On the Wings of Hope : Prose

It was hard at first. Too habitual and blood poisoning were techniques of old construction, too much ridiculous stereotypes and prejudices tormented their consciousness, preventing it to fully open itself. Too mechanistic have already become some of them, - verified, lined, marked, sorted and packed. But despite all barriers and obstacles lying before them, they have managed to achieve almost the impossible – and their own children helped them with this transformation. Truly live, with mobile and open reason, rich and figurative imagination, they have shown their parents the most unexpected ways, dizziest designs, most natural forms. And work was boiling. Everything that contradicted the new opened by them facts of life was removed, everything that ennobled their spirit was glorified. And after that it was only a question of time. Truly immense have the Great Construction become, made after the Great March. And there was not a single live soul left in all around the world which haven’t taken part in it.

Life on the planet Earth was changing – so promptly and fast, as if being made in an instant between usual click of fingers. New deed demanded new men – and they weren’t slow to be on call. But all of this, however, was a completely new story …

18.09.2012

In the prison for a quarter of century

He opened his eyes. Both sight and hearing were coming back to normal, very-very slowly - but were returning. For many days he has still been recovering …

A push of hand - a sharp pain in the broken knuckle - and he has risen. He is alive and he will sustain - despite of everything.

Despite dregs in eyes and broken knuckle, acknowledging itself with a pain during each movement of hand. Despite hateful shouts and most severe abuse, flowing around. Despite the threats from his “neighbors”, which they intended to put in action if he doesn’t share his part of that skilly that was brought to them - so that they haven’t starved to death. Despite the methodical and giving a ring on an iron floor footsteps of the approaching guard. Despite the sun which he haven’t seen for such a long time … only the weak light beam of which he had a chance to notice in the mornings - a light, hardly passing through strong iron plates, sealing windows in this stronghold of grief. In this stronghold of sorrow … and sometimes, only sometimes - repentances.

“Chumbrik, fuck you! We’ll cut you on giblets! Do you hear me, bastard?! You’ll lick our heels, bough!” A shout came somewhere from a distant chamber and sank in the silence.

Resisting ones weren’t welcomed there, as well as loving ones. That’s why similar people were almost absent in these cells. Except for local authorities - and those who could prove with own blood that they are worthy of respect. For only the force did worth something here.

A whole year was required for him to prove own strength. To prove in fights without rules, ones, “accidentally” overlooked by that supervisor that was slowly coming through a corridor, rattling with chamber keys. Or, to be more precise, these battles were completely ignored by prison guard. One week ago there was his last fight - and after that he was finally left alone. He has proven own force for this year time and again - proven much more during this time span. And finally were receded - they have withdrawn from him like from an insuperable and indestructible stronghold.

“Dinner!” - a loud peal of a voice filled a premise.

Now they will be fetched skilly bowls - gray-greenish liquid with disgusting taste. However, a piece of bread was applied to this liquid, and that was already fine.

This should suffice for approximately five-six hours. And then once again something similar will be brought to them - to that they don’t die from hunger. And so it goes on for a day, a month, a year … Nineteen years - nineteen long years he should remain here. Nineteen twentieth of his term.

Here comes the inspector. Now a food would be brought - he will sate himself with this pity piece of bread and a bowl of liquid stinking of slops and feel easier.

His organism will take many days to heal its wounds … It will take nineteen years for him until a day of freedom finally comes.

Here comes a meal. A bowl was pushed to him through a cut out crack in the bottom of a chamber’s door.

For some reason the inspector continued standing, thought it was already the time for him to go to new chambers. One second, two, three … five …

“Prisoner Skalov, your wife has come to visit you. We will guide you to a meeting room”.

Simple human words, which have lifted his spirit on pleasure tops. It was such an immense joy for him now - to once again meet a close person in this house of loneliness, loneliness among hundreds and hundreds of people … His prison cell was slowly opened - the guard immediately pressed him against the wall and started quickly putting on handcuffs. He didn’t resist.