On the Wings of Hope : Prose

But the ones living here apparently didn’t desire to notice anything, except for but few things. Here some bent townsman ran into a nearest building. A newcomer turned his head to behold a next signboard. Large shining dark-crimson letters were imprinted on its surface:

“Fights without rules. Life is just an instant in the eternity. Death is a release”. And a bit more after - “The property of a lifeguard service of grandiose inhabitants of grandiose capital”.

And once again a painful push of a thought coming - “where am I?”

* * *

He kept moving down the night streets of this city, and new and new pictures were opening for him.

“Your relative is just a human. But you are the God. Prove that! Best weapons and ammunition from military warehouses! Life is a prison. Death is a release”. And familiar words, written a bit lower on a board - “The property of a lifeguard service of grandiose inhabitants of grandiose capital”.

And once again, more and more … Dazzling light of crimson fires …

“Virtual club ‘Illusion’. A virtual model of a capital - and you are its lord. Feel yourself a God! Property of Virtulex Enterprise corporation”.

“Roulette of doom. Now it’s your “rolling”, mortal!” And once again an additional text, written lower - “A place with no losers, for life is a curse, and death is a release!”

“Slaves we are not. Give aggressor a strikeback! Vote for the “Ashes” project. Each invader gets a nuclear bomb!” And lower - “Institute of sociological research of the Ministry of Attack and Defense”.

Buildings, buildings, buildings … Fires, fires, fires …

This city made one mad. Something suppressed his will and tried to make him behave the same way - having forgotten of everything, run into a nearest tavern, or a sex-dance-club, or virtual “snack bar” - and for many hours to cease remembering any longer.

Of who you are. Of whom you should be. And of what you’ve become …

It seemed as if something terrible laid down on his shoulders, trying to press him down, flatten out, turn into nothing that one, who’s not consent with that order of things. The city itself, apparently, was going to finish off this impudent intruder, not corresponding with its essence - and its rules of life.

He kept and continued moving hour after an hour. And nevertheless he kept moving, hoping to see a gleam of light somewhere. But no matter where he turned to, there was all the same on each new street. Same sinister buildings, as if engulfed in crimson fires, same writhed people with some sort of absent expression of their eyes, entering and leaving them, same human words, constantly forming inhuman phrases.

He could go no more - he suddenly terribly desired to lie down on a street and die. Just to lie down and be no longer - to no longer observe all he had to, to see it no more. To get rid of it as a nightmare.

One more step. And again. And again. A hit - and he embraced the ground. Oblivion …

* * *

He opened his eyes and raised a head over the ground, trying to figure out what has happened. Distinguished a building nearby - and a sharp flash has lit up his memory.

“N-n-n-o-o-o! Only not here! Not here again!”

That was not a dream - he was observing a very same city. Almost nothing even changed, unless for a bit darker surroundings - probably the night has finally reigned. Then he dropped himself on a ground once more and moaned - from a despair and hopelessness. He had no wish no live on here - and had to. What for? What for?!

Silence. Deadly silence. The night city has been already sleeping.

Silently was he lying on a granite roadway, paved by black marble - and just as silently tears were flowing from his eyes, leaving a clear transparent trace. He didn’t remember what was going on after these moments - merciful memory has erased these instants of time from him. When he has regained consciousness once again, he remembered only despair - and a city in which he was for now - a city, which has covered the sun like a dark giant.

He distinctly remembered that all. He did remember so much more.

He remembered how he rose up and started wandering the streets once again. Was wandering aimlessly. He was obliged to move anywhere, to do anything - something to help him forget of the horrors of this world - ones, perfectly constructed by its own inhabitants.

He moved by open buildings of sex-dance clubs and saw hundreds and hundreds of embraced seminude bodies, jumping and spinning while dancing with some breaking off and tearing rhythm.

He saw how three humans in a street amicably injected themselves some sort of things, reminding syringes, and just a moment later tumbled down where they were standing on a roadway with a blissful expressions on their faces.

He observed how in some lane, in which he has casually turned, three men have fitfully nestled to each other and started quickly taking off clothes from each other, only to fall to the ground and start swirling on it afterwards.

He saw so much more. He could do no other.