On the Wings of Hope : Prose

Someone will probably say, that it’s a miracle and shed a few tears with a joy in own eyes. Somebody will be wrinkled mistrustfully, having muttered that all this “story” of his own life, embodied in a book, have much in common with a ridiculous fairy tale and silly fictions. Some will thank him for an advice. Some will start applying advices in own life. And he himself will name it - a Trial, a life’s test. A test, symbolizing the beginning of new ones … each and every day.

Is that truly a miracle that after almost five years of wanderings, they at last managed to be arranged in some circus to look after animals, and when some unknown actress left the group, attention of circus managers were suddenly turned to his little sister, to her live and childish spontaneity … to her unspeakable beauty in that spontaneity?

And then there were years - years of hard work. So very different years.

He’s been made a gymnast - along with his natural dexterity he coped perfectly with that role. His brother has been taught to juggle. Their sister began to conduct shows. This was the beginning of their new life’s journey.

Is that really a miracle that his sister soon became an actress - and her charm and sincere beauty have brought her a world’s fame?

Whether that a miracle that his brother, having saved a small fortune, opened a business, which has grown into the largest transnational company?

Whether that a miracle that, wishing with all his heart to seek answers to life questions, to learn himself and to teach others making right choices, - became a writer ?

He won’t name it a miracle, he’ll call it a Sign - a sign of the way. His and their way - a way which they must - have been obliged to - pass to become the ones they have become.

To cope with challenges. To feel no fear of obstacles. To believe in fine dreams, to implement them in one’s life. To become a Man, a man with a capital letter.

To be him.

15.05.2011

Thirtieth day

The thirtieth day …

Yes, the thirtieth day has passed since he has got here. Into his new home. HOME.

The frozen tongue refused to pronounce this painfully familiar and once causing an anxious delight and joy word. How unimaginably new it now sounded in consciousness !

Despair. Despair, dimming the mind.

Tears – what about ? Maybe of those long time gone and irrevocable days of simple man’s happiness ? Of sonorous men's voices and happy children's smiles ? Of a united family, which he was eager to have ?

“Father” … He has, actually, never heard this wonderful sound – and will never hear it now. NEVER. The mind gloatingly hinted, that this is so – it can be no other way. But the heart, the heart, which have suffered so many torments and suffering – his heart refused to believe that. It always refused to trust in pain and grief. Always. Or … until the 30-days old events only ?

And still … nevertheless, it’s his new home for now, no matter how blasphemously this word would now sound.

A street. Almost constantly locked up at night doors of buildings. City dumps, where it was seldom possible to find some sort of food …

No, no, NO !! This cannot be with me, only not with me ! Why, why, why ?!

Silence. Deadly silence. Silence of night. Words have left a withered throat into a darkness of night and have died out in a far distance.

There is no response. He will have to search for answers himself.

Then – weakened, wasted, with scars all over his body – traces of struggle against colleagues by misfortune and city’s thugs, with a face, covered by purulent scabs, - he has fallen to the ground. He hasn’t even noticed, how suddenly the earth approached and his body, having hit it with dull sound, kept lying motionlessly …

* * *

… He did neither remember, nor know, how many time has passed. And, probably, didn’t even want to. What’s the reason ? To find livelihood and a lodging for the next night – were his needs not limited by this only ?

Then he opened his eyes. Tried to move – and desperately screamed from a sharp pain and a bloody haze in his eyes – a hand, his right hand. The one, which has rescued him time and again in fights on dark alleys for a piece of bread, the one which helped him to sometimes open not too qualitatively made locks of city buildings – he felt it no more. Totally, completely. A bone fracture, a dislocation ? Most probably a dislocation and a pain shock, which has followed it … that’s good. Could be worse – much worse.

We will make it. We will survive, reason – I tell you !

Hospital ? What hospital are you suggesting me to go for, reason ? And was it not you, my accidental witness, of how hundreds of people during those thirty days expelled me and threw me away from public transport, how teenagers mocked me angrily, how adults unfriendly mowed and how young girls turned away from me with such an expression on their faces, as if they have just seen the nastiest thing in their life ?

There is no place for me in the world of those ones. No more a place.