On the Wings of Hope : Prose

… for me … who cares? Was … ive and will be live, if … taken care! I … don’t care. I … my own life … don’t want … waste … such … ids! I … still … oung. Figure … should take care. Well … you understand.

- … no understand! How many … yours … abandoned?! How many were left alone?! They must … ably … died!

- … well … left two … abort …made … three times. And … no look like that … me! It’s … my life after all!

Then his mother once again started speaking silently for some reason – and a minute later her loud voice made him clamp own ears…

- … from my apartment … not a friend! You … iller! Small … hild killed! Abandoned! Get away!

A noise followed and he, having looked out from a door of his room, has seen, how his mother almost pushed out that woman to an exit door.

…et away! No … uch … friend!

… ill leave! No such … upid … lf-sacrificial silly woman for me!

Several more seconds passed and with a roar the door was closed, showing the door staying. When he heard the noise of approaching steps, he rushed on a bed and concealed himself with a blanket. His mother came close to him, lifted up a blanket and strongly embraced him. She was crying.

- Forgive me … onny. I should have listened to you. You felt her better than I did. I … could not. I didn’t think … that … such a … ruel! … ve me, darling!

He looked at his mother. Saw these sad crying eyes, felt these warm hands, this overwhelming him love – and selflessly hugged his mother.

- … cannot … image … should feel … at child … was … being killed! … only … enter the world … was instead … ruthlessly … murdered! My God! What … for! Such … ittle … kid … killed!

His mother continued crying. He nestled on her even stronger.

- You … me … Will not … allow … to hurt you! My darling … Pasha … live … small … man!

- I love you, mummy!

- Sonny, I too do love you!

* * *

- That’ it. I clearly remember that day still, even though I was about five years old by that time.

- Have you not met that woman afterwards?

- No. And neither did my mother – relations with that woman were finished forever. Mother didn’t want to see her in our house any longer.

- Yes, probably you are right. How good is that you have not happened to be a “son” of such a mother! Because then I would probably have not ever met you in that world.

- And I too would never meet you. Yes, someone is ready to kill children – they are being killed each and every day. No one even consider how many people could be born – and has been killed because of feat of responsibility, foolish whim, because of cowardice, cruelty … Soon the motherhood and the birth of even a single child will become similar to a feat of courage … the most natural will become the “privilege of great people” … It’s good to know that there are still those who are not afraid of this “feat”, there are mothers. We were lucky. It’s a pity that others were not so. It’s worth hoping that people will rethink and understand, that all their “aborts” are murders. Justifications have no value – there is an act and there is a consequence – for the world and for the actor himself. And they cannot be changed – until actions themselves remain the same.

- Yes, I know, you are speaking the truth. But let’s stop thinking of that at least for second, ok? All right? And now, Pavel, take me by my hand. Stronger! Not listen to what I wanna tell you …

02.05.2012

Dead City

It does exist – and yet it doesn’t.

It always was – but they preferred to keep silence of its existence previously.

It calls for you as something delightful yet forbidden – but few ones have time to feel its true bitterness.

It is so much similar to the constructed Babel tower, yet more and more are willing to climb to its top.

It grows outside and inside of you invisibly, braiding with webs all corners of your soul. And that is why so many consider it as nonexistent.

Its stench seems fragrance from distance, and its fire – lovely illumination.

Practically no one came back from it. And those few who did were humans no more.

So much has been told about it … yet this does not reduce the number of its pilgrims.

It never lived – and that is why it doesn’t know such thing as death.

It has been born along with the human. Will it be extinguished before him ?

Yes, it looks like a massive city. But this is a Dead City.

A city of former love, now long since dead. A cemetery.

Graves, graves, graves …

Each of them is unique - one of a kind. But do corpses really need to be unique ?

Tombstones - and inscriptions, inscriptions, inscriptions…

“Linen washing is so bad … start delight yourself like mad”, - as though the first squeals.

“A goat he was – a goat he is, no more loving, cease, cease, cease. Perhaps I’ll now just kill him, rather, - he’s always mine, never another !”, - threatens with all possible force the second.