On the Wings of Hope : Prose

Aaarrrgggghhh … no, stop it ! Only not those images, only not them ! Memory, my obliging aunt who has been serving to me so right earlier, - what sort of malicious joke are you going to play with me ?! Stop it, I beg you ! I have already submitted to my fate ! I have put up with it – do you hear me ? I had !

Or … or not completely ?

Questions, questions, questions … Questions, irritating both mind and heart. Lonely questions without answers. Servants of pain – spiritual anguish.

A pain again – this time from a hand. That’s not too much. That one will be gone.

They, it’s they who are guilty ! – once again he wanted to growl spitefully. Yes, it’s them. Harmful businessmen, liars, rascals. They have cheated him, as well as hundreds like him. He did not remember all details for now, but firmly remembered one thing – they have get his apartment by a deceit. Fucked company, false agency ! Bastards !

Stop.

Only not rage. No more hatred. He was already tired of it, too tired already. Thirty days – it’s such a big timespan to still continue hating.

Thirty days … how much he has learnt and understood during those thirty days !

With what contempt he looked at all these “needy” and unfortunate people earlier ! How much arrogance and complacency was in his eyes, obscured by formal well-being. How many simple human requests he rejected, referring to a lack of time … a lack … now, seemingly, he has this time in surplus – but what sort of time …

He even betrayed once – his close friend and the fellow worker. Wanted to earn money … has earned … And his friend got to prison for financial frauds – tried to prove, that he was a fictitious person. If only he also knew, who did that …

He has to pay for everything, he thought suddenly. For all things made. To redeem own crimes. A cruel lesson, indeed. He was, however, cruel as well.

He stood up. Looked around. He has come – has returned to his home … Not to himself, though, not to his home. He perfectly remembered what was his home for now. And nevertheless … something uncontrollably pushed him to enter this familiar front door, to feel house smells – for the last time in his life. He will not return to this building anymore.

And then, having thrown aside all cowardly and bitter thoughts, firmly pushed his fractured hand to a breast, he has moved on – started wandering to a front door of this house. The door slowly swung open and some married couple went out of the doors – probably on a walk. He made a jerk and approached the entrance.

The young girl made a wry mouth and whispered something to his beloved one’s ear. The beloved one tried to strongly seize a man with a ridiculously bent and pressed to a breast hand, moving to a front door, but that man has suddenly whispered : “Only for a minute. It’s my former home”, - and a man’s hand, almost ready to seize this nasty vagabond, has suddenly slowly dropped somehow, a flickering of understanding moved in his eyes for an instant and, having murmured  “yes, certainly”, he stood aside.

… Forward and upwards – to the third floor. Here it is, close and familiar … almost native. And who might be living in his apartment for now ?

He listened. Somewhere behind a door the dog was vigorously barking, possibly meeting his master. Somewhere a child was crying. Somewhere people were swearing. And only once during all that half an hour that he was standing, having leant against a wall and remembering former life, somewhere from above a many-voiced and joyful laughter has reached his ears.

He came back a short time after. Away from his home. Or straight to it ?

The ground floor … mail boxes, similar to cast bunkers. To look in ? But who can write him ? Who ?

And still he looked into it – in a box with large and bold number “30”. The thirtieth day … the thirtieth apartment … it’s even somewhat amusing …

There was only one letter – with his initials on it. With his ! He looked at its date. Yes, it was brought 29 days ago – the apartment was still owned by him that day. He has overrun its text.  At first the bewilderment, then amazement, a smile and a pain were reflected in his face. However, if somebody has accidently seen his face this instant – he would accept its expression for some sort of predatory grin.

Not trusting his own eyes, he looked through the text lines once again. Everything is correct. His mind was still serving him well. There is no mistake possible. Large letters and words “notice”, “fortune”, a name of his sister, living abroad, and a sum of one hundred thousand dollars were the last things that twisted in his consciousness that day. His legs gave away and he felt down, unconscious.

A rising sun could be seen in a building’s windows …

31.10.2010

Warrior of Odin