On The Wings of Hope : Prose

Camera changes its foreshortening once more, takes off from an institute building, winding through narrow and twisting corridors, then soars up in heavens and rushes in whitish clouds, from time to time looking at the sun as if for the sake of joy. Then sharply dives downwards, hardly not hitting an iron cross, decorating the top of the building, and flies into the open gate of some large temple. A truly intriguing picture reveals before the eyes: the last left in the church priest does, apparently, something unimaginable. He periodically fills his hands with a handful of “sacred” water and “tastes” it on a tongue, promptly screwing up ones face and meffedly whispering something under the nose; or removes a heavy cross, hanging on a neck, and strikes himself with it into a forehead, shouting “Amen” for better effect; or approaches a random icon, and starts ogling; or sits down on a floor in a pose of a lotus and begins beating out a tap dance on all the crosses, necklaces and other jewelry, covering his body; or with a heart-rendering cries “I banish thee, I tell ya!” starts rushing over a hall, threating someone invisible with a overgilded cross. This show frightens, intrigues and bewitches at the same time.

Fyodor :- I wonder, is that priest mad?

V.V.P. :- A ritual plague this priest had.

Fyodor :- All forms he mixed, but essence - miss … was priest kissed by abyss?

V.V.P. :- For quite a long their god is money, all actions strange, few souls are sunny, and even stupid ritual he can’t perform, for it’s so dull.

Fyodor :- If they possess no more sheep, there is no need for gold and whip?

V.V.P. :- Let’s them cut fur from their bodies, and all those “donated” goodies.

Fyodor :- They’ve served a golden calf so well, had their feasts in their fall - was their list of crimes too fat?

V.V.P. :- I guess we’ll keep in secret that!

Fyodor :- The priests are not doing well … watch politicians, friend, we shall?

V.V.P. :- No reason watching them, I think - to guzzle oats and vodka’s drink?

Fyodor :- Oats and vodka? Funny move! That’s how their holiness they prove?

V.V.P. :- They are doing that for quite a time! With Faberge eggs they play ping-pong, and left their mansions with gold pools, still loudly crying: “We were fools!”

Fyodor :- Those are, no doubt, timely thoughts!

V.V.P. :- Hi, politician! Eat now the oats!

Fyodor :- Have they ground off their teeth, trying all to bite and tease? Or have enlightenment just come, and they have learned their own harm?

V.V.P. :- They were shocked, then were crying when Ivan was zealously flying! And just besides in own dreams they saw the tombs, prepared for sins. They saw what is awaiting them, and since these days they are in the lam.

Fyodor :- The avaricious knight has learned the price of blight, confirmed that he was fool and sat in dirty pool?

V.V.P. :- Sort of, my friend, it is quite so … the politician has fallen low. Already soon he’ll leave the scene, for oh-so-bloody it has been.

Fyodor :- What if he gives away all gold?

V.V.P. :- Another fate may then unfold. But he collected all in holes, for long perceiving own goals.

Fyodor :- He may present someone somewhere, to share with others - that is fair!

V.V.P. :- Every task can you endure, if your soul’s always pure!

Fyodor :- Oats with them we’ll not consume, and leave them all alone to fume. I guess at last the time has come to watch medical outcome! For long they’ve rescued only bodies - what has become with their goodies?

V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us the plot for now, and fly in heavens … you know how!