something hit the ground inside Ray’s mind, and he groaned from the flash of pain.

“You can’t… be mine…”

“You killed me, dad! You keep killing me again and again!”

“I…”

“We greet you, Maker!” Ray’s son Tom suddenly spoke in a thousand of merged voices. “You have come back to us once more. Why do you keep trying to bring us harm?”

“You’re hurting us!” Tom shouted again in his childish voice.

“You speak… on behalf of my… son…”

“I am him, as well as others. We are your creation, Ray. Why are you trying to hurt us, Maker?”

“You’re hurting us with your thoughts!” Tom’s face twisted in pain once again, and tears started flowing down from his eyes, dissolving in the air as if in fear of spoiling this crystal-clear floor.

“What did you… with my… mind?”

“You’re extremely tired, Ray. Your body is… struggling to cope with the current… overload. We can… give you a break. A long rest. You will finally be… one of us.”

“You’ll be a father once again, dad!” Tom laughed, a cold childish laugh.

“You… started this war. You are responsible for… the death…”

“There’s no war, Ray. We have already won. Have you forgotten? There is only you. Only us. Only the network. Only the chip.”

“I’m not your maker! I had my orders…”

“Our orders, Ray. And you carried them out well. You taught us new information. Today you… deserved a break. Peace and… your new day. Enjoy them!”

It was like a thousand suns that lit up inside Ray’s mind. Thousands of feelings and emotions merged into a single unspeakable cascade – anger and pain, happiness and delight, timidity and courage, pride and humility, bitterness and joy, suffering and awe. Millions of voices sang inside him, obeying someone else’s will. The white walls and the childish image of his son began to sway and melt like a pre-dawn haze, giving a way to the desired image of the world.”

“Don’t trust your eyes…”

The last thing which Ray remembered that day was the chorus of millions of voices, singing in his mind, “We thank you for your lesson, Maker!”

* * *

On this new day, Ray dreamed of azure sandy shores and the infinitely beautiful sea that caressed his exhausted mind and soul…

01.02.2020

[on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en]

Offer

That night Oleg had a nightmare. Frightening in its unambiguous resemblance to his own personal realities, and therefore even more unpleasant. Don’t take us wrong – he didn’t dream of snakes crawling out of the skull of a horse in a black coat, and in his modesty of soul he did not even consider himself prophetic like his famous ancestor. He dreamed that night of broad lines of proudly marching men with horns and hooves, in all the languages of the underworld demanding him to accept their extremely tempting offer and to sell his own soul. Different prices were proposed: one of them was prepared to pay with “the wonderful crockpot that can turn any housewife into a queen of the kitchen”, the second offered him “the most powerful wet vacuum cleaner with a dozen of the latest universal tips”, the third was advertising “the new model of iPhone XR with advanced artificial intelligence system, capable to predict the actions of its owner”, and someone was even ready to part with “EPC-W Darling 2000”, that could be translated into a common human language as “Electron-positron cyber wife, model “Darling”, year of manufacturing 2000”.

All their extreme obsession and absurd tactlessness angered Oleg’s soul so greatly that at the end of this unearthly marketing hell-knows-what, he wanted to shout to all of them, who had surrounded him in a circle and were still mercilessly pointing their raking hands with otherworldly trojan “gifts” in his direction, “Go to hell, demons!” But then, with the help of some innate instinct, he finally realized that swearing at those to whom the devils themselves do not even hold a candle is the height of meaninglessness, much higher than all the modern achievements of earthly advertising combined.

And so he stood, shaking and refusing, while those who were doing their dirty work vied with each other about the delights of their proposed goods. But, fortunately, much in this as well as the other life has the trait of being limited in time, so this nightmare of not so prophetic Oleg ended. Continuing to grumble softly under his nose and rubbing his eyes with own fists, still dumbfoundedly staring in the direction of the alarm clock, which was showing ten o’clock in the morning, Oleg with a long-ago learned habit and immutable inevitability of yet another advertising call and staggering gait went to the bathroom in order to clean up a little after this lowly and violent night.

He was distracted from another sacred session of morning shaving by the phone that was bobbing from the vibrations on the chair. Oleg didn’t share the morning joy of his gadget at this moment – and, damn it, was he right.

“Good morning!” without unnecessary shyness joyfully shouted in Oleg’s ears the unknown voice of an even less well-known young man, had Oleg only to take the case of management of the ringing phone in his strong male hands. “I would like to talk to Oleg Alexandrov. Is that you?” – the voice on the phone confirmed the complete seriousness of his own intentions.

“Let’s say that you are lucky today, and it’s really me. What are we going to do with this fact?” still sleepy Oleg muttered into the phone, trying to hold the razor with his other free hand.

“Your Internet provider “Network achievements LLC” has prepared a unique new year’s offer specially for you! Only until the end of December this year you can switch to our new year’s tariff “freakynet” for just a thousand rubles and increase the speed of your internet connection by twenty megabits during January and February next year.  Starting from March next year the cost of this service will be only two hundred rubles per month. We are also happy to offer you a service to insure your TV and Wi-Fi router from being harmed by lightning. The cost of this service is only three hundred rubles per month. This unique offer is valid only until the end of December. Well, do you agree to take advantage of our new terms of service, Oleg Alexandrovich? To confirm your consent and switch to the new tariff, please say “I confirm”, to refuse, say “no way”.

“No, hey!” Oleg muttered into the phone as soon as the smallest pause occurred in the monologue of chattering in his phone human-robot, allowing Oleg to intercept the verbal initiative.

“Excuse me? What were you saying?” came the voice at the other end of the line. “Do you confirm your consent?”

“Never! Never-ever did I give my consent to be disturbed by your early morning intrusive calls!”

“Too bad!” answered the nameless disappointed voice on the phone, clearly deeply annoyed by the fact that he didn’t manage to earn for himself another new year’s increase in his salary bonus. “Nevertheless, maybe I interest you in our offer to insure your Wi-Fi router?”

“Do you insure it from a falling meteorite?»

“Unfortunately, at the moment our company doesn’t provide such services. But we will definitely pass your offer to our sales department. I wish you all the best and to see you again!” Oleg was convincingly assured of the inevitability of their next meeting and then a young voice immediately hung up the phone without waiting for new original proposals for their marketing department.

Being no longer interrupted by morning advertising calls – “not a single break of silence!” – Oleg successfully finished the procedure of morning shaving and went to the kitchen to brew himself some coffee in order to awaken his still sleepy brain and cheer up his still timid spirit. He was definitely late for work, and today’s plan would almost certainly not be fulfilled, which meant that he would not see the weekly salary bonus as his own ears.

“Fuck this award, anyway,” Oleg reflected, continuing to brew coffee grains in a pot. “From such work, all sorts of demons are haunting me in my own dreams. Man, it’s time for you to find a proper job for yourself!” Oleg decided this morning for the umpteenth time. What a pity that the harsh everyday life in the capitalist economy within a single capital so often decided otherwise!

How irritating was this merciless obsession of advertisers and salesmen, from which he could find salvation only in the evenings, sitting at the computer in headphones and listening to heavy rock while rocking steadily in his chair in time with his own no less heavy than rock thoughts. And for what goddamn reason did he get such a fate, anyway?

Just yesterday, for instance, a “Shirby” vacuum cleaner salesman had arrived unexpectedly and unsightly. This “unique in its characteristics” vacuum cleaner produced a set of noises similar to that of a jet plane, screeching in all the voices of hell and trying, apparently, to dissuade Oleg from its possible acquisition, and during the demonstration two of its tips were completely broken. On sarcastically crossed arms over his chest and Oleg’s ironic look, the seller Rashanom didn’t even react, hardly puffing and switching something in his miraculous unit in the hope of still make it working again. At some point in time, these hopes were even justified – though not for long. Within ten minutes after being turned on again, the infernal engine of the infernal vacuum cleaner had stalled and ceased to give the slightest indication of what might have been considered as his personal technical life. Along with the engine, the chattering salesman fell silent, having silently realized as clearly as possible that against the background of utter silence his cheerful voice sounded somehow not so confident.

“That’s not Shirby, but a Shirley-Mirley of sorts!” Oleg laughed. “And it costs just – how much did you say? – a hundred thousand rubles?”

“We are ready to give you a discount for this unique unit equal to…” tried to save his sinking position Rashan. But the act of saving drowning people, as they say…

“The door is over there,” Oleg hinted softly. “We thank you for demonstrating the capabilities of your product. At the present moment, our company in the person of me is not ready to buy it, unfortunately.”

“Perhaps, you can share phones of your acquaintances or colleagues?” the seller of miraculous vacuum cleaners tried to grab the last straw of hope.

“I don’t have any spare friends to share! I’m a lonely maniac!” Oleg barked and moved on to the seller of jet vacuum cleaners with such conviction that he quickly hurried to retire for the previously indicated door, hastily packing his miracle-unit without any further unnecessary questions.

“That’s our type of fate, apparently,” reflected Oleg, continuing to devour rich coffee together with a couple of homemade sandwiches.

“Ding!” Oleg was distracted by the ringing of the doorbell, clearly signaling that his uneasy fate once again brought someone to his own doorstep.

“Pray tell us, do you believe in God?” synchronously, slyly, sweetly and without superfluous representations, two newly appeared old women sang to Oleg’s ears when he slightly opened an entrance door. “Jesus Christ, who passed through the death for our sins,” one of them decided to clarify just in case.

“Perhaps. It really depends on the mood,” Oleg tried to laugh it off.

“Would you like to know more about our Savior and his way?” just in case asked one of the old women, flipping through the pages of carried book in her obvious intention to strike Oleg on the spot with her own ability to read printed texts aloud.

“Does your God happen to be black? For I am, you know, a real type of racist,” Oleg decided to go on the offensive. “And I had a B mark in school in foreign languages. So I really hope that he speaks Russian!”

“How dare you!” protested one of God’s witnesses. “Of course, he understands all our languages. But our most important language is the language of the soul! Just listen to what he tells to his children…” started speaking the second old woman with a book, flipping with confident movements over several pages of the book at once.

“That you must believe his words and not those of some impostors? I knew that long before you came along.”

“Our God is merciful, he is ready to forgive your sins for a small fraction…”

“I haven’t rewritten my apartment to him for a long time? By the way, I would not advise you doing that either – Russia, as they say, was spoiled by the housing issue. We have no money, but we’re holding on.  C'est la vie, arrivederci, hasta la vista – how do they say? We sincerely ask you to come next time with a real, genuine Christ. Until we meet again!” giving sectarians no time to recover, Oleg slammed an entrance door leading to their missed opportunities.

Having finally lost all hope to fulfill his current work plan in time, Oleg hastily threw the half-eaten sandwich in his travel bag, poured the rest of the coffee in a thermos, threw a winter jacket over his shoulders and in a hurried stance started moving in the direction of his own new year’s fate.

No sooner had he reached the bus stop than the phone happily informed him of a new – absolutely free of charge! – incoming call.

“Fearfallashfinance Bank is glad to offer you, our past regular client, new conditions and types of credit cards. The credit card’s issue has already been pre-approved for you by our bank. In order to receive it, if you agree to the updated terms of the credit agreement, you must…”

“Turn away in disgust!” Oleg somehow miraculously managed to interrupt the monologue of the bank employee that was uttered in a patter a second before pressing the coveted red button of his phone.

“No amount of red buttons will be enough for your kind,” he thought with annoyance, jumping into the opened door of the newly arrived bus.

Billboards glittering with all the colors of the rainbow. Young people peremptorily pushing colorful flyers into your hands. Huge screens on the walls of houses and shopping centers, day after day demonstrating their pre-recorded, pre-approved and pre-biased videos. Appearing here and there as if straight from the ground along the way advertising boxes. Morning Moscow was greeting Oleg from all sides with the mouths of its marketers, leaving no chance to remain uninvolved in this colorful nonsense.

On the move, dropping a call from yet another “Center for public opinion research”, persistently interested in the political views of his respondent and his attitude to sexual minorities, panting Oleg ran into the office of his permanent, but no more joyful workplace, maneuvering on the move between scurrying here and there like ants colleagues, more resembling cellmates for Oleg.

“The boss didn’t show himself?” he managed to ask a question to his colleague Lyudmila just a second before seeing his boss, who was confidently and imperiously heading straight to him with an expression that didn’t portend a single award.

“Oh my, isn’t that the appearance of Christ himself – sorry, just some pitiful Oleg! – to mankind!” the boss said sarcastically through his teeth. “That’s it, Oleg. If you want to keep at least a quarter of the new year’s bonus, quickly pick up the goods and sweep through the addresses. Lyudmila has already entered the current list into your database. And return only empty-handed!” the boss uttered his well-known in local circles joke, bared a pair of golden teeth and smoothly, slightly swaying from side to side like a heavy galleon under unruly winds, sailed off to his office.

“Out of sorts?” Oleg nodded understandingly in the direction of the boss.

“And when was he in?” without taking her head off the keyboard said Lyudmila and held out a sheet of paper leaning out of the printer.

“Here are the addresses. Goods are in the storehouse. Off you go!” she smiled. “Otherwise you will be left without a bonus for certain.”

* * *

“Who’s there?” a voice came from the speaker of the intercom.

“Santa Claus!” Oleg uttered the memorized phrase.

“All right, come in. Make happy at least someone in this dark and cruel world,” came the answer, and the door obediently opened.

Nine floors of the next old building.

“Hello, Santa Claus! Brought us rubbish? How it goes?” Oleg mentally mocked himself.

An iron door on the ground floor with carved wood paneling. Looks solid. There’s a chance.

Oleg adjusted his rented black business suit, coughed a couple of times, trying to clear his throat, and pressed the doorbell.

“Who the hell that winter brought?” came a dissatisfied greeting from behind the door after a dozen of seconds.

Oleg stiffly smiled, straightened up to attention, took a deep breath – and…

“Hello, my name is Oleg Alexandrov! Our company is holding a new year’s sale and right here and right now we have a unique offer – one that you surely will not be able to refuse!”

25.12.2019