
## Table of contents

Angel

Homeless

Nameless One

Majority

Bookkeeping

Bureau

In the New World

Your choice, mankind!

Believer

PPP

Warrior of Odin

Wolf

Time

You are

Glamour

Wrath of war

Déjà vu

Diagnosis

Sacrifice

For the Patriarch!

Salary

Sign of the Way

And all diseases will be gone

Gamer

When a veil falls

Critic

Tough one

Legend of Divine Island

Master

God's Dream

World on the horizon

Monologue with a child

We are

Observer

Not them!

Unreality

Burthen

Of the non-existent princes

Education

Odyssey

One day you will awake

Justification

The memory of the millenniums

Girlfriends

Priest

Messenger on the planet Earth

Order: democratize!

Tale of false righteous one

To forgive

Child

Fish and Lion

Free like a wind

Perfection

Octopus

Fear

Happiness

TV

Theory

Here and There

Lesson of war

Teacher

Fantasy

Tail

Chronicles of Mogoth: The Called

Miracle

Trick

Whisper

I, Robot

I feel

Clear Words

## Angel

"Greeting, people!" Angel smiled.

"And who might you be, we wonder?" they muttered.

"I am a son of God," answered Angel. "I have come to aid you."

"We didn't call for you!" they have bitten.

"Of that, I know," replied Angel. "That's why I have come to you."

"Because you weren't expected?" men burst out laughing.

"No, because you would never call for me yourself."

"The stub is clear, the day is ended," they have been mocking. "We are living pretty well even without ones like you!"

"Oh, that I see," Angel has sighted. "Have already collected stones to banish us, have you?"

"What was that?" a shout came from a crowd.

"Throw away your stones from the bosoms," said Angel. "Better, if on the road."

"Well, you know," people have choked. "What if they will still be of some use to us?"

"Going to throw them in the sky, are you?" Angel smiled. "Or have you forgotten of the gravitation invisible?"

"We have forgotten nothing! Of all the natural laws we are aware of, taming it!"

"To tame one, you have to love one. We are responsible for the ones whom we tame."

"How very smart of you, oh our star-descended one!"

"For what reason have you brought knives together with you? Are you going to cut yourselves in distemper, I wonder?"

"Nay, we have no need to cut ourselves, oh damned one! Intended for the enemy of ours this weapon is."

"How are you expecting to distinguish friends from foes, if anger blinds minds of yours so often?"

"Have no worry of that, we'll sort it all somehow with no aid from your side! We have lived much and we have known much."

"Who is that one, standing among you with a backpack that has hunched his back? Why haven't you tried to facilitate the burden of his, idly standing?"

"Oh, ye are a stupid one, indeed! A stock of stones for the ones like you we have gathered in that backpack, so that they were always, well, at hand."

"Do facilitate the burden of your brother."

"We are going to throw that stones at ye then, foolish one!"

"Try it, if minds of yours thirst for no other."

"Tally-ho, brothers! Have no mercy!"

***

"And where is the fulfillment of your desires, throwing ones? Or haven't you been warned of the gravitation invisible?"

"Oh, how terribly painful it is! Save us, ignorant ones, from those stones, flying back to us! Accelerating are those stones returning and feet of ours have stuck seriously like in a bog, and no longer can we move forward! Rescue us for we thirst for living intolerably nevertheless! Save us, we beg of you!"

"Lend your hands to each other and let last ones from you take my hands, if out of bogs you are daring to get out. Carry you on my wings I will, believed ones. Hold each other tight for now to be saved!"

***

"Why have you saved us, oh Angel, sent from the heavens?"

"Whether you feel better with no stones in your possessions, I wonder?"

"We didn't ask you for favors! Homes of ours are destroyed, clothes of ours are smeared in the dirt – and whether by your favor, we wonder?"

"Whether it was not you who have plunged yourselves straight into a swamp? What are you carrying in bosoms once again?"

"Because we have dirtied ourselves in that smelly mug, then you shall be washed in it as well! Like us, you will become from now on from the inside out!"

"Have you no fear to turn black from the dirt of yours, I wonder?"

"Tally-ho, oh brothers! Have no mercy!"

25.12.2011

## Homeless

Once upon a time, the rich merchant, who was coming back to his hometown with a wagon train after successful trading met a homeless wanderer, who was sitting by the fire.

Having noticed the merchant, the weary traveler welcomed him and invited to share with him his small daily meal.

The merchant burst out laughing, saying:

"What can you possibly offer me, Homeless?"

"I can offer you the very same what the God offers all of us."

"You most probably speak of omnipotence? It seems to me that your mind, traveler, left you completely!"

"I am speaking of the place under the sun."

The merchant started laughing even more.

"By the end of this day, I will return to my rich house where a nourishing dinner, a charming wife and a soft bed are waiting for me. And what are you waiting for? I see that you are poor and worthless. Where will you go when the darkness of night comes for you? You have neither a home nor a future, ragamuffin."

"I am so very rich," humbly smiled the Homeless. "I have the whole world awaiting me, and no matter where I decide to direct my steps – I bear the whole world inside me. When I fall asleep under the open sky, stars descend from it and speak with me. When a thirst torments me, rain starts falling down from the heavens and with each of its drop I feel more lively. Animals of the night avoid me because they know that I won't harm them even for the sake of entertainment."

"You must be totally out of your mind," uttered the merchant, preparing to continue his journey. "I haven't yet met with madmen of your kind. I will tell my relatives about this meeting and together we will laugh at your nonsense. Today before nightfall I will already manage to come back home – and where will you return at the end of your life's journey?"

The Homeless did not grant him an answer.

26.12.2017

## Nameless One

"Yes, doc? What have you?"

"The Newcomer. Our guys have picked him up from a doss house."

"Humiliated and offended one, or so to say?"

"Sort of. Was wandering around, singing songs. Was still whispering some nonsense under his nose, while was carried here – perhaps, believed, that we haven't heard all that, – nay, heard, all his bullshit we've heard! Well-well, where will we place him, huh? He's still hot – cause recently caught, or so to speak."

"And what exactly was this nonsense about? Something about the Doomsday yet again, I take it? We've tons of these homebrew Nostradamus's nowadays in our wards already."

"Well... not exactly... or so I hope. You know, doc, I didn't listen very attentively to all his rubbish – wanna still remain healthy, you know. But, nevertheless, I've heard something interesting."

"Boofhead – cloven-hoofed! Go ahead, drag it all out, this plain truth!"

"Well... in general... first of all, he was saying that he's been living here for a very long time already."

"You mean, in that flophouse house of his?"

"Not at all, that's the very point! He's been living on the Earth for a long time! That he's, ostensibly, almost immortal, sort of. That he's come to all of us once again, cause he has been called."

"Called? By whom, I wonder? Whether it was this sick imagination of his, hmmm?"

"Don't know, he didn't tell. Well, then, he has been called, yes, and not alone, but together with others – well, sort of his brothers, or something of that kind. Called ones, so I take it. That they all have come to help us awaken, cause the time is already upon us."

"The time, you say? What's time is that? Whether it's not the half of twelfth on our clock already, ha-ha!"

"No way, sort of intended time, predicted."

"And what's that – to wake up? I take it that we both are not sleeping, or have I stopped understanding something in this our lives anymore, hmm?"

"Who's the hell knows! He also mentioned, that we are sleeping with still opened eyes, and that, well... those ones will have a harsh time when that very time comes. That time will not wait for those not ready to awaken."

"Curious!"

"Furious! Hell, doc, listen further what he was telling! He also told, that he has remembered himself, or someone has aided him to remember. That previously he was fighting with a sword in fights just, and today has changed iron blade with an invisible blade of the word, able to strike the darkness of human hearts even more precisely. That he's been collecting pearls of last paths, scattered in world's dust and forgotten, one by one... told something about the déjà vu. He also told that he was searching for his family... true, real family of those similar in spirit. That he's awakened partially and desires to finally open still half-closed eyes. That he is a man of many names and still he has none at the same time. That he was born, died and forgot, born, died and forgot time and again."

"An amnesia, huh?"

"He finally said in the end, that the world will change very soon... greatly change. That many of us will not have enough time to realize all that... they will – but too late... All filth will emerge on a surface and become visible in the dimmed light... That we should love each other, appreciate life, keep faith... you know, I've ceased to listen from that point."

"And you were right! No reason to listen to cranky ones at all! To remain healthy ones, we all need to..."

"Drop the guns! Doc, you haven't heard the last part of this story! He, well, approached me finally – when we were dragging him here in the car... approached easily so, sat down, looked into my eyes... Doc, you should have seen this mixture of grief and at the same time some internal joy, the tranquility of sorts, I cannot simply put it in words – I have nearly sunk in his eyes during that instance! And then he started looking into my eyes for longer and I... I give you a word! – it was like goosebumps running all over my back – as though he has started reading my soul like an opened book, do you understand? That sort of sensation it was, no other! And then he just began to speak of all my life, both of a fate and a lot – of what torments me and why I've become who I am at present and that even if I am a small man, I still can have a good role indented to me... he's told it all! I even couldn't say anything during that very instant from amazement – was looking into this eyes of his with a mouth wide open, like the insolent loony!"

"Well, you, colleague, just listen to all those loonies for quite a time and, perhaps, even the saliva will start dropping from that mouth of yours! All right, that's enough already. Place him in the sixth ward along with the second Napoleon. That's the fitting place for him – and a fitting time."

"A fitting time... yes, a fitting... time."

"Well, did he at least have his documents on him? What should I write down in our papers about him?"

"You know, doc, the strangest thing is..." and the speaker has sadly looked at his mentor, "he had no documents... and he himself asked us to call him – the Nameless One..."

01.11.2010

## Majority

Step. And again. And again. In such minutes every moment becomes the eternity.

Ten steps to scaffold top. Nine. Eight. Seven.

Yes, he is both the criminal and the traitor. Yes, he would repeat the same again.

Where does the moment ends and the eternity begins? Six. Five. Four.

Where does the life of one ends, so that others can live on? Three.

No one can escape its destiny and hide from it, nowhere. Two.

And in the moment of own death it's only possible to accept it with gratitude. One.

To die and to live in the eternity. The top.

He is a traitor for one and a hero for another. And there are no intermediate stages. How much does a human's life cost and who will dare to measure it? Who will judge of the unknown destiny of which he has not the slightest idea? Who will extol you as the hero and overthrow in a chasm of damnations later? Who will make this all only because he can do no other?

The Majority.

Yes, he is the murderer – and the savior simultaneously. Angel and a demon in one person.

The life of one for the lives of many. And no other choice is possible here.

And that is why he is the criminal.

The life of the president of the home country, who has almost plunged the world into a nuclear apocalypse – it's not that much for the world to live on.

And that is why he is the hero.

The former faithful companion and the right hand, who once realized what the left hand is going to make. The one chosen the most radical way to stop the ongoing madness – for no other measures were capable to help.

And that is why he is the traitor.

The killers of killers – angels of punishment? Executioners of executioners? Criminals? No one will give him the right answer.

The military court – and the simple majority of votes deciding his destiny. Forty-nine against fifty-one.

And that is why he dies today. The Majority decided so.

Life and death... death and life. And there are no intermediate stages.

But not for the Majority.

The Top.

Here they are – below and before him. All the Consulate. One hundred of human judges. Criminals and heroes. Killers of killers. Surprisingly small and ridiculous from this Top.

Does the life end to give a way to the Eternity or death is simply her continuation? The moment has finally come to learn this.

A rope around a neck – not the most honorable of deaths. But heroes have no right to choose – as well as killers.

The sun blinding the eye... above, above... so small from this top...

A blow – and soil leaves from under feet. Let it be so. So the Majority decided. A flash of light before dimming eyes. Only an instant.

Just a single instant.

And – the Eternity.

08.02.2010

## Bookkeeping

In this most significant for him day Artem Sergeyevich was, as they say, out of sorts. As a matter of fact, his spirit, which has grown extremely tired from a fifty-years life, was a flyer of sorts, soaring over a silently lying in a bed body, performing such sorts of air pirouettes, which would surely give a birth to envy in hearts of even the best of human stuntmen and acrobats. The body in its turn didn't show even the slightest signs of what is usually considered to be the only one given to a human life. And how hard did the spirit of Artem Sergeyevich try to bring it back to life! He even tried both slaps in a face and uppercuts – yet no to avail.

"What, did I really died?" the spirit, floating over a body, was thinking to himself. "Silently, touching and warning in advance no one, died in a dream? And for what's sake was all that, I would like to know? And where should I, as a matter of fact, go on now?"

Whatever you may say, but hard is the realization that you are still alive and standing nearby an already breathless corpse, and not every Artem Sergeyevich can easily bear with it. Having performed some more dozens of somersaults and finally convinced himself, that he is indeed a little bit off himself – at least habitual to himself – the spirit of Artem Sergeyevich silently sat down on the edge of a bed near his last vessel and got lost in thoughts.

"What did I live for – and for whose sake did I die? What was the meaning of this, so suddenly ended life, if it turned out all of a sudden that it was not the only one? What is life and why do we need death, eventually? Where have I got and what do I do now?" these and a great number of similar to these questions soared in a consciousness of incorporeal Artem Sergeyevich, and the lack of clear answers to them forced his spirit to become more and more out of sorts.

He was distracted from these sad afterlife reflections by someone's soft coughing behind his back. From a surprise, the spirit of Artem Sergeyevich made yet another somersault, turning towards a source of the sound. Directly in front of him a beautifully looking – perhaps even to a degree of how Artem Sergeyevich thought about himself some thirty corporal years ago – a young man with snow-white wings was standing.

"Ghm!" perplexedly said Artem Sergeyevich.

"And kind spirit to you as well!" the young man said in reply.

"Who are you, actually, and what's your name? And why do you creep towards me to silently?"

"You can call me as the Guide of the Other World", the young winged man replied kindly. "I was sent here to help you to orient in these, so to say, unusual for your circumstances, and further to accompany you through all necessary instances."

"Indeed! Circumstances are truly unusual," agreed Artem Sergeyevich. "I have died, damn it! And I had thought that I would live forever! It's absolutely unusual!"

"In the highest, that is, in spiritual degree," smiled the Guide. "Not every day we are given a privilege do die, isn't it? Though some people began to consider that they have been dying since own birth... So, are you prepared to move further?"

"And where shall we go, I would like to know?" Artem Sergeyevich interrogatively raised his eyebrows. "Don't I need to say a final goodbye to my relatives? I, by the way, had two children and a wife in this former world. It's very unlikely that they will rejoice of hearing about my sudden death."

"I am afraid, Artem Sergeyevich, that they won't be able to see or hear you any longer. If only through dreams – but you will have to ask for a special permission in the Department of Dreams in that case, and at present times it's seldom given to, so to speak, temporarily and untimely resting in peace ones. Therefore, we should move forward together, there is no other way. Especially when control periods for passing through necessary social instances are strictly limited. So, are you ready to go with me?"

"Well, if I have no other options left..." the spirit of Artem Sergeyevich made a helpless gesture with its translucent hands.

"You had a broadest free choice when you have lived in so habitual to your physical world, Artem Sergeyevich. And now we must accurately follow well-established procedures."

Having that said, the Angel, who has called himself as the Guide, raised own covered with feathers hand, drawing a spiral in the air. With each newly made pass of his hands, this spiral was becoming brighter and more visible and finally turned into a gracefully looking sparkling tunnel.

"Transition between the worlds," explained the Guide. "Some people see it by themselves when they leave own bodies. Let's go," he continued, having taken Artem Sergeyevich by hand.

Two figures – one of a casting golden light Angel and a gray-brown figure of Artem Sergeyevich's spirit – bravely stepped into the tunnel. At first, something pinched in the eyes of Artem Sergeyevich, then started to sparkle, then sparkles began falling down, his head started spinning and from what he has seen somewhere inside these tunnel labyrinths he finally lost his consciousness...

***

"Scatty one you've got this time. He even didn't manage to pass through circles on his own."

"Few are capable of doing that now. Therefore, they send us more and more often for them, you know that well."

"And I should guide a suicide spirit tomorrow, his term of near-earth tortures has just come to an end, and term for spiritual pain has just started."

"That's not a big deal. I was once given a mission to guide a couple, who for the sake of eternal love, as our opponents inspired them, jumped together into the industrial tank, filled with sulfuric acid. You'd better not see, how their souls looked like when their term of Transition has finally come..."

"Cranky ones."

"Well, they are not the first, and surely not the last."

"Looks like your ward got recovered at last. His consciousness resonates from a surprise on awakening, I can feel it even from here."

"Yes, precisely. Guide him to estimators. Man, he will be surprised."

"Well, till our next meeting in the sky, brothers."

"So long."

With these thoughts, by means of which he communicated with his colleagues from department and hierarchy, a young white-winged man went with a fast pace to Artem Sergeyevich, who was lying on a lawn's grass of emerald color.

"It's good to see that you have finally regained consciousness," he answered with a smile to a spirit of Artem Sergeyevich, which was drowsily looking around. "I had to lull you somewhere in the middle of our journey, because due to the nature of your earth affairs the route, that we were obliged to take, as well as inhabitants of these other-worldly tracks were not the most pleasant ones," he added quietly.

"I... what... where... oh!" barely managed to mutter our hero.

"You are in a special place now, on fields of restoration and healing. But we need to continue our journey because we are already somewhat out of a required time schedule. By the way, while you were resting, I have already managed to bring all necessary informational materials to the department of returned souls, including your family tree, data on your lifetime affairs, habits and hobbies, merits and demerits. Therefore, at present time we, my dear fellow traveler, need to proceed to estimators in bookkeeping department, and after that – vast waiting halls will wait for you for a whole million of earth years. As writers of your world said – 'One million of years before doomsday'... or the end of darkness. It depends on your final score, calculated by estimators in the bookkeeping department."

"What sort of... bookkeeping department? Is that a business of... sorts? Sales of tunnel attractions or souls?" muttered half-asleep Artem Sergeyevich.

"Oh, by no means," the Guide burst out laughing, "no sales at all! Our accountants neither buy nor sell human souls, don't you worry. They are engaged in the estimation of their quality because only qualitative souls will be taken into account. Well, and how qualitative is your soul by our standards, you will learn soon enough. I am, by the way, will be interested in knowing that as well," the Guide smiled politely.

With these words being said, he took a soul of Artem Sergeyevich on his hands, made a jump from the ground and soared up into celestial heights.

***

"Good afternoon, Rael," smiled the young white-winged girl in a celestial-blue dress. "Newcomer?"

"And in a first-person," answered the Guide, lowering Artem Sergeyevich on a habitual to him soil, which had a shape of shining in bluish shade floor. "Registration department must have already sent you his data, check incoming messages. You calculate and estimate him now, and I will be waiting in a corridor, all right?"

"Certainly," smiled the estimator, who obviously liked Rael. "So kind of you to carry him by yourself. People have become noticeably weaker recently. Unlike the times when the leader Jesus personally descended into their world..."

"By the way, I wanted to ask that a long ago, – does your program takes it into account? Well, weakening of human spirit?"

"It does," Angelina smiled. "But that's a minus, as you certainly understand."

"I do..." Rael answered lingeringly. "Well, I am waiting in a corridor there. Come in, Artem Sergeyevich, take a sit."

"Take a seat!" repeated the accountant and moved up a chair to Artem Sergeyevich, who unwillingly sat down. "So, let's take a look..."

Within ten minutes the girl diligently typed something on the input device of her visor, and then uttered:

"It's a real pity, Artem Sergeyevich, but it turns out that your balance score is negative. Minus one hundred fifty absolute points. And we, unfortunately, have no plans to take souls with negative balances on a balance of the new world."

"What does it mean – negative? What kind of calculations are these? What sort of absolute points?! Madhouse of sorts!" Artem Sergeyevich's spirit was indignant.

"You see, in calculations of quality of human souls we use absolute points of Light. Unlike the conventional financial points, which are being used in your physical world and have blinded so many souls of their adherents, we use the evolutionary measure that is not subject to time. Here, I will show you," and with these words, the girl took a long printed-out sheet and gave it to Artem Sergeyevich. "Here, for example, your care for your family, – its worth was estimated to be equal to a hundred forty-five absolute points. It's an average result because you have been very little engaged into education and upbringing of your children, having shifted these duties to your wife, and devoting the most part of your time to building a career. By the way, summed total results of your labor feats turned out to be equal to fifteen absolute points, – that's a very small amount, because the social usefulness of your work, associated with the deception of people, wasn't high at all, and in this job you didn't show much diligence. And for the treason of your wife – performed twice, it worth noticing – you get minus forty-seven absolute points..."

"Wait a moment, wait a moment!" cried Artem Sergeyevich. "Why is it only fifteen points?! I am a Holy Father, believer, I turned people into your belief, led them to the Christ! What, have you decided to mock your loyal servants?!"

"Wait a moment, wait a moment!" laughed the accountant. "Why do you persist in calling yourself a saint? Saints by our criteria are those souls, whose balance exceeds ten thousand absolute points. And regarding the believer... you see, but due to those events, which have taken place many centuries after our Jesus arrival into your world, and your attitude towards him, we ceased to use that concept in our calculations. It was fair for the first Christians, but nowadays every idler is ready to beat breast and call himself a believer – and we don't even speak of how many souls have been tortured, exhausted and corporally killed for the sake of that 'belief', and how many self-deceptions were made due to illusions of its presence.

Therefore, we no longer use your pseudo-belief in our calculations, we use the concept of 'soul dignity'. Tell me, Artem Sergeyevich, is it worthy in your opinion to urge to kill gentiles?"

"I did no such things!" muttered our not-really-a-hero with rage.

"And how many times did you call your belief as the best ever existed, do you remember? And how did you publicly derided those, whom you called as atheists on your sermons, have you forgotten? And how proud you were of the power of your faith and your readiness to kill anyone to keep it strong, should I remind you? Why don't you believe us now, when we are telling you about you? And your wish to a pedestrian, I quote – 'Where the hell are you going? Rest in peace, walking creature!' – which you have made exactly a day before parting with your body, when you were rushing inside your BMW through city streets and have nearly brought him down, costed you, for example, minus five absolute points. Here, you can check it all by yourself. Everything is measured correctly."

"Why do prayers for souls of our parishioners have a negative value, aye?" Artem Sergeyevich continued to be angry while reading an estimation sheet, issued to him.

"Because you demanded from our Supreme Commander, whom you traditionally call as the God, to add a certain amount of absolute points of Light to these souls, which in most cases don't deserve that at all – and you seek to get a reward for similar generosity by yourself in the form of those conventional financial points. This also concerns your prayers based on schedule instead of call of your soul – they are estimated to have a small, yet negative value."

"Well, you know!" Artem Sergeyevich got furious, "you will condemn each and every one that way! Even saints!"

"No, saints are the best judges for themselves, even during their lifetime."

"And what is there... five and a half thousands of absolute points?!" Artem Sergeyevich cried out from surprise, having seen with a corner of his eyes one of the lines in the estimation sheet of another soul, that was lying on a table.

"Rescue of a soul," Angelina answered with a smile. "Absolutely sincere and real. Plus, five hundred absolute points for the rescue of a cat, whom this woman cured, having sold out a part of own hand-painted pictures for these purposes. Her art and creativity, which has inspired several other men to develop own talents, was estimated to be worth two and a half thousands of points. Our scales are extremely accurate, Artem Sergeyevich, have no doubt of it."

"Go to hell with these scales-mails-miracles!" Artem Sergeyevich exclaimed in a fit of temper. "Where do I sign here? I sign here and go to my rest place for a million of years! I deserved that!"

"Wait a moment!" suddenly exclaimed the heavenly accountant. "Our system shows a change in your estimated data. The matter is that... your wife... she learned about your double betrayal during your lifetime, but... just at this moment there, on the Earth... she forgave you and asked us to help you in any way possible. Now your balance is... let me see... now you have zero points, Artem Sergeyevich. Well... probably, I should congratulate you with that. Now you have a chance, whether you deserve it or not, – she added quietly."

***

"What a bitch," thought Artem Sergeyevich to himself while being led by his Angel-Guide to the halls for a very long awaiting of the Court. "Though by the end of my life, but she had finally made something worthy. I beat her in youth for a reason, not for nothing!"

"Zero... a total zero," thought the angelic Guide, while looking through the estimation sheet, issued to his ward.

"Saint..." thought Angelina with a smile, watching how the balance of soul of an artist and Artem Sergeyevich's wife, who has saved his soul this day, confidently overpasses the mark of ten thousand of absolutely unconditional points.

11.08.2017

## Bureau

This particular day of Anton Pavlovich's life went awry from the start.

At first his lawyer for divorce proceedings called him by phone and with affectedly false regret in own voice notified Anton Pavlovich that the second apartment in a center of Moscow, which Anton Pavlovich has honestly acquired by not-so-honest work can't be kept in any way because it's considered a shared property, acquired by him along with his nowadays almost ex-wife. Then some sort of fool from Godforsaken insurance company called him and offered "new unique property insurance package with fire-protection included" – and this, together with a sad fact of his country house, which has been burned almost to ashes by a lightning strike about a month ago, sounded almost like professional, even though accidental mockery. In a doorway of this exact Moscow apartment, which has been bought on money from pension system fraud, his new mistress Jessica has been already waiting for him and with a languid voice she inquired, when her "sweetie daddy" is going to buy her a new promised mink fur coat instead of an old one, given to her by a former lover. And this new mistress, to be honest, was quite a black sheep – but his previous unmarried concubine Victoria demanded such thorough and capital investments, that it was much easier and cheaper to hire some east harem than to continue satisfaction of her growing not by days, but by wallets appetites. And at this moment Anton Pavlovich could do nothing better than to form a false smile on his tense face and go together with Jessica to a new boutique.

What can we say? That regrettable for Anton Pavlovich day was destined to come to a failure from the start. Anton Pavlovich was pressing on his car's accelerator pedal so hard, trying to get rid on the way to the boutique of one thousand of annoying thoughts, which have been importunately biting his raging mind, that he didn't notice how he has exceeded allowed in the urban environments speed limit of sixty kilometers per hour. Or maybe just this last hour became like a whole life, stretching into its own eternity?

Fuel truck drove into a cross lane absolutely unexpectedly. It's, however, quite possible that it, along with its driver Vasily Ivanovich, who has become quite drunk after a recent quarrel with own wife, along with Anton Pavlovich and aforementioned Jessica have all been waiting for this year, day, hour, minute and even second of this most fatal meeting? Alas, the answer to this uneasy question is hidden from us in faraway informational archives of the universe, and we are unable to satisfy this possible curiosity of our faithful readers. No matter what, but the moment when Anton Pavlovich and Vasily Ivanovich synchronously pressed on brakes, and Jessica stridently cried, hands of invisible to them clocks stopped for an instant, as if forever imprinting it inside a memory of the world, and then a second hand made its last "tac!" and stood still. Black tinted jeep crashed into the middle of a fuel truck at such a speed that fuel track rolled sideways – and followed explosion muffled even agonal shout of Jessica. Shockwave threw away two nearby cars and three pedestrians without inflicting them too much damage – for it was yet not their year, day, hour, minute and second. Huge fiery mushroom sparked over a place of tragedy – and then everything sank in a roar of a storming flame...

***

Anton Pavlovich opened his eyes, greedily grasping autumn air, which has been flowing along with sun rays through slightly opened windows into his bedroom. He slowly wiped his eyes with own fists, trying to get rid of a recent dreadful nightmare, and sat down on the edge of a bed. "What an awful dream!" – he was thinking, having not yet come to his senses. "Swindles, frauds, mistresses, road accidents... what our mind is capable of creating! Well, never mind, – the good news is that all of this wasn't for real, it was just a dream, a simple dream..."

That way, continuing to calm down himself, Anton Pavlovich was gathering for work. Having already had breakfast, having already put on his crimson jacket and sat down into a black tinted jeep, parked near a house, already ready for new honest and not so honest feats, he suddenly caught himself on a thought that it has become somehow unusually deserted in a yard of his high-rise building – no signs of cars, or pedestrians, or even some kind of stray dog, which wasn't traveling here anyway. "Perhaps, it's a day off?" – an afterthought flashed in still slightly sleepy brain of Anton Pavlovich. "Precisely, day off! No further than yesterday I have finally got divorced with my silly spouse and was going to celebrate that moment today in a bar with my friends!", – he remembered. "All because of that foolish dream! It totally drove me out of life!" Having repeatedly glanced over an empty yard of his house and having once again hemmed to himself, he struck pedals of his car and rushed through the gates.

Rare street pedestrians completely didn't fit into an overall image of populous capital – they, having slightly stooped, were slowly moving on streets and, it seemed, didn't look on each other at all. No sign of agiotage or any business turmoil and haste, so common for Moscow citizens... it seemed as if the city has become extinct – or have massively moved beside that distressful MKAD in a single incomprehensible instant of time.

There was no sign of a bar in the habitual address, as well as no waiter, who has been obligingly opening doors before visitors. Instead of familiar three-lettered word an updated sign said – "Bureau", while the first two letters of it have been written in black, and subsequent two – in white colors; and slightly below the following text has appeared: "Salon of comprehensive otherworldly services" – and in this inscription white and black letters were going in turn. "Madhouse of sorts", – Anton Pavlovich muttered to himself, slowly parking his jeep near bureau-bar. "What sort of bullshit these fucked marketing idiots do invent to attract more visitors".

"We are glad to see you in our salon. Welcome to the Bureau!" a good-looking young man in a strange suit welcomed Anton Pavlovich once he stepped over a spinning glass door of this building.

"Tell me, man, are all of you, folks, dressed like that here?" Anton Pavlovich questioned with a jeer in his voice, while fixedly looking into the eyes of this newly appeared waiter.

"You must be talking about my wings, right?" showing no sign of confusion, he replied in return. "Frankly speaking, I have been in that form since the time of my birth – which, it should be noted, has happened several eons before your own. And, answering your next upcoming question, – this combination of colors in our poster symbolizes Free Choice – a very useful for mortals trait, which is, unfortunately, hasn't been given to us. What else would you like to learn about the Bureau, my former workmate?"

"Workmate in what sense?" Anton Pavlovich was taken aback for a mere second, silly looking first at the waiter, and then deep into the hall of the unusual salon.

"In most direct and every day," quietly answered the man with snow-white wings behind his back. "A companion for all of your past life, which has been taking place recently. Absolutely, by the way, unnoticed by you," he added as if with a small piece of grief in his voice.

"Young man, are you even in your mind? To me you a total stran..."

"Then it's a pleasure to get acquainted once again!" young "waiter" smiled and stretched his hand, which was shining with some kind of nacreous glow, to Anton Pavlovich. "All of our services will be completely free of charge for you today! Just follow me!"

"No kidding?" Anton Pavlovich strictly raised his eyebrow.

"No desire to do so," the young man answered routinely. "I still have to bear responsibility for your course of life."

"So, what kind of entertainments do you offer?" Anton Pavlovich continued to pursue his own goals. "I was planning to meet here with my friends, by the way."

"With Jessica? Never worry, she is already expecting you here. I would even tell that she is exhausted from impatience," smiled White-Winger. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves and make it all right and in a correct order. According to our current action, we can offer you three of our most popular attractions completely free of charge."

"Wait, what – you even keep a circus in your pocket?" Anton Pavlovich burst out laughing from own unsightly joke.

"No, no, may the Lord be with you! The circus is on the Earth, and we are different. What Lies Beyond, so to speak. We are currently carrying out an unprecedented action – we are telling all our future clients what is awaiting them in advance."

"How's that?" Anton Pavlovich showed a sincere surprise on his face. "In advance?"

"Well, you see... sometimes we are given permission to act that way. We already created similar actions... for example, about two thousands of years ago. We passed information regarding this action to you through one remarkable individual. What was his name... John, it seems. And his second name was so sonorous, as far as I remember, the... Evangelist, right! And today... well, you can see for yourself to what strange methods we should resort today."

"So it turns out that your action is almost termless?"

"Well, you are certainly correct in some way. We just need to remind humankind about it from time to time. But let's get straight to business! You surely haven't got in touch with art for a long time, am I right, Anton Pavlovich?"

"I have pictures on walls in my home, modern kind. And bookshelves with some... classics," answered Anton Pavlovich, trying to remember which classics were there.

"Then it's a due time to get in touch with what is nowadays eternal. Welcome to the Cinema of Memoirs! Allow me to open a door for us..." and the White-Winged young man waved his hand, drawing something in the air. In a couple of seconds, a most real gateway appeared just in front of Anton Pavlovich's stunned physiognomy – it was casting a same nacreous light like the one coming from hands of his unexpected interlocutor. "Follow me!"

"That's how technology advances..." Anton Pavlovich hemmed to himself with astonishment. "What sort of inventions can scientists-physicists create. All thanks to western sanctions, no doubt!" he assured himself and stepped into the portal.

***

The room, in which both of them have appeared, indeed reminded of some sort of big Moscow movie theater – except for the audience, which consisted only of him and his mysterious fancy-dressed colleague.

"Fourth row, eighth place," White-Winger noticed with satisfaction, taking a seat near Anton Pavlovich on a next chair. "Your place."

"Why are we sitting so close? Let's take places far away from a screen to better see all demonstrated events, there is nobody here except for us anyway!" Anton Pavlovich muttered discontentedly.

"Unfortunately, all other places are already reserved. They just seem as empty only now and only for you. Everything is actually much more complicated," replied White-Winger. "And this place is just yours, for exactly when you were forty-eight those events, which you have recently 'seen' in a dream, have taken their place in your life."

"And how did you learn about my recent dream..."

"Pay attention to the screen!" young man interrupted him. "Movie of your life is already starting!"

Large screen in a cinema hall, which reminded with its carved decorated edges some mirror from Middle Ages era, lit up with nacreous light, showing a small bed with protective partitions, where a small child was sleeping peacefully, smiling in his own dream.

"Memoirs of your life, beginning from the time when your consciousness has started awakening. You were about half a year, apparently. At that time, you were totally innocent, Anton Pavlovich," young man commented on scenes.

...Meanwhile scenes continued to replace one another. Here the child uncertainly takes his first steps, stumbling and falling on a bottom. Here he diligently pulls a spoon into his mouth, being afraid to miss, eating porridge "for the father and for the mother". Here he embraces a kitten, which was a gift in his childhood, and his eyes shine brightly with sincere children's joy. Here he plays on a playground along with other children with steam locomotives toys, and here he takes a ride from a top of icy winter hill. Here he sails ships in autumn pools, which reflect a sky in themselves. Here he lays down together with a mother on a bed and hugs her in a sleep...

"They say that all children are precisely like Angels," with a grief in his voice noticed White-Winger. "And adults are more like demons. These are the purest and sincerest memoirs of your entire life, Anton Pavlovich," he continued, observing how a tear crosses a cheek of his former "workmate".

...Pictures continued to lead their own life, replacing each other as in a kaleidoscope. Here the young "mean" man is being accepted into the Institute on protection. Here he goes to night parties with fellow students. Here parents present him with a luxurious expensive car and he uses it to the full to shine and flaunt before girls of easy behavior. Here he visits night bars and striptease clubs...

"It's hard to tell the exact moment where everything has started falling down into the abyss," White-Winger commented on scenes once again. "Whether it was my personal oversight, wrong education of parents, false life values of society or first and foremost your personal vital choice, Anton Pavlovich? The court knows that for certain – and I, to my own regret, don't. I am left only with a hope that both of us will be given one more chance."

...Images continued to float and move one after another, creating a unique feeling of repeated presence on own antecedents. Here an adult graduate of legal academy becomes an official. Here he runs roughshod over other's feelings, deceiving and profiting on human laziness, stupidity, and fear, – believing sincerely that he lives only a single life. Here he brings a mistress – first, second, third, yet none of them is capable to bring him back that long-lost feeling of life's joy – the one which has been living side by side with him only during a faraway childhood. Here he desires to tear all of this false life apart and become a hermit – but strong, too strong are now for his weak will his former affairs and ties...

"We demonstrate here only the brightest of your memoirs, which have been imprinted in a memory of your soul instead of a brain – and therefore became potentially immortal, having transformed into some kind of déjà vu. All other life's nonsense, monotonous and gray life, boring and disliked job, frequent and repeating quarrels with your wife, which have brought both of you to a divorce – all of this was forced out from your brightest memoirs and therefore hasn't been included in that movie. It was all kept in your personal record in Archives where we will soon go," commented White-Winged "waiter".

...Now pictures almost fly, promptly replacing each other just like years of life, rushing aimlessly before their owners, drenching them with the dust of life's roads. New financial swindles, new "none will be the wiser" deeds, new quarrels with his wife, a new mistress – Jessica. Day of their meeting in a second Moscow apartment, trip on a jeep. Fuel track, which has appeared on the intersection of roads, pressed against the stop brakes, the terrified soul-tearing squeal of his new passion... TV screen suddenly went black and light in a hall turned on as if symbolizing the end of the movie session.

"Why... why has my movie ended on this shot... the very same from today's dream. Why, may demons tear you apart, is that so?!" Anton Pavlovich angrily seized his white-winged interlocutor and started shaking him.

"Let's not use the collective name of these spiteful beings in this place and context, Anton Pavlovich. You may happen to meet them face-to-face a bit later," calmly answered white-winged young man, dexterously freeing himself from a grasp. "Let us better proceed into the Library of Fates, or, as some of us briefly call it, – the Archives. I do believe that your stay there will be able to shed some light on this question that torments you so. Shall we go?"

"All right, we go," muttered Anton Pavlovich. "And then to my friends and Jessica."

"Without a doubt," confirmed young man. "They are eager to meet with you as well."

A waving of hand – and once again a familiar silhouette of a portal appeared before Anton Pavlovich, along with a shining road that was leading deep inside it. Here he takes a step into unknown depths of this strange door and...

***

The Library was astounding. While movie theater somehow resembled the similar one in Moscow, the Archives, apparently, contradicted all imaginable earthly laws of physics. Their carved regiments ascended to such high infinity, that it was absolutely unclear, how they could even stand still under a mass of all the books that were filling them. Huge shining tables from unknown material and mobile ladders were obviously created totally not by human measures. Corridors branched and twisted, connecting and disconnecting somewhere in a far distance. Some warm lilac light was shining from a ceiling that was totally hidden from human's sight. Fragments of floor melodiously ringed if anyone was stepping on them. Somewhere in a distance a sound of murmuring springs and singing of birds could be overheard.

"Here we store the history of all ever lived and still living beings of the universe, which do have a soul," suddenly materialized before Anton Pavlovich white-winged companion answered as though to himself. "We constantly supplement it and therefore Library continues to grow, as it's said between us, – not by days, but by fates. As you can see, it by no means intended to be visited by humans, – but we have been allowed to prolong our action for a little bit more."

"Wait, are you trying to tell me that here I can get an answer to any of my questions?"

"Any question, concerning the past, yes. And the future of each soul-given individual in particular and of the worlds, in general, has many possible outcomes and depends on that Free Choice, which I have already mentioned earlier. However, access for you here is denied anyway – mostly the staff of Department of Fates Control, which is located nearby, manage here the process of transfer and obtaining of information. They are frequent guests here, by the way."

"What-what department?"

"Fates. Control. Humans included. What's unclear? You see, Anton Pavlovich, your mortal life on the planet Earth... how should I put it more clearly... is not one of a kind. It's just in the last time you were named as Anton Pavlovich, and before that... and how you were called before that you can learn exactly from one of the books, located in this wonderful library. The book of your destiny, which you have been writing with own deeds. You acted – and we fixed these acts, and wrote them down, and kept here. We have even shown you these books once – through mentioned John, remember? Your civilization must have kept records of his visions."

"And... why do you write down all of this? Do you write down everything?"

"Everything that is related to Free Choice, yes. We store it for future Court, of course. So no deception can take place. Some soul-given live beings in this universe decided for some reason that they would be able to deceive us, 'to move around a middle finger', so to speak. Well... let them try," White-Winger burst out laughing. "We will write down this Free Choice as well, and take it into account in the Court."

"And what do these employees do here? Are they here now?"

"Most likely here, but they usually stay in a working wing of the Library, and we are in a guests' section right now. You see, some of the events, taking place in your physical world, – they, how should I tell that... are already predetermined in the highest world – by chains of your previous Free Choices, and sometimes by the will of the Supreme One himself. The staff of this department carefully watches for compliance between the fate and affairs of each soul-given live being of a physical world, and if necessary verifying its accordance with a plan of his new life, created by the individual before his birth and written in his personal book, and if such necessity arises – they try to correct fates of beings so that they can manifest themselves in a best possible way and realize all their inborn potential. Unfortunately, in a case with your civilization of a Milky Way, it's hard to achieve that goal – the beings calling themselves as humans became too willful, evil-willful, and perceive attempts of the staff of this department to correct their distorted destinies as a chain of life's disorders and troubles."

"And can I... see the book of my lives?"

"Now you can," confirmed White-Winger. For an instant, he touched Anton Pavlovich's breast with a palm of his hand, and then waved in the air – and several moments later a weighty book from a top shelf of one of the racks smoothly descended on it like a planning bird, having automatically opened itself on the first page.

"Vibration code of your soul," the interlocutor explained to Anton Pavlovich. "It's easy to find a necessary book by it. So, what did you want to learn?"

"Here... what sort of lines and points are these? I can barely see familiar letters in this book."

"These are maps of your previous Free Choices. You must understand that each choice bears certain consequences along with it and opens the opportunity for new ones, and together they all form maps. Points symbolize moments of decision-making when you choose one of the options from a set of them. Numbers above arrows are probabilities with which you would have chosen one option or another at the moment of your choice. These diamond-shaped figures indicate a degree of influence of related choices on choices and fates of other people. All of this may look a little bit unclear in a two-dimensional plane – but I, unfortunately, cannot show you at present moment spaces with more than three dimensions, however, I can assure you that in such spaces these books are read much more simply and pleasantly."

"Useless paper crap of some sort and practically everything is unclear!" Anton Pavlovich sniffed angrily, vainly trying to find the moment of his meeting with the ill-fated fuel track in an artful design of signs.

"The language available only for chosen ones," his interlocutor smiled again. "First and foremost for the staff of the Department of Fates Control."

"Let's get out of here while the going is good," Anton Pavlovich added biliously, "to my friends and Jessica."

"Well," sighted interlocutor. "For preliminary Hearings then!"

***

"...Okhrimenko Anton Pavlovich is to be summoned into the hall of Heavenly Court for carrying out preliminary Hearings. Guardian Angel Michel is appointed as the lawyer of the defendant, Demon-Tempter Zakhurat is appointed as the accuser. The defendant and specified companions from his last life have arrived, Hearings are to be considered open."

These words reached Anton Pavlovich's hearing just at the moment when a portal, opened by his "workmate", has transferred him with a soft melodious sound into completely new surroundings, which were resembling a court's hall that has become habitual to him in a mortal life.

"I... what... where... what for? What a foul setup is that?!" muttered a newly teleported defendant, puzzly looking around himself and having not yet come up to his senses after so hasty change of space and own role.

"I shall explain you everything later, we will have time," White-Winger winked to him while going to the judicial stand of white color, which was intended for him. The opposite stand of black color in another corner of the hall was occupied by dreadfully looking being with a tail, horns, and hoofs.

"The accuser, what can you tell us concerning last given to the defendant's life in a galaxy of Milky Way on a planet formerly known as Gaia and nowadays being called simply as Earth?"

"T-h-h-h-i-i-i-e-e-f-f-f..." mischievously hissed a creature, vomiting sparks of dark flame from its mouth. "F-o-o-o-r-r-r-n-i-i-i-c-a-a-a-t-t-o-o-r. K-i-i-l-l-l-l-e-e-e-r-r. T-a-a-a-a-k-e-e-e a l-o-o-o-o-k..."

Suddenly images started materializing in a center of the hall, reminding former ones from a movie of his – Anton Pavlovich's life – they only had more than two dimensions this time. A shot was replaced by a shot, showing everyone how Anton Pavlovich gives and takes bribes, meets with mistresses, indulges in alcoholic euphoria, and so on and so forth. This demonstration was finished with the last shot of the infantile-surprised face of the fuel truck's driver and frozen in time shouting face of Jessica which looked almost alive.

"Quite a convincing presentation, Tempter. It's obvious, that we are dealing with violations of three precepts and commissioning of three types of mortal – I emphasize, mortal! – sins. Does the protection party wish to have a speech?"

"Yes, your honor, I do have a wish," and, having that said, Guardian Angel waved his wings and new images started floating through a center of the hall. These pictures now demonstrated how little Anton Pavlovich gently embraces his mother before going to bed; how he shares toys with other children from his yard; how he comes to the rescue of a school friend when teenagers from nearby district try to kick him to the death; how they walk in a park together with his beloved and future wife, how they truly love each other, at least for the first time...

"We thank you for that presentation, Guardian. The episodes, which you have provided, demonstrate that despite for a chain of serious violations of Heavenly Law, feelings of human compassion, justice and love were not completely alien for the defendant, which makes his soul potentially capable of Atonement. Whether the accusing party wishes to add something else?"

"W-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-s-h-h-h-h-e-e-e-e-s-s. K-i-i-i-l-l-l-e-e-d-d-d o-o-n-n-e-e-s-s," horned being hissed once again, having clicked a floor of the hall with its tail.

And with these words the fuel truck driver Vasily Ivanovich and mistress Jessica materialized in a center of the hall each from his own portal.

"You!" Jessica immediately cried out with rage, having hardly managed to jump out her portal. "My murderer! If I have only known that you would ruin me that day I wouldn't ever approach you closer than for a mile! And I need no fur coats from you, ever! Rascal! Beast! Killer!"

"Brother, you what... aye? Why you drove so... to red light? Didn't you see... you go?" Vasily Ivanovich addressed Anton Pavlovich inquiring-puzzly. "I left my children there, my wife... who will support them without me, aye? You are a fool, brother, fool as you are!"

"Are there are any witnesses from a defendant's side?"

"Yes, his mother."

And once again a portal opened with a melodious tune, and Anton Pavlovich's mother stepped out from it.

"I brought him up... as I could," she said with a whimper and pain in her voice. "In Christ's values. My husband was drinking, even though he was a banker. He accustomed my son to... fancy living... alcohol... my poor little son. And I... as I was able... in childhood... while he was pure... not to soil his soul..."

"Does the defendant want to add something? We should remind that, according to the rules, each and every of his word – whether kind or evil – can be used both as self-justification and as self-accusation, in compliance with the uniform Heavenly Law, established by the Supreme One."

"I... well... didn't know... what I was doing... I promise not to act this way from now on. To live with honor and conscience... and so on. Something like it..."

"All of them speak that way," someone hemmed from the hall of jurors. "I didn't know, I had no idea, give me, please, one more life..."

"I request to keep silence in the hall of hearings!"

"Forgive me, your honor."

"If both accusing and defending parties have nothing more to add, then I suggest ending the first phase of preliminary hearings. This court session is closing."

***

"Well... it could be much worse than that," summed up the Guardian Angel, brushing away sweat from his wings. "You still have a chance – not a bright one, but at least one."

"And you keep calling that as attractions? What kind of setup is that?! Return me back immediately, wake me up from this foolish dream! I still have a life, Jessica, divorced wife... I still have so many things to correct on this, how was it, Gaia!" Anton Pavlovich lashed out with fists at his newly acquired defender.

"Oh, my silly Anton Pavlovich!" sighted White-Winger with a grief in his voice. "You know what's the hitch is? You don't have a new life anymore! You have indeed died, my dear Anton Pavlovich..."

10.07.2017

## In the New World

When was that?

Sometimes it seems to me that all this has happened several minutes ago, even though long twenty years passed since these days. This is not a fairy tale – in any sense. This is a story of my life, its mysterious and unforgettable part, its guiding shining star. The beginning of my new journey in this world. If you would like – solar rebirth.

Our memory always keeps for us the most remembered and wondrous moment of life. And today, after almost twenty years, I still remember very clearly that brightest month. They, those days, clearly reveal before me – whenever I wish it, my memory repeats them for me in brightest details – each and every day from several dozens. Sometimes it even seems to me that some special sort of memory is holding these events... They remained in my heart – those days.

Now I am remembering those moments once again, and tears are sliding on my cheeks... These are tears of grief and joy, my friends. Each day and every hour is so clear...

***

"John, it's time for you to go home!" and worried mother appeared on a porch.

But the boy did not hear her – he was far away. They together with Jim and Laura – the little girl from the same city quarter were lapping in the river. They were scooping with their childish palms handfuls of water and with all available powers were throwing them into each other, pouring over with a sparkling water stream.

Here he grasped flowing water with both his hands and threw it directly into Jim, having poured all his face from top to the bottom. Then Jim, who was still throwing streams of water into laughing Laura, has somehow put a hand on water surface – and an instant later a whole water whirlwind has encircled him. A water shield has risen around Jim. He himself was turning in a water and beating it with hands – and streams flied in different directions from him, touching both the right (whom a Laura can be considered by right – for, after all, it was not she who have begun this attack on him!) ones, as well as guilty ones – meaning John, who had imprudence to pour over this water champion Jim and was not, being poured by uninterrupted water streams, have already felt sorrow for such a precipitate state.

However, this new water barrier and flying water streams, have, apparently, inspired all of them only more – they were laughing and pouring each other, no longer closing faces with hands from water streams, rushing in every direction by totally unpredictable trajectories, being sent by this or that party. Gradually he together with Laura, who have come to the rescue against this Loch Ness monster Jim, began to push him more and more to a coast – streams were beating in a face, he couldn't see Jim clearly any longer, but kept fighting. But Jim did not retreat as well – now he had time to throw water in Laura as well, and she has got no less pressure than John.

They were fighting and battling together with each other, and ringing childish laughter filled space and unrolled with waves around the place. They had lots of fun that day. Jim was finally pushed into a coast – and they together with Laura by the right of full winners poured him without future resistance from his side.

Then they chased one after another in a water, much like jambs of blood-thirsty sharks, as the very same Jim has noticed. Those who have been caught up were seized in water for heels a dragged on a coast. Most easier it was to catch Laura – after they managed to seize her by heels in water, she obediently went to a coast and waited there while they were chasing one after another. Then, laughing, she swam to them – and this time was chasing them, already fairly tired from the pursuit of one after another, and almost every time in that she prevailed. Well, certainly, they gave in to her.

Then there were wood walks and singing of birds in branches of trees. It was morning and they, having taken a seat on wood logs, were listening to bird's trill as if being charmed.

"Our wood brothers know how to praise light," I still clearly remember this phrase of Laura.

There were their joint hide-and-seek games in wood windbreaks and plentiful high bushes, growing there. There were descents from frosty ice slopes and snow games. There were falling in deep snowdrifts and friendly laughter of friends, standing nearby. There was a joy of experiencing such an enormous and wonderful world, opened before them.

They – these three – were only entering this life as children. They have been living like them from then on.

They... They – three. Now he is the only one left.

It was like a blow. No – it was much more terrible.

As though one thousand of flaming hammers have fallen upon you and pressed down so strongly that you couldn't even breath... As though some deep abyss is sucking you inside and you are unable to do anything... As though some invisible force is breaking and cutting you in pieces... As if you have ceased to live any longer...

And still, it was nevertheless – that particular day. Ten years ago – yes, then he learned that the finest friends of his childhood and youth, who have given him so much – Jim and Laura... – both of them have died. Both have left this world and he remained in it without them. "Without them. Without them. Alone. Alone. Alone," his consciousness was beating its rhythm like a hammer. "Without... them," echoing in consciousness words have finally merged into a pure excuse of a phrase – and he has fainted, having fallen to a suddenly approached ground.

He came to his senses afterward, though not immediately. For almost a year he has been coming to senses. This was indeed a great loss – a loss of, perhaps, the most valuable gift from life. But he has endured it. Has consulted because he had to. And because a heart – his heart which has never before cheated him, has perseveringly and constantly from that day of this loss whispering to him that this separation is not eternal. That they, three ones will meet again under the sun of another world, will meet once his path here is finished and debt is fulfilled.

But all this was later, many years before. And then they were bright children – and nothing and no one saddened their festival of life.

***

It seemed that this day was the most common afternoon, which happens exactly three hundred sixty-five times during a year for a detached onlooker. But it might seem to someone other – yet not to him. Not to him.

A ghost or a man? At first, I thought that I've encountered a true ghost when he carefully approached my home and greeted me. As if having appeared from nowhere...

I welcomed him, having sharply put my right palm to a head and then releasing it – for unknown to me reason men in military uniform often made this gesture, and so I have decided to try it out as well.

"Warrior," said stranger and smiled. "A true warrior will once come out of you," he added. He started talking. Asked me of my district and inquired if he can live somewhere here for some time till "it will be time for him to move on" – it seemed he expressed that way.

We – I together with Laura, who have come running to my house just by that time to invite me and Jim on Saturday picnic, which her parents were going to arrange – both have actively joined the conversation with a stranger, eagerly rivalry chattering and interrupting each other to give that man as much information as possible on why, for example, he is will be glad to stop in the house of aunt Zhanetta and don't need to even dare thinking of stopping in the "Night Rider" tavern. So we learned that ghost is called Richard. "Richard," said the ghost, "one of my favorite names".

When we finally finished our explanations and both stopped, having become fairly tired from such verbal outburst, he smiled and inquired whether he could stay in my house for a while.

"And why don't you want to stop at aunt Zhannetta?" Laura outstripped me with a question and looked at the stranger with the inquiring and interested look. Richard-ghost moved his eyes to a left-upper corner – as if reflecting on something. Then has somehow taken hands aside, having exposed his palms up as if asking someone unknown for help – so it continued for about ten seconds. Then he stirred up his head and once again has looked on us with a radiant look – till now I remember that wonderful sparkling of his eyes! – and has started talking once more.

"Decided to check one more time if I should stay where you have offered me at first. It will not be the best choice. I should stay for some time close to you for now."

We, of course, started asking him one after another of why he should stay exactly with us and how he has learned of that, and he replied: "You will learn everything in due time. When you will grow up, you shall understand. Warriors," he added and smiled. "Be not afraid, John, be not afraid, Laura. I will not cause you any harm. Warriors of good battle together – shoulder to a shoulder – and no against each other."

But... I didn't tell him my name! And neither did Laura! How could he possibly know them? Judging by Laura's face I have seen that she is a bit confused as well. "But how did you..." she started asking – and suddenly changed her mind, without finishing her phrase.

The stranger turned to face her and smiled.

"You want to ask yours and John's names? No, I didn't inquire people about you for that I have no need. You will receive the answer to that question as well, having grown up. Many things will open before you then."

He has told nothing more on that question and we haven't interrogated him as well.

"As I understand, a consent of your parents is necessary for me to live together with you?" and looked at us. "Well, certainly," he added again after five or ten seconds. "I will adequately pay for my accommodation and will not disturb you in my everyday life. However, if you", – and he looked at me and Laura – "will ever need my help – you can always address me while I am staying with you. I will be around here for about a month, and then I will have to move on for my path calls for me. Ask your parents and decide together whether will you accept me – and who from your parents may welcome me. I will come tomorrow afternoon. Good luck to you, warriors", – and, having this said, he has fitfully got up, waved his hand, parting, and suddenly disappeared behind a horizon almost as fast and mysteriously as he has come, having left us both in feeling of bewilderment and at the same time in sensation of some bright joy and presentiments of upcoming happiness.

At least I was left with such a feeling – but Laura, seemingly, as well.

"So, what are we supposed to do now? Did this man seemed... strange to you?" and Laura lifted her eyes, studying me.

"Strange? Yeah, that's true... he is strange... but still, I trust him for some reason. Don't know why. I trust him and believe in his motives," I replied.

"And so did I. I just wanted to know what do you feel. However, I don't think that my parents will allow him to live with us – too watchfully do they concern strangers, even to... such as..." and Laura sighted. "But yours will most certainly allow it! After all, your family is short of money now and they will use this upcoming possibility."

"Yes, mine will likely welcome his offer. He will stay together with us... with us... for a month," I said. One month... "Why for so short, just a month?!" word has suddenly escaped my lips and I hastily covered my mouth with a hand. What are these thoughts? Strange.

"Well, fine. I will come tomorrow evening and you shall tell me about him then. He is so mysterious..." Laura has favored me with her graceful smile, stood up from her place, has given up a lost farewell – much like that stranger – and has run to her house. Her silhouette was gradually thawing as if concealing itself in this morning haze – and soon totally disappeared from sight.

"It means, tomorrow. It means, month. Well, let it be so then," don't even remember from where did these thoughts came up to me, but there were some extraordinary force and internal consent inside them.

My parents indeed allowed this stranger to live with us. So has begun that wonderful and unforgettable month of my life, which has remained in my heart, remained – forever.

***

He was full of surprises and riddles, that Richard, and was extremely kind as well - and so we together with Laura, Jim (we couldn't conceal such an event from him, and he too started visiting me in my home to meet time and again) soon all three have fallen in love with him. Even now I can still remember our conversations with him, his brightly shining solar eyes and quiet and filled with internal might voice...

"Are you asking me of where have I come from? From a world – worlds. There are myriads of unique magnificent worlds out there. Your life lies in the endlessness. It's only necessary to move forward to understanding and beauty. And this world of yours – you can transform it into a blossoming garden as well. You hear me? You can! It's all in your powers..."

"Now you are living the life of a child, you notice and see a lot of things – those which the majority of adults have already ceased to notice – lots of fine things. You are living in a live world. Each day is truly new for you, and wonderful as well. This is true and fair, a fine perception of life. Others have to study such perception. Those who have forgotten that such a sensation is possible – they have to be reminded of that. Your joy of life and love – your and one of your friends – it's as though a key to a world. It will open all gates before you, it will lead you over abysses and give magnificent wings for a flight".

"Yes, indeed a joy is promised to mankind. People could live in joy if not have made themselves enter a circle of sufferings. I do not know why they have made this choice – but many nevertheless have made it. What sort of joy am I talking about? But you must have already experienced it! When you together with your friends were playing and frolicking – that was a joy of exploring the world. When you study surrounding world with interest – it's a joy of learning the world. You receive the joy of working as well. When you are in love and are giving your love to your neighbors – it's a joy and delight of love and giving it back. It's strange that some have lost this wonderful thread – but it means that they have to find it once again. Heart of theirs must they melt first! People passionately wish to be happy – and do nothing to make that happen. For some of them, every day is like a monotonous foggy image and their life also happens to be full of mist. But it's easy to lose the way and clue in a fog, therefore it's necessary for a heart to shine with love and joy – and then no fog imaginable will cover this ardent heart!"

"The one who is moving will reach once – I know, you have already heart these words – and they are true. It's impossible to sit in one place, in the 100th time raking up piles of own prejudices and unnecessary and insalubrious habits. One has to move on, to be inspired! The inspiration is necessary for men – but many believe that it comes only in some extraordinary cases. But it's always near us – only to stretch a hand. Only to start working with kind thoughts in mind - and inspiration will always be your faithful devoted companion on a life's journey."

"How have I learned your name? And how animals feel fear? How do people feel other's gaze? How the atmosphere of a home in which they are staying can be felt? Certainly, not all possess such sensitivity – but they themselves close own way with prejudices. But even those who possess, usually consider this sensation as sort of artificial self-suggestion. Extremely accurately and clearly feel some – and still do not trust themselves! Wave them away, refuse, while they could study these phenomena. But with such a difficulty do men accept everything that lifts their nature and their self-understanding, therefore for many indications of eyewitnesses are not enough – they judge of things in the world based on their own being. But your science can prove that – and it must finally pay attention to these aspects. Your science has already studied many laws of the physical world – but now the time has come to study laws spiritual one. Actually, you have been told of them so long ago – many centuries before, yet they remained the diploma on paper for many, which they respect, yet do not follow."

"What are these laws? And what have you been told? Love your neighbor, learn to find pleasure in any work, learn to be courageous, bring light into the world. Simple words. Great sense and wisdom - and knowledge as well. But how many people remember that every day and live like that?"

"Who am I? After all the first time I have come to you, you must probably have considered me as some sort of ghost, right? But as you can see, I am a live person as well as you. I am simply speaking of something of which many of you are still unaware. For those who remembered once but have forgotten – I remind".

"Why should I leave you soon? Because my way calls for me I will have to go. There is much to be made yet".

Such conversations we used to have in evenings. I, Jim and Laura – all of us gathered together before a house fireplace and like bewitched ones were listening to him. Probably due to a simple reason that he was telling the truth?

***

I clearly remember one day when the heart of mine was beating uneasily. I couldn't find peace inside me as if something sad was going to happen. I was going by our street when has noticed Laura and three adult guys who have surrounded her. Then the words and crying reached my ears – "Please, I beg you, stop it!" With all my powers I ran forward. The wind was beating me in face and picture was gradually opening before the eyes – three guys have surrounded her, one was holding her by the hair and two others were tearing her clothes apart. They were doing that and were not afraid at all. No one, nobody from rare passers-by tried to interfere, even though together they could stop this violence.

Still running I have snatched one of them and tumbled down – began threshing with fists without looking. The desire to protect Laura was burning so brightly in my breast that I didn't feel pain when two other guys abandoned crying Laura and have seized me instead. I felt no pain when one of them took me by my hair and another by a jacket so that I couldn't move any longer. I felt no pain when they started beating me in my breast. I felt no pain when has fallen to the ground and they began kicking me with feet. I felt no pain by that time. The pain has come later.

A small stream of blood was flowing from injured nose and lips, leaving a viscous red trace on a sidewalk. Three guys were guffawing and undressing crying and begging them not to do it girl – begging in vain. I don't remember how much time has passed – I ceased to remember. But the subsequent events I remember extremely clearly still.

"You shall now leave her alone and move away while you still can. Immediately!" painfully familiar and now already cold as steel voice ringed in the air.

Hardly moving my head I still managed to turn it and have seen standing nearby me Richard. Not like that, totally different was his voice when he was talking with us – now it was somewhat rigid and filled with great inner force at the same time. I badly remember those instants – my eyes were dimmed by some red fog – but still remember some things nevertheless... Hearing his words those guys have come off the crying and groaning Laura and turned to face Richard.

"Now!" repeated Richard and made several more steps towards them.

"Oh yeah! Who's the fucking shit are you?!" one of them shouted in response – but there was no more than defiant impudence and self-confidence that was before.

"I said now! There will be no repeats here. You can back off, I will not touch you for you have yourselves created not the best consequences by that act. But now you will be cleaned away!"

"You try to expel us, goat!" – already obviously defying, the very same guy shouted.

Then Richard stepped forward, sharply raised his right hand up – during that instant as if some fiery blade sparkled in his hand – or, perhaps, my grown turbid consciousness has already started to dement me? – and he exposed his hand forward.

"Why the heck are you afraid of him? There are three of us, and he's alone!" the very same ringleader cried out and, probably having decided to set an example for his allies, sharply rushed towards Richard, exposing his fists forward.

He bashed at Richard with all his force – such a pressure should simply tumble Richard down on the ground. It seemed to me that during that instant of their collision something has flashed around Richard... anyway, I clearly saw how the tyrant who has bashed him as if hit a stone wall instead. He simply ran into him and was knocked away – and Richard has not moved at all, totally not stirred. Not a single iota. The tyrant instead felt to the ground, moaned and then went silent. Two other guys, already being frightened by his appearing, have abandoned Laura and started running away with all possible haste. They were not pursued.

I do not remember what has followed. I regained consciousness being already at home – and the pain wasn't felt any longer. I stood up and soon found Richard. He was silently sitting at a fireplace – it seemed that he was dozing, his eyes were closed. I didn't disturb him and went to look for Laura instead. I found her in the next room lying on a bed, sleeping. Her wounds were tied up and there were not, not torn, clothes on her. It seemed that sleep overcame me once again after that. When I woke up again, both Laura and Richard were unsleeping. They were sitting near the bed.

"Ah, woken up," said Richard and smiled. "Rise up, warrior. Your wounds have been healed and you are ready to stand in line once again. You will have to do it before the upcoming era of trials".

"I... I feel no more pain... totally. How could I recover so quickly?"

"Yes, and Laura feels no pain any longer. The pain has gone. I have cured you, though it was not an easy task – however, I have already rested for now."

"But how did you...?" Laura started asking him, but Richard raised his hand as if calling for silence, and said "Questions will go after, but for now you have to rest. Take a rest, warriors with lion hearts," and he left a room.

***

Then there were our talks with him once again. There were even more many joyful days. These were unforgettable days. Probably, the best ones in our lives.

And then he left us – and we remained alone. In the next morning, he got up and told me that today it's time for him to go.

"Where to?" I asked.

"The way I have chosen," were his words.

I began crying. I started crying when he told that he is leaving us.

He smiled and said: "Don't cry, we are not parting ways forever. Perhaps, we shall meet again one day. Farewell, warrior, and do remember of the days of upcoming trials!" he once again habitually waved his hand and sent his steps into a new revealing way.

We were standing shoulder to a shoulder – I, John, Jim, and Laura. I watched him with sad and full of hope look. Laura hung down her head. "Farewell," she whispered quietly. "He will return," said Jim. "We will meet him once again".

***

I regained consciousness from memoirs.

As clearly as now I still remember that wonderful month – and the next years of my life, accompanying it. I have never met this man again. Sometimes I even start to doubt – whether he is a human? Who is he? Wiseman? Prophet? Simply a person, according to his words, who have come to this world to remind people of their duty and show a bright path?

I have no idea. But I certainly know the one thing – his word has given me life. He has shown me a wonderful world in which we, we, people! – can live. If we desire it and choose it, if we will not be sitting idly, swimming in swamps of own prejudices, but move forward instead. If we shall truly love. If we shall rejoice life.

Yes, yes, yes! He has shown me a new world – the world of Life. He has pointed to surprising new possibilities available for a man. Whether we will desire to live in the light? It's up to each person. I cannot make that choice for everyone. Everyone sooner or later, but inevitably – will make his own choice. But I have already made my own, and so I do answer to a fine – yes!

I answer to beauty – yes!

I answer to love – yes!

I answer to joy – yes!

And to the New World I do answer – yes!

08.01.2005

## Your choice, mankind!

A blinding light of neon advertising struck in the eyes.

"Only here! Free sex! Men-women, men-men, women-women! All possible combinations! Only 20 credits for an unforgettable night! Make yourself pleased!"

And just nearby on another building – "Virtual sex with world stars! Feel yourself famous!"

A slow turning. The first, second, third building – everything sparkled with red and crimson fires and suggested to feel "true taste of life", as it has been written on a signboard of the next stocky construction, inviting "grandiose inhabitants of our capital" to take unique part here and now in summoning of "powerful spirits from underworld" under the direction of "the great prophet", whose name "is so powerful that cannot even be said aloud".

People were passing on nearby – they all were dressed in some sort of dark clothes and their faces were turned towards the ground. It almost seemed as if they didn't notice him.

What a strange world is that? He didn't remember himself living in it earlier.

He slowly moved forward, studying city vicinities. He had no more doubts that he somehow appeared inside a city.

Streets were lightened up by long lines of dim lanterns. "And how can they distinguish anything in such a darkness? – an overdue amazement came to his mind.

But the ones living here apparently didn't desire to notice anything, except for but few things. Here some bent townsman ran into the nearest building. A newcomer turned his head to behold the 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 strike back! 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 the 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 does 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 do 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 silent 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 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 afterward.

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

He observed a planet and its continents. Observed, how dark stains started forming and growing in various areas. Observed, how light dots appeared in different locations, they too grew and extended – and faced the dark waves – and disseminated them. But there were so few of them – and running waves of darkness absorbed many, leaving no trace. Gradually dark stains filled all continents one after another – and in these moments some sort of crimson flame surrounded them – and they disappeared from a planet's map, being covered by a massive dark cloud. During such instants, a wild inhuman laughter filled a space and forced him to clamp own ears.

And then the earth suddenly started shaking and he has fallen to the ground, being knocked down.

It seemed as if the whole planet started tearing itself apart. Cracks started forming on the ground of all visible streets – and underground fire began breaking its way from these holes. A new tremor threw him aside.

The very ground started blazing. Unknown underground fire formed small ardent spots at first, then lines, still merging and uniting, absorbing all new grounds. Fire stole up to buildings and they – mysteriously – started burning as well.

Yet inhabitants of this grandiose capital apparently did not care at all about the disaster that was taking place. Through open doors of a close sex-dance club, he could see, how crowds of people, still densely embraced, were spinning and shouting something in frenzy – in a building that was already blazing.

"They will lose themselves, they are gonna to die! I have to rescue them!" – thoughts blazed in a consciousness of a mind, filled with a pain.

"They have already died for now," a voice came out from the depths of a mind, "it's not in your powers to aid them for now. They made their choice. They brought the destruction of their planet with own thoughts and lives – and their own destruction as well".

A fire, which engulfed the building of a sex-dance club, has been growing stronger with each passing second – all floors of a building were now burning.

Finally, the fire reached a bottom floor – in a single instant it absorbed frenziedly shouting and loudly laughing men... and during the same instant, everything has abated. Only the flame continued storming and its reflections shined through the once impenetrable streets. It was all going on only for several minutes – simple several minutes, which have been engraved in his memory for the time being since then. Almost like all subsequent pictures.

The picture changed. City disappeared.

He stood in the middle of magnificent branches of green trees in some unknown garden. He raised his head – and sunrays shined on his face. After terrific crimson flames of a city of darkness – oh God, how wonderful that was! Clouds and birds were slowly floating on a blue sky, a freshening invigorating wind was blowing in the face.

He observed the sun of a live world, he saw the light. Darkness was gone, it just vanished – and was no more.

All that remained were the cool wind, blowing in the face, green branches of trees, birds, roaming the sky and a feeling of happiness, which has filled his soul.

A cry of joy breached from his breast – he has been shouting loudly for long. He was alive among the live ones once again. He was in the live world.

And then he regained that mystical ability to oversee the whole world at once. To behold it clearly.

He saw green fields, stretched over continents. Saw men, working and living on them, there were smiles, playing on their faces – there was no doubt, that they were glad to live and work here. He felt the very atmosphere of joy, invisibly embracing the planet. He observed how people worked with enthusiasm – artists, poets, common plowmen, and workers – from young to oldest. There was no unnecessary and unimportant work here.

He saw that all – and his soul was on the seventh sky.

He observed, how light spots appeared and started growing, how they extend and light up continents, how these shining beams rise to the sky – and heavens of the planet answer them with a dazzling bewitching light. He saw how the planet's atmosphere is purified and cleaned from dark beams – and how men start breathing with relief. How they sing with joy and smiles start appearing on their lips...

He saw so much more. These were the minutes, forever engraved in his memory.

And then a different world suddenly took over him.

***

"Hey, John, what's going on with you?! Stand up, John!"

"Ahhh... what's with me?"

"It's better for you to know, I guess. We were traveling through a park and all of a sudden you swayed and fallen to the ground. Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Yeah... all is... is well."

"What happened?"

"I... I don't know. I just... simply saw two futures. And two choices... totally different ones. Like the earth and the sky – different... two roads. Do you understand? Two paths for men – for mankind."

"Two choices? Two ways? What are you talking about, John? It seems that you have indeed hurt your head too much during falling. I have no idea of what you may be talking about."

"Oh, nevermind. Very soon you shall feel it – and understand everything. You will be given your choice. Each of us will be. And as for now... how do you think... let's go for a competing run till the end of the avenue?"

02.01.2005

## Believer

You are a faithful one, right? Say, a true Christian, strictly carrying out all Church rituals. Greatly, immensely devout person. Every week you go for a church on a prayer and a confession, and thus that soul of yours stays in a condition of the highest harmony and purity, thoughts are virtuous to the extreme degree, and deeds of fair and kind nature never cease streaming from those hands of yours. Possibly, wings are gonna to grow at your back already soon, and you will soar up to the heavens much like a divine angel, which are being painted on icons so often. You are simply magnificent. And is there is truly anyone in this world greater than you and deserving to be saved in a greater degree?

Here you are coming back from a recent confession, and your face shines in a blissful smile, for you are truthfully and without serious hesitation has told a priest of your recent sin, and he has forgiven you. Now, obviously, you have nothing more to worry about. And that sin of yours – such a trifle! – some sort of small financial swindle with the orphanage. They aren't going to receive their money – whether that such a serious trouble, you wonder? And you had to spend only one-tenth part of that fortune in order to "pay for services" to your favorite and all-forgiving priest, – and here you are, pure like a heavenly angel, – so very convenient! Having no sin you will never confess, right? Last time a rape cost, however, slightly more, – but what one won't make for the sake of his own soul, yeah?

And what magnificent furniture was there in that temple, what sort of carved icons, candlesticks, candelabrums! You were really stunned when you were beholding all this luxury. One can make anything for a true faith, right? And what sort of faith would that be without all this gold magnificence, right? True disbelief and faithlessness!

You were almost ready to enter your black BMW, conveniently parked near temple walls, when has noticed a lame beggar, hobbling to your direction with a stretched hand. He, certainly, has asked you in the name of God for money to buy some bread. "Take it and choke!" – you have muttered and thrown him a handful of coins. I have said previously that you are such a devout person for a reason – you are the very incarnation of mercy! When your car with a wild roar and having let out a cloud of smoke darted off on new affairs, this beggar was still creeping in a lap on stone blocks, continuing collecting copper coins you have thrown. How deeply have some people fallen! And you are, undoubtedly, have risen so much higher above them.

What an indescribable pleasure it is – to feel oneself great! Higher, more mature, more worthy, more just, more believing, more devout than the majority of your colleagues. That's why you come here for prayer after yet another business day so often. You ask God to save your pure soul and banish to hell the souls of all your enemies. And then you gild the hand of your favorite priest a bit. Certainly, you are not totally confident that God indeed does listen to similar prayers, and that was indeed He who have helped you make a fortune through deceit and robberies, but... whether a temple can be a place of worshipping neither the God, but his rival instead? Bless you, well, certainly no! They are investing such amounts of money into these temples for a reason, right?

Oh, what a convenient thing it is – money! A universal remedy of purchasing, even, for example, that very prayer. Indeed, you had to pay quite an impressive sum in due time, but all church's brotherhood along with is head was praying for the peace of soul of your mother-in-law. For the soul of a woman so hated by you that must have been quite an enchanting resting in peace! Now the main thing you must do is to avoid such rest yourself.

You are beyond doubt an extremely devout personality. Always you do buy Easter cakes with eggs and comply with the Orthodox position. Drink "holy" water from the local church. Buy candles exclusively in affiliated and licensed temples. You have even joined all-church orgies a few times when parishioners together with priests were howling some hymn. And thanks to the accurate observance of a post you even lost three kilograms of body weight from those thirty which you have accumulated during the last year. Such is it, the essence of your true belief! And whether is it possible for a belief to have another essence and goal?

Take your unloved brother, for instance, – never did he visit the church and doesn't concern himself with business at all. Works as some pity unskilled worker in buildings construction – and feels quite happy. How surprisingly little do some men need to be happy!  Lives his own life along with a wife and two children in the one-room apartment. And during a meeting – just unbelievable! – each time in conversation thanks God that He has given him a lovely wife, job and two wonderful kiddies in addition. And somehow he even mentioned that he prefers not to believe, but to trust a God in his life. What a silly fanatic... extremist! Probably, that's the main reason why you have definitely broken all relations with him a couple of years ago. You have no need for faithless religious fanatics with all their nonsenses, right?

And nonsenses happen at times – even absurd do. Recently you heard on the TV how during strong thunderstorms lightning did accurately hit the tops of several city churches, but... a mere accident, yeah? And what is a life if not a casual and accidental thing? As well as death, probably. For they certainly cannot too be in the hands of God, right?

Surely, you are the very incarnation of a devout individual, for along with other similar ones you keep parasitizing on God and believe that worshipping a golden calf is the worshipping of the One, whose hidden presence in your life you never did have a chance to feel...

21.08.2011

## PPP

If there are only goats all around you, it's unreasonable to consider yourself an angel

Totally not belonging here proverb

Believe us or not, but no longer can we suffer and hide that recent history from you, happened with us by the will of life, for do we feel it, accurately somewhere under the rib from left side, that marvelous and unusually this story is, with meaning still unresolved by us, and crazily instructive. And therefore, having a talk among us, we decided to tell at least a little, so that can you understand from it at least something, and a desire to change yourself acquire in a proper time. For otherwise it all can fail and fall down through the earth, yeah, just like in the PPP we describe. Well, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

And do write down for you that history we are – simple rural men of the Newworldish village, Kirill and Mefody. But please, with these letter-makers and alphabet-creators do not confuse us, for many times were we blamed for it, for they say that we, apparently, invented this great and mighty Russian language – we mean, chattering, foul one, yet did forget to add necessary and required words there, so ours men sometimes missed these words in their disputes greatly. And didn't we invent it, yet only used! Especially when all that property of our guys along with PPP have fallen down there, oh, how greatly have we used it – so that even invented new words precisely like some Kirill and Mefody, yeah!

Well, so, looks like we got acquainted with each other a bit, told you of ourselves. Especially that particular Kirill who have advised me to write down this particular story for particular future generations to be educated and advised.

So, believe us or not at all and check it all for yourself... but how could it be possible we don't know, for all that PPP belongings of ours has been locked underground for several years by now, and thus are unable really to be a material evidence of sorts... but everything happened precisely as we are going to tell you here and now.

Living we were all in our Newwordish village and knew neither the sadness nor the madness. To kids women of ours gave birth, and we together with them brought them up on mind, reason, and chastity. Crops we collected plentiful so that rye and wheat still remained for sale to nearby cities and towns. And cows ours in farms gave milk normally, and hens made eggs large, and sheep were full of fur, and cats exhausted mice completely. And relations with each other we had fine and harmonious – and such good that we didn't even sweat between ourselves at all (well, unless, say, we take yet another bottle of moonshine on holidays and don't share it among our men properly – for, yeah, in that case such wall-to-wall fights could take place that only whistle, ahs, ohs and dust to knees was carried throughout all the village, that's right). Well, brothers, not a life it was, but a fairytale practically! Yet didn't we value that tranquility and peace seriously, and for real pennies for horrors other-worldly did we exchange them, and of that mistake we have been grieving still.

And here how the story goes. Somehow overseas merchants arrived from Newdevilish village. And merchants they were because in clothes were they dressed unusual – men in some jackets black in color with canes and hats, and maids shameless with them in dresses short semi-transparent. And from Newdevilish village cause they said us so, even though we have heard of the village with such a name for the first time that time, and haven't seen it with own eyes, thankfully. And why overseas ones they are we don't know, for by the form their external and manners very strange we in our private circles so settled and decided afterward. And also noted we and were surprised greatly that instead of horses habitual and common were their vehicles driven by pigs big, and no drivers did they have at all so these pigs mentioned could move them anywhere they had a whim of their own!

And so they all left their vehicles ruled by pigs and started to call themselves with names unusual – Smiths, Bobs, Johns, Susans, and Varvaras and the like. Did say they that have already heard of the village our worthy, and therefore decided not to forget of us as well – and have arrived, thus, to look at us and study us. To learn our customs, as we understood it, and to adopt ones of their own in return. But turned it out, brothers, accurately according to a nipple system! Imposed they did theirs customs harmful to us, and ours they derided and mocked after, unfashionable and out-of-date them calling. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

They stopped at first in our local tavern for a week or so, so that they can, well, examine our village on "prospects of innovations", as they decided to express themselves unclearly. And to pay off at first they wanted not with copper coins of ours that sound, but with some pieces of green paper with pyramids and eyes painted on them. Greatly were we surprised by such money, and didn't want to accept them at first, but convinced they us naturally that always easy it is to exchange pieces of paper these with ugly faces of people on their reverse side drawn, for almost anything we desire, for the entire world is being bought and sold by them for these pieces. Ooh, didn't we scent their dirty trick at that moment, stupid ones, for in calmness and tranquility of our world, until their arrival which has been remaining, very trustful we managed to become and didn't think anything bad about visitors.

And so at first a week or so passed, and then the second one came, yet lodgers didn't even think of leaving. And were they traveling through the village and inquiring both men and women ours of something, and showing them something, and winking. Tempted them with their devilish dresses and addictions without a doubt – yet didn't we understood it at first, the moment that critical missed and passed by!

And so it turned our finally so that both a tavern and yard our coaching we have been stripped at once! Tooth we are giving to you that it all was the way we do describe here: woke up men ours early in the morning by a cock's shout and decided to walk by dews to breath fresh invigorating air. And voila – see they that our tavern is gone without a trace! And would it still be fine if lost this trace was in some fire – for a brand new one better than the former would we build, with a new milk instead of vodka that was offered there. But no way – instead of a yard our coaching and tavern there was some monster tall made of concrete and glass as if the sun itself eclipsing with a paunch of floors spreading wide!

And on the first floor letters, golden enormous sparkled with all colors and shades, and the only word with three letters there was imprinted and was that word PPP. For long have we been guessing after that of what this word could mean, and as we could remember agreed that Profound Public Place is that, and why did we call it that way – soon you would understand it, as soon as the history of our grieves you manage to read up to the end. And were floors rising up and up in this building, and there was no visible end to them at all, uprising – and knowing people, there often afterwards dwelling, told us that there were exactly nine hundred ninety-nine floors out there, yet the lift there did not go higher than the first hundreds of floors in village of ours, yet it' said that in PPPs similar in big cities was it rising higher than that.

And how building that huge and enormous in one night could grow like a mushroom after some acid rain, we have no idea of – and the owner of a tavern, as we remember, was too shocked greatly and grieved at first of his institution, and often guests our overseas surprising accused in that, as if they possessed such magic powers to construct in a night such vast immodest objects – pigs they are, in a word, and blighters. And as if in the water was our Arseny looking, as if was feeling it all in advance!

Rushed we afterward, as remembered, through the village altogether, seeking those guests unusual, demanding them to answer for that crime of construction, yet no matter how hard we tried to find them in gates, cellars, even sheds, but disappeared they totally without a single trace to catch. Left, probably, by that night from the village of ours as far as possible, by pigs being driven. And let they rot! – decided we, and went to examine the new building. Oh, people kind and smart, better it would be if we didn't do that, for enticed us all this PPP afterward and drugged seriously!

Almost everything was available inside it, oh brothers! Both casino cash-stealing and perfume stupefying, both flowers artificial and dinners gut-filling, and clothes fashionable shameless, and gold with ornaments soul-blinding, and gadgets various peeping and humming and time-consuming, and wines overseas intoxicating, and magazines colorful vulgarizing... And grasped was the spirit of many of us, and in crowds were we breaching into that PPP, and for all day long have been wandering there and circling by floors and lanes these infinite, and back to their families, and children, and husbands, and wives didn't want to return at all.

And the payment for pleasures these harmful there was, as we remember, unusual as well: at the entrance to corridors there were standing machines made of iron, and, well, to shake out some money from these devices one had to put his finger in a hole special and wait until some needle pierces his finger and sucks away a portion of his blood – and as if in exchange after that short-term operation pieces of papers these green with eyes and ugly faces on them were dropped in a tray a bit lower. Not so much of them were dropped one at a time, to tell the truth, so that if someone has been hanging for all day long in that PPP mentioned, for many times to machines these he had to run towards, blood his donating, and was unsteady and pale sometimes by the end of the day, yet was still running and lots of pleasures and delights in PPP was buying as if some addict or drunkard really, and maybe even someone worse than that. Precisely like vampires, these machines were acting, our Russian blood from due to our weak willpower for each day drop by drop they have been drinking!

And changed everything in village our that day, like a snowball pulled hard and downhill started sliding! And often, as we remember, it was that comes someone from our men by early solar morning to another and offers him so loudly and cheerfully: "Ivan, let's go living already!" And receives a response back drowsily and inertly: "Can't you see, Emelya, – I am PPP today!" – and went afterward in that PPP, Profound Public Place, as we called it among ourselves, and have been spending there all day long, so that word this, PPP, soon nominal became by itself.

And soon almost everyone started feeling totally PPP, and many there, in PPP that harmful finally degraded and almost like cattle they became. And so hard and awfully soon it became to live that one could start howling from a grief due to that state his indifferent! And many, naturally, started howling in life – but not on the moon, surely, yet on their neighbors like wolves spiteful. And started swearing with words foreign, from overseas, and hating each other and banishing, for everything became totally PPP to them, even to remain kind, probably.

And for many months has this tragedy lasted, and as if charmed men have become. Soon afterward it became known as well that machines mentioned, one's blood gathering, they were not that simple as they looked like at first – blood they were pumping, and in response some substance poisonous in blood they were injecting, so that some women and children of ours died from that poison overseas, their PPP condition being unable to sustain. And buried they were quite fast, and cried about a little only falsely, and very few people that commemoration visited – for totally PPP it was for them everything by that day already. And whether you do believe us, brothers, or not, but a sun our shining as well began to come to a horizon even earlier than before, so that dark time became longer. And cocks ceased to sing, and hens to give eggs, and cats as well were totally PPP to catch a single mouse.

And don't we remember exactly for how long these troubles have lasted, – yet clearly, we do remember how it finally ended. Our grandma, local healer, Praskoviya, was almost the only one who has not entered this ill-starred PPP at all. And once after her husband, well, having swallowed some wine and smoked some smokes, returned back home as always, soul of hers didn't sustain that and shouted she in a fit of temper, as we could remember, the following: "And may all that PPP of yours fall underground once and for all!" And literally in that particular moment (if her husband Mikhalych, well, who have secretly whispered all this to us after sobering, doesn't lie naturally and shamelessly), the ground in all our village started shaking and moving like waves, as if not a ground that was at all, but some sort of sea instead. And so it was all shaking and moving for some time, and after that – yawn! –a hole enormous under that PPP opened, and all it along with the unfortunate ones who were in it during that time have fallen into that depth infinite, so that the third part of our village disappeared there in no time suddenly, in that gloomy endless depth.

Like a crater enormous that hole was! Ooh, how terrified were we to look at it for the first times! And shouted there in a hope that someone would respond us back, yet only the dead silence has always been an echo. And several days after the earth started trembling once again, and linked on the place of that hole and closed it as if there has never been anything on a place of that tavern ill-fated. And Praskoviya aforementioned became mute after these events– and couldn't utter a single word any longer, only swinging was she her hands silently from time to time, that's it.

And may you believe us or may you not, – yet life started adjusting and correcting itself after events these terrifying. And as if regained consciousness people, and awakened, and this PPP came to its ultimate end. And started living peacefully with each other once again, with kids, and husbands and wives their time sharing. And days became longer, and nights shorter, and cocks started singing once again, and hens eggs were bringing, and rats ran away and got lost somewhere. Remembered well people that lesson dreadful, and threw away all PPPs from their souls, living justly.

Yep, so it was all exactly like that as we, men Kirill and Mefody, have told you here! And not a single bit did we muddle events of the days of the past, only probably a little in details most insignificant dispersed – but that could happen to everyone, yes? And whether you trust us or not – is not the business of ours, for the business of ours we have already fulfilled right now, – and the business of yours is to read all this, to think over it, and get rid of all those PPPs once and for all!

08.09.2012

## Warrior of Odin

The loud roar – a furious war-call filled the area and forced to shudder, apparently, even the sky. Hundreds and hundreds of warriors were running towards each other, dressed in sparkling chain armors and inexhaustible fighting passion was sparkling in their eyes. There was neither doubt, nor fear – only a thirst of battle and a war fury – to kill the enemy before you fall on the battlefield yourself. But those who have fallen in a fair fight are winners already, they are destined to enter the sparkling halls of Valhalla and the almighty Odin himself will lead them into new battles forevermore. Let him guide them into this struggle for their enemies to fall before the power of the mighty Odin!

A blow – a turning. A turn – a strike. The joy was filling him – finally, a battle which he has thirsted for so long, a decent struggle once more! A waving of hand – battle ax falls upon a helmet of the enemy – and he heavily falls to the ground. Another swing – and a blow of monstrous force dissects a chain armor of one more. Drops of blood, streaming from a body of the enemy... repeated blow – and a new enemy has fallen. Here his fighting comrade swings too – and practically splits into two parts another foe.

There were no rules here – and nimbler and crafty sometimes prevailed. A sword, which has fallen flatwise on a back of his battling friend... some sort of squeezed rattle, coming from his throat. Here his comrade falls on a knee, trying to turn and strike back the attacker – but the attacker, who has sneaked from behind, strikes again, this time with the edge of his blade – and it breaks off chain armor plates... One more instant – and everything is finished.

In such instants, he ceased to feel the pain. He ceased to feel the weight of his weapon, for the hundredth time striking into iron plates, he ceased to feel time itself. A shout of desperation and pain broke from his breast – pain from the death of his friend with whom he has been diving one bread and hardship of war marching. He has been twisting and twisting his lethal weapon, feeling no weight – and enemies scattered before him. Most brave – or stupid – perished instantly. More careful preferred not to get inside the dance of sparkling steel. But enemies were many and their number has been, apparently, only growing.

Shouts and groans. Sounds of clashing blades. Battle was boiling.

***

The battle has been raging for a day – and warriors of Odin have prevailed. Only a hundred warriors from former several thousand...

"Glory to the Great Odin!" the battle shout was carried around, once the last enemy has fallen.

"Glory to the Odin!" many warriors repeated in an echo, him including. They have won the battle, they have prevailed once more. Their fallen brothers will stand in the light halls before the Great Father – for new battles and new victories. And one day he will meet them too...

***

He moaned. In powerless fury punched a table with such a force, that it has almost collapsed half-in-half.

Why, why, why? Why should he do that? Words fell into silence and were dissolved in it without a trace. Words were gone – yet his inner voice did neither abandon him nor give a chance to rest. No longer a voice of the warrior of Odin.

Monastery. Why should they attack this monastery? This is an unworthy battle! Murder of innocent ones for the sake of looting of stronghold's treasures...

And he, he must lead his hundred-warriors squad – only to see how monks fall under blows of axes and swords, having lifted their crosses highly and begging their unknown to him God for protection... This will be a massacre instead of a battle – bloody slaughter because of avidity. And he, one of the best, will be their leader... and he cannot refuse for the price for that deed is a death and eternal damnation, forever depriving the one of entering into the golden chambers of Odin. Why doesn't he have a choice? Why must he exterminate defenseless ones – not warriors in any sense?

Or must he?

He roared in a powerless frenzy. Swept up on the house. Then grasped an ax and started smashing everything in the vicinity. Then somehow ran across a butt with water and tipped a head over there. This helped. He returned to his senses, calmed down.

Has been silently sitting, reflecting. So an hour has passed. Then he has sharply and fitfully risen up, as though having solved for himself a question of utmost importance.

"It is decided," he thought clearly, "it is decided".

***

They were landing ashore from war galleys and he was commanding them – warriors of Odin. Warriors of a god, deadly for their enemies.

And battle shouts and enthusiasms were born once again. His brothers-in-arms were almost the same – yet their enemy was different now... Here the last of warriors is descending on a coast – now he should lead them into battle against yet unaware of their presence defenders of a monastery, that has conveniently arranged itself on a slope of mountains one kilometer away from here.

"Now or never. Now or never".

"Warriors," he cried out. "Great warriors of Odin, who have won in hundreds and hundreds of battles for the glory of our God! We are daring and courageous, and Odin leads us into the righteous battle! The fate of our enemies has already been sealed, for Odin himself directs us!"

A loud shout of approval was his answer.

"But I call to you, warriors. Whether we are going to fight for a worthy purpose for now? Whether a battle that is awaiting us is worthy of the glory of true fighters? We are obliged to destroy foes of ours – but whether they are real enemies for us? We have always battled worthily and have finished battles as conquerors – yet we will not leave this fight as conquerors, brothers! This fight is not ours, it will not lead us to the glory and golden halls. We must not conduct it!"

Rows of warriors started arguing. It seemed as if they all were greatly confused.

"Even one, a single one from you, support me, brothers. At least one courageous enough for that..."

"Yes, Hrothgar said right! This battle is not ours!" and one of his soldiers stood forward, saying these words. "I too have thought of that when has received my task to go under his command – and I have decided that this fight is not a deserving one. We will find no glory in this battle, but rather kill those who are unworthy to fight against the Warriors of Odin!"

Warriors started whispering among themselves. Some were winding heads in confusion, looking at what others were going to do. Yet this did not continue for long – totally not long. Only several dozens of seconds.

"You are the traitor! You dishonor victorious fighters! You are unworthy of entering the halls and will be forevermore damned for that cowardice!" Another warrior came forward as if almost spitting out these words in him.

"Betrayer!" he repeated and has approached Hrothgar, highly raising his battle ax. But during that moment the one who has supported Hrothgar has blocked his way and unshakably risen up in arms, being ready to fight – or to die. They are really going to die here soon – two against dozens...

And so he spoke again. Convinced them of an error, which they were almost ready to make. Urged them not to start this unworthy battle. Told of better battles and worthy encounters. He tried to find all those words clear for them – speaking their language, which has almost become distant for him.

And while he was speaking, another dozen of soldiers left the ranks and stood nearby him – in their eyes, there was the same courage and readiness, if required, to die here – as well as in his own. Yet entire thousands of fighters remained motionless. It seems that they are really going to die today – and be subject to eternal damnation for this apostasy...

"Listen not to this coward and liar! Each one, betraying the mighty Odin in battle is losing the right to enter His halls forever. Cowards are not welcomed in the halls of daring! Let us wipe off these traitors and liars – and start a great battle! Attack, true warriors of Odin!"

Accusatory words once again – and the ardor of warriors is flaming up. Confusion is disappearing from their faces to be replaced by fierceness and pitilessness once more...

"Well, brothers, we have to die here today," he mentally addressed eleven true warriors. But they perfectly understood him even without these words – only have stronger seized their weapons in hands and moved closer – shoulder to a shoulder.

An instant – and one hundred warriors are rushing towards them.

An instant – and weapons are clashing.

Instants – are like eternities themselves.

Here twelve warriors stand shoulder to a shoulder, ready for fighting and dying.

Here the first run up enemy swings his blade – and his blow is beaten off.

Here more and more enemies are coming – and blades are striking tirelessly – they, these twelve, didn't feel weariness this day.

Here the first of them is wounded – and they stand closer to protect him inside the formed circle.

His war cry, which was carried far away by a wind. And here the first wave of enemies rolls back from them as from an indestructible barrier. But enemies assault once again – and two more defenders are wounded. The circle closed even tighter and attacks became even more furiously.

First, second, third, tenth, twentieth... Enemies ran up and were forced back away from them – like from impenetrable wall. But there were many... so many of them... Here only five defenders keep fighting – the others have either been wounded or killed.

Four... three... two...

Only he and the warrior who have first stood for his defense remained. Here he turns to face him – and great wisdom and understanding shine in his eyes.

"Let us battle, brother!" and he stands to his back, protecting.

So, standing back to each other and striking aside incoming blows, they have held for two more minutes. And then almost seven dozens of warriors have crushed them and overwhelmed – and rushed to a monastery, encouraging themselves with wild roars...

***

Instant? Eternity? How much time has truly passed?

He didn't know – only remembered his last fight – one of twelve fighters – and a final blow of poleaxe, which has crushed him.

He didn't die? He didn't... Enemies have considered him dead and didn't finish off...

But... if they haven't managed to resist them... it turns out that monastery has been plundered and razed... They haven't stopped them, they have failed...

He moaned – even not from incredible pain, swirling throughout all his body, but from an aching sensation of melancholy and grief. They couldn't stop them... He and eleven nameless warriors...

Having made extreme efforts and cried from a cutting pain, he managed to rise up. About thirty warriors lied motionlessly before him, having silently observed the sky. And among them were his courageous fighters. Died ones... Let they, worthy ones, be not damned, but blessed instead – and find peace in the world they are traveling to now!

He looked around – there was no sign of war galleys. This means that the fight has already finished and warriors sailed back home. It means the monastery cannot be saved anymore... But maybe someone managed to survive the attack there. Somebody... even if one of the monks is still alive – he is obliged to help him, obliged to come for a rescue – that way he can at least rectify his mistake. Besides, he hasn't a way back, for now, he is both the exile and a cursed one – damned by his own people... let they consider him as dead instead.

Still constraining groans from intolerable pain, he rose up and slowly started walking in the direction of the monastery. One thousand meters, just one thousand meters... his debt.

He walked and fell. Then rose and walked again. And fell again. Then he started creeping by the ground.

Probably, a day passed. Possibly, a whole eternity instead. He knew not – he had one purpose and one way for now – and he was walking it. Even being practically flat-out – was still walking. And when at the long last strong walls of a monastery appeared before his obscured look, he has risen on his weak hands and smiled.

"I have found you at last," his lips whispered silently, and he fell unconscious.

***

Quiet sad song. Someone's hands, sliding on his face. And then – a cold water stream. He groaned and moved.

"Alive!" he heard through a veil, enveloping him.

Alive. He lives still. What for, if he wasn't able to fulfill his duty? What's the point? He tried to open own eyes – but only some vague red haze welcomed him. Then he closed them and submerged into a dream.

He slept and slept. From time to time he woke up for about ten minutes – and then fell asleep once again. When he has woken up again and tried to open eyes for one more time – the bloody mirage has gone. And then he has vaguely distinguished a human figure inclined over him and heard her voice – a tender voice of the girl.

"Sleep, it's still too early for you to move. Wounds haven't yet healed. Sleep". He didn't resist a dream.

Then from time to time he woke up to hear her voice again and tried to distinguish her face through a haze – and failed to do that many times. But that memorial day came once when he has roused without assistance – and both his sight and hearing have cleared up.

"I have found you at last," suddenly almost-forgotten words came up to his mind.

Yes, it was a girl, still very young, probably seventeen – eighteen years old. Only an adult hardness could easily be read in her eyes already.

And then he dared to ask.

"Where am I?"

"You are in our monastery," the girl answered. "In my monastery," she added and sobbed.

"You... you have helped me... Why?"

"You are not from those who have attacked us. I have understood that immediately. Our... my... brothers... have misled attackers into woods... to find their death there... survived barbarians returned here... and plundered the monastery. All those whom my brothers have overcome in battle remained in the woods – and you have approached the front of monastery walls instead. If you were among the attackers – you wouldn't even risk doing that. You are not from the ones who have killed my brothers," she said solidly.

"Y..y..e..s... t..ha..ths... so..." he uttered quietly with still disobeying tongue.

"Then why have you come here?" and she moved very close to him, studying his face with her demanding sight.

"I wanted... desired to stop them... and... couldn't... forgive... forgive me, if you... still can."

"You wanted to aid us?" her eyes opened widely in surprise, "why is that so? You are a one of their kind... you have stood against them?"

"I... couldn't... allow... slaughter..." words came out very slowly and hardly from his throat.

"But it had taken place nevertheless... However, what difference does it make for now! Take a rest, sleep – and tell me the rest afterward."

She was right, he required a rest now – lots of rest – and thus he plunged into that attractable dream once more.

***

He woke up and felt her warm hand lying on a forehead.

He decided to keep his eyes closed – only tried to listen to her measured breathing. When at last he opened them – she removed her hand from his forehead, and brought a sponge to his face, impregnated with something cold.

"Woke up, did you?" this time her voice was much more affable, than the last time, "alright, stand up, now you should be quite able to do it."

He tried to rise – and for the first time in many days, his body obeyed him. He sat down on a bed and with a cleared sight looked at her. She was surprisingly beautiful – at least she should be considered as such by the measures of her people. Fair hair was stretching down to shoulders, the smile was playing on her lips – for the first time in many days. Her eyes reflected own vivacity and at the same time some form of adult firmness. A white robe she was wearing.

"H... how much did I sleep?"

"A week, for almost a week you have remained here. Ate very little, has been practically sleeping for all day long. You, probably, don't even remember that for now – minutes should have passed for you, I guess."

"W... why have you helped me?"

"You strived to help us, after all, yes? Even if you... if it wasn't possible for you then... you still weren't among these barbarians. I was obliged to lend you aid, it was my personal debt. Oh, if only you have come here in time... were on time... but what could you possibly do against one hundred of fighters..."

"N... not alone. I wasn't battling them alone... there were... twelve of us. They all... died."

Following these words, tears came out on his coarse cheeks – but he hasn't allowed himself such inexcusable weaknesses before at all.

The girl smiled somehow sadly and with a hope at the same time.

"All in all, there are still those men on earth who haven't lost their heart, still they do exist. A pity you couldn't help us. But what twelve soldiers could make against one hundred..."

"You said previously, that your brothers have died..."

"Yes, barbarians slaughtered them all. I was the only sister of this monastery... and the only survived one. Only to mourn over their death."

And she, despite all external firmness, started crying.

"How have you survived then? Haven't they touched you?"

"I... have hidden in a monastery. We had... a secret... entrance... and tunnel, leading from a monastery," she was speaking, still sobbing, "I have survived a storm in there, how my father has ordered me... However, this storm has destroyed everything close to my heart..."

It seemed that she would be totally overwhelmed by her grief from returning memories. He stretched his hand and took her hand in own palms. May she know she's not lonely in this world still...

They have been sitting quietly, having strongly compressed each other's hands. So ten minutes passed. Finally, she managed to calm down.

"Have a rest, warrior," she whispered silently and left the room.

***

The first day, the second, the third... Week, another, third...

He finally completely recovered from his wounds and they have got a possibility to talk every evening. She missed these simple human conversations greatly now – and so did he. They shared the same trait in this – they both have become exiles, both lost their relatives.

Gradually she started to come visiting him more often. When she, suddenly, started remembering of these memorable grief days of her recent past – he consoled her. Sometimes she asked him to tell of his former battles – and listened to what he was saying with such an attention and care, which he hasn't noticed in any woman before.

Then their days of joint walks on monastery vicinities have come. These were remarkable days – bright and sunny days of spring. Winter snow has finally thawed – and has apparently taken away all worries with him. It was a wonderful time. Perhaps, one of the best in both his and her lives.

They were standing, having embraced, under a crone of some tree, through the foliage of which a sun was playing with its beams on their faces. He was saying these words that moment – ones of his heart. He has sworn that they will never part ways and always, forever, both in life and death – will be together.

Eternally will be together. Forever.

With her, unique her – he has truly fallen in love. Unlike he loved anyone else he loved her. He is still loving her. And will always be – in life – and in death.

***

"Get ready! Move away! Ignite!"

The flame rushed upwards, desperately trying to devour in a flash of time a tenacious piece of a tree together with a man, bounded to it. Here its tongues are coming closer and closer – already dancing before his eyes. Soon it will all come to an end. It ends all so very soon...

Their common happiness didn't last for long.

A new raid of his horde came a year after – and only two defenders remained to protect the monastery – he and she. They have been captured – and he was recognized. At first, they have considered him as the Messiah – a one revived from dead – but shortly afterward someone has declared that he simply hasn't managed to thrust this traitor through a breast well enough with his ax. He didn't observe the one speaking these words – only his voice seemed somehow very familiar to him...

Traitors are never forgiven. Death is the fate of theirs. Through burning. Unprecedented execution for his people – they were usually killed in a fair fight. Probably he didn't even deserve such a fight judging by his brothers' decision – only a stab in the back.

She too must be burned to the death – as his accomplice – and that was the most terrible thing of all. But, as it came out, not for her – only not for her.

"I will remain with you forever – remember? In life and in death."

"In life and in death – always," he answered. And they embraced – for the last time in this life.

She was dragged away. Then she was fastened with iron ropes to the same pillar. And then a fire was ignited.

The flame assaulted with blinding and burning waves, devouring its legal victim. But the pain wasn't felt any longer. Two burning pillars. Two courageous persons.

"Together – forever!" he cried out with all remaining powers.

"Always!" her words reached his ears.

A new impact of elements – and they both have disappeared in the fire.

The crowd was shouting in ecstasy.

And only a few ones, who have turned away from this fire-site, swore to themselves – were giving a sacred oath of true warriors – to never in their lives allow such a thing anymore. To struggle for justice. Always. Only these few ones have seen, how two light spirits have soared high from burning columns. How they embraced and smiled to each other – and have risen up to the heavens.

"Together – forever," they have overheard.

"Always," repeated they.

03.01.2005

## Wolf

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Heart-breaking howl of wolves, supported by two dozens of throats, escaped into the night sky, lit with a pale moon.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Everything was mixed in this howl – pain from the losses of his companions, hatred to ruthlessly killing them hunters, a hunger that was beating with a faint echo in their stomachs...

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

There she is, the moon. A yellow circle in blackness. Attracting and frightening. Lighting the road in darkness for them. Light of night.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

He is now a part of the pack. Strong pack. They accepted him. Though he was different once. Doesn't matter when.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Tomorrow new hunting awaits. Such is the order of their leader. Attack of dwellings of the big beings, walking on two paws with their sticks, shooting with beams of light, which have turned many of his comrades into piles of ashes.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Fight for their pets, whom they were eating. Not to starve to death. Fight to the death.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Many of those, whom he knew during these three years, was already taken away by the great queen of the night, who has given them the moonlight. Death from hands of orthograde hunters. Death of the brave.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

The smell of their pets, the sound of the cartilages, torn apart by his canine teeth, blood, streaming from their wounds. Such a sweet meat. Sweet prey.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Hunger. The stomach, clenching from it in pain. Tomorrow this pain will stop. They will attack under the hood of night. Will be sated. Will then hide from hunters. Confuse traces. Tear with claws.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

He remembered that he was different once. Not one of their kind. Didn't remember when. Long ago. Not important anymore.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

He had an owner. House. Big house. The owner died. Someone another lodged in the house. Expelled him away.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

The pain of loss. He strayed on roads. On fields. Through woods. Had no more powers. Wanted to die. Hunger led him into depths. There he found the Pack. Found his brothers. Became one of them.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

He sings his praising song to the great moon and twilight of the night. They are their cover. They are their support. Will not survive without them.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Yellow eyes of the moon. Almost like their own.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

They bit hunters to death too. Those that have strayed away from their pack. Their meat was rigid. Cannot argue with hunger, though.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

When he had lived in the big house with his owner, colorful pictures came to him during nights. Cannot recall their name any longer. Too old reminiscence.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Images were strange. He had two legs instead of four in them. He was orthograde. Almost like hunters.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

It is dreadful to remember. Images. In them, he was a... person? Strange word, almost forgotten, almost lost. Striking with intolerable pain.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

The person in his night pictures was pitiful and mean. Worse than a dog. Wolf in sheep's clothing. Wolf... a strange word.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

The person deceived and betrayed others. Did foul things. Bad person. Bad!

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Bad! The person was told, that he is worse than a dog. The person only laughed, showing his golden canines with a smoking stick inside. Lots of evil came from that person.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Then the person became an inveterate drunkard. Was left alone. No longer necessary. Both he, and to him. Worse than a dog.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Strange pictures, tormenting his memory. Yet there was something in them. Like he was once another. Not even when he lived with the owner. Earlier, much earlier.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Pictures come in flashes. Bright, in his eyes. Brighter than the moon. It is terrible to recall.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

The person waited. Not here. In another place. Totally different. Waited for so long. As well as all people. But this one wasn't a man. Worse than a dog.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

The person was estimated. His way was. Unworthy.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Unworthy! Pain, pain, pain! It is terrible to remember!

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Something happened to the person. He changed. Four legs instead of two. Not worse than a dog.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

The person lost his memory. Have forgotten! No more former consciousness. Didn't deserve. Was erased.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Lead me on, great moon! Accept us in your embraces, queen night! Satisfy our hunger, soothe our pain! Let us stick our canines into hated hunters, let us get drunk from the blood of their pets!

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

There is no person any longer. Not a person, but a dog. Not a dog, but a wolf.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Bad pain. Bad memory. Bad person. Good wolf.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

People, where are you? How many of you are there? Not enough people. Too many wolves.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Tomorrow they will feast on human blood, satisfy their hunger. It will be nourishing. Pictures will go away. Bad pictures.

A-a-u-u-u-u-u!

Then they will be followed by hunters. Terrible hunters with killing beam sticks. And they will be left with only one option. To tear them apart!

03.09.2017

## Time

Immense hourglass of a silvery color, which were smoothly soaring in the center of a hall, were slowly passing tiny grains of sand through themselves, gradually rotating in the process of own unstoppable work. They counted remained time prior to one extremely important by galactic measures event.

Tic. Tac.

Having passed through the neck of the hourglass, grains fell on the bottom and were instantly dissolved, as if they have never before existed. As if the time doesn't exist inside the borders of eternity.

Multiple projections of these clocks of the Highest World – one for each of the physical worlds – were ticking own time, following their step.

Tic. Tac.

Clocks could not be stopped, but it was possible to slow down some of its projections.

Solar years of physical worlds replaced one another, eras came after eras, and clocks were going as always, reducing the number of remaining grains with each of their measured tact.

Tic. Tac.

Time kept everything in itself. But someone must be the keeper of time.

"Come in," answered the sitting in a chair aged man, having turned away from the contemplation of galactic charts and slowly moved his head towards the two-way portal, which was also serving as a doorway to this mysterious room, once the melodious ringing, notifying of the new approaching human soul, spread in the air.

A second later the hologram of a form materialized before the aged man, in which this newly arrived individual was planning to live and pass through his next – and this time fate-deciding – journey in the physical world.

"You may enter," the Keeper repeated once again. "Even though I can wait for you for the whole eternity, the planned time of your birth and related circumstances don't plan to wait that long, I am afraid."

With these words he waved a hand, drawing in the air only to him known figure, and sparkling in violet-blue color sphere materialized directly before him, and out of it stepped away – or, to be slightly more correct – almost dropped out on the filled with light silvery fog floor, newly arrived traveler.

"I... what... where... ooh!" could barely utter the guest, once he managed to rose from the knees after that in many meanings dizzy travel. "What sort of teleporters you are having here... they throw you here and there all the way around. I still remember how ten centuries ago, shortly before my penultimate birth..."

"Sit down," the aged man interrupted him, and, having waved with own four wings, materialized before the guest's eyes a second chair from out of nowhere. "Are you here on a mission or do you just desire to grumble?"

"I... well... from the department... that decides destinies," still faltering from slight short wind, murmured the person. "Directed here for the purpose of correction of former mistakes in physical worlds with a high-risk value. To the Earth, inside the Milky Way galaxy."

"Is that so?" the aged man ironically raised his eyebrow. "So many travelers were planning to visit it recently. So eager to be born," he smiled lightly. "Special times, they say. Made many mistakes, they say. Last fate-deciding birth they are having, they say. The question of the potential future immortality of their souls, they say. Well, we shall observe how you will manage the time of this life of yours."

Having that said, he once again made a swift pass of own hands, and the shining book gradually fell down to them.

"Well, let's have a look at what you have planned for yourself," having ironically shaken his head, answered the aged man, thumbing through pages of the book of lives of his newly arrived guest. "This time you are going to be a scientist, as I can see? To make new discoveries in the field of non-material, to promote science to spiritual heights? Well, very laudable, indeed. You are now the twenty-third such desirous one for the last ten earth years. I can tell you in advance that eighteen of them didn't become scientists at all, having broken their unearthly contract and exchanged themselves on, as it can be spoken, little things. You, I do hope, have no desire to act like that, right?" and the aged man searchingly looked at his guest.

"N... no. Not... going to," having slightly been taken aback from such unexpected admission, murmured the guest. "I will become a scientist as I have planned."

"Then I can only wish you not to turn away from your spiritual path under the pressure of external circumstances. And they, believe my experience, will surely arise in your life – especially if you are going to Earth. Estimated duration of your life is... sixty earth years. Do you plan to be in time?" and the aged man once again fixedly looked at this future scientist.

"Yes... I plan to. I will be of little use being too old, anyway."

"If you curtail from your way – it's possible that we will take you before the term. We find little value in unrealized souls, to a great regret. Time and tide wait for no man."

"Time is the fourth dimension, so to speak," the guest smiled in reply.

"Actually, it's the seventh," corrected him the Keeper, "but you should first master at least three of them. Whether you remember specifics of clocks working?" and the aged man specified by a wave of his hand a huge soaring in the air hourglass, which were continuing to gradually tick their unique eternity rhythm.

"Hmm... specifics?"

"Time is non-linear. Even within the lifespan of a single embodied soul, it can change its speed – and, in rarest occasions, own direction. If you start implementing undertaken here obligations – time will slow down for you, and you will be able to finish more – possibly, much more than was initially planned. If you curtail from your path – time will rush as in a gallop, year after a year, up to the moment of a sharp termination of your life term, of which you will, most certainly, won't even remember by that time."

"And how will I... learn of what I am destined to achieve? Of the features of time? At the moment of that new birth, I will be forced to forget everything of my former past."

"We will remind you of that through the writer. We remind someone through circumstances and someone through dreams. Some are already beyond help and reminding."

"Seems clear enough."

"Fine. Then please try on your personal watch."

With these words, the Keeper put away from his glowing attire the small watch on a thin strap and stretched them to the guest.

"Sixty earth years, as we have agreed – if circumstances don't change. Shortly before the end of your term, you will be able to feel how these watches start ringing and vibrating – that means that your time is running out. Don't be afraid, put them on your hand."

"In such moments you start feeling yourself like a time bomb," the guest admitted confusedly.

"You should better 'blow up', in a good sense, the earth world of materialistic scientific ideas."

"It's done," reported the guest, having clasped a strap of watches on his hand.

"I remind you the circumstances of your birth – poor family, kind mother, cruel father, sick younger brother and a loving elder sister."

"Now I should manage not to forget all that when I am only one-two years old, and all I can really do is to piss under my shoes!" the guest burst out laughing on his move, walking to the opening portal.

"Time starts ticking," replied the Keeper, observing how the revealed in the hall portal embraces the soul of future earth inhabitant. "It never ceases to go," he added.

Tic. Tac.

The clocks as if answered to his thoughts.

They had no power only over immortal ones.

15.10.2017

## You are

You say, that God does not exist. And I tell you, that He exists no more exclusively for you.

You grieve, that He has forsaken your world long ago. And I reply, that it was you, who barricaded from Him in the smallest world of your own, which has nothing in common with the greater one.

You complain that life is cruel and unfair. And I recommend you to look at yourselves in a mirror in the upcoming morning.

You grieve of the dead ones as those lost to this world forever. And I am starting to assert that they were lost exclusively for the vanity of yours.

You curse your work, thinking of it as a routine which takes away the time of your life aimlessly. And I ask you, what will your life look like without your work on yourselves?

You despise your enemies. And I know, how they all become the stones of non-hindrance on the road of life, once you have finally grown the wings for flight.

You all thirst for love, but, finding none, are ready to jump from the rocks of broken hopes into abysses of hatred. And I desire to know the true value of such feelings.

You state that life makes no sense and holds no purpose. And I will whisper to you, that you did not even try to search.

You declare the impossibility of possible and deny incredibility of the obvious.  And I see, how previously impossible becomes obvious, and incredible becomes possible.

You guess that life is inconceivable without movement. And I ask you not to confuse impulses of the soul to petty vanity.

You worry that you do not understand others. And I am interested in questioning you – "Do you even know yourselves?"

You pursue life's success in hopes to get it in time, and are ready to walk over others heads. And I tell you that you are always late, for you have chosen the wrong road.

You feel proud that belief is not necessary to the learned.  And I ask you whether you could learn, not believing in the possibility of the learned?

You speak of generosity and share pieces of stale bread, continuing to consume red caviar over both your cheeks. You speak of goodwill and draw a knife behind each other's backs. You speak of wisdom and share thousand and one way to deceive those close to you. And I dare to believe that you will open your eyes one day and stop confusing darkness to the light.

You question, how I can state what I do not know. And I advise you to pour out ashes from bags of your knowledge.

You tell me that I repeat myself and cross spots, passed previously, again. And I will simply ask you to look up.

You will tell that it is banal. And I will continue hoping.

You will tell that you have heard and passed all this before. And with a grief in my eyes, I will watch you passing by once again...

17.09.2010

## Glamour

Rat-beauty rules over nasty women

"Goy-hey, over here! Hello-hello, slave of mine!" sang the Glamour, having suddenly jumped out from around the corner, and widely stretched his hands in the desire to seize his new victim as strongly and long as ever possible. "Hello, Nasty Woman!" he added in plain terms. "How are you doing?"

"Like that of a boy!" Nasty Woman sniffed and wrinkled her lips. "Always do you come with such silly jokes of yours. And I, by the way, is a woman secular, elegant, modern. And very much..."

"Glamorous!" joined her game Glamour.

"Well, certainly," Nasty Woman was embarrassed. "Glamour rules over the world!"

"Well, precisely!" confirmed Glamour. "I won't fail to govern ones such as you. I am mighty and annoying, like sunray through skies I'm going!"

"Listen, Glamour," Nasty Woman changed the topic suddenly, "how do you think – does this dress with that cut out from behind spot suits me well?" and Nasty Woman turned to Glamour with her back in anticipation of disgraceful assessment.

"Does it? Oh, certainly!" Glamour whispered with delight after a second of confusion. "Nasty Women wear all, yet forget of future toll!" – he added.

"I felt it with my tits that you would be satisfied," guessed Nasty Woman. "That's a very modern and extremely creative dress, by the way, costing loads of money!"

"Got it from your new sponsor?" guessed Glamour. "And what has become with your previous lover?"

"Fuck him!" spat Nasty Woman, but smiled. "I have no need for such cheapskates as my former one. No reason to lend him my body any longer!"

"Body, yes... a good trade thing," agreed Glamour. "Valuable, for the time being. And who else if not I can teach you, nasty women, how to trade it in successfully?" Glamour winked. "Was you smart enough to suit a cottage from your former one? All in all, you have been living together with him for half a year – almost your entire invaluable life you have already devoted to him!"

"It's in the process," Nasty Woman answered uninvolved. "We are now preparing necessary documents with my lawyer."

"Oh, so he is your new admirer?" Glamour burst out laughing. "Well, I got it, I got it. Bright and fast you are growing, good fellow, I approve! Fuck with this and fuck with that if he's rich and not too fat."

"I will fuck with him as well, pay for me he always shall!" Nasty Woman picked up a rhyme suddenly. "And how are these mascara and fondant for you?" she changed topic once again.

"Very sexually!" approved Glamour. "With such lips, you can kiss anyone to death," he added, "approvingly examining Nasty Woman from feet to head and nodding. – And finally, I will join the feast, – he whispered slightly more silently.

"What-what?" Nasty Woman didn't get it.

"Don't distract yourself!" Glamour interrupted her. "Better show me your legs and hands with a pedicure for appreciation! That's good," he added after a short pause. "You can scratch eyes of all competitors if you desire!"

"All women are like cats!" Nasty Woman readily agreed.

"Yes, but not all of them are stinkers," wearily confirmed Glamour.

"What were you talking about?" Nasty Woman once again didn't understand her interlocutor.

"About my own affairs, sad things. I still can't transform all women into nasty ones, and that's a pity. Some of them even dare to thirst for chastity, silly ones! And chastity – what's that? As the need presses on, they all will go their own ways, prepared by me for them. Well, except for the most resistant ones, probably. Eh!" Glamour sighted at first, but then suddenly became cheerful once again. "That's the spirit, that's the beauty!" he sang. "You are not even the Nasty, you are the Nastiest from all the women I've met before! One can't help falling somewhere down together with you."

"Oh, yes," agreed Nasty Woman. "To drag them down I am glad!"

"And therefore I am not sad!" Glamour joined the rhyme once again.

"Oh, my friend, you are a poet!" Nasty Woman waved her totally manicured hands.

"I talk nonsense to build a fence!" agreed Glamour.

"What-what?" Nasty Woman once again didn't get it at all.

"Never mind!" soothingly noticed Glamour. "After all, such a surprising meeting is awaiting you today, oh my! The nastiest one!"

"Yes," agreed Nasty Woman. "This new lawyer of mine is simply a whacko man! And as far as I got it, he has pools of money in his wallet! It's going to be not a life, but a fairy tale!"

"You will leave him for good soon enough nevertheless?" Glamour raised his eyebrow.

"Certainly, everything according to your advice!" winked Nasty Woman.

"Yes," replied Glamour, "but voluntary nevertheless. By the way, I have bought a new magazine here," he added, giving her a package. "Last words in fashion and, certainly, style, men that are brutal, and stupid, and vile, shopping, and fucking, and all of that sort for all nasty women that take it for sport," he noted. "Well, give it to your girlfriend!"

"Oh my, how careful of you!" Nasty Woman twisted her lips. "And why is that for a friend of mine and not me personally?"

"Well, because you will have no need for it soon enough," Glamour sighted wearily and turned his face away. "By the way, there is a guest coming for you right now," and he looked at his hand, checking own watches.

"Dzin!" practically the very same second a doorbell rang out.

"Oh, my!" Nasty Woman jumped up in fear. "And who might have come so unexpectedly?"

"Well, no, I would rather say – just in time," Glamour answered routinely. "I would even say – strictly according to a schedule. Hey, what's the heck are you silly standing here idly?" he called for Nasty Woman. "Go and open the door already. It's that very anticipated meeting of which I have already managed to tell you!"

"H... hello," hardly moving her tongue murmured Nasty Woman the moment an unexpected guest has appeared on a threshold. Is... is that some kind of joke, yes? Costumes games?"

"Greetings," said the guest in a black robe, which was wrapping her up from feet to head, continuing to hold a sparkling even at daylight scythe in her hands. "I am known as the Death," she introduced herself with everyday-uninterested-ice-soul-touching voice. "Are these the apartments of madam Stinker?"

"Madam Nasty," Glamour corrected her with no less routinely voice. "Though she is a great Stinker as well!" he added.

"I have come for you," totally, as it always is, unexpected guest addressed Nasty Woman. "The time has come."

"H... how... has come?" Nasty Woman continued to mutter something confusedly, having heavy fallen down to the floor. "I... I was not expecting. I am... still so young. I have to... live and live on!" she started sobbing.

"Well, no, everything looks right," affirmatively confirmed Death, continuing to move her bony finger through pages of some mysterious book, which has suddenly appeared in her hands. "As it was discussed with you earlier, before your arrival here. Precisely calculated time, last chance for own spiritual change... everything looks right. Well, and the way you have decided to use that given time is your private business."

"Precisely, indeed," Glamour interrupted with joy. "Free will, that's it!"

"You... deceived me!" Nasty Woman looked at him with hatred. "You... didn't tell!"

"And you didn't ask!" he giggled maliciously and showed her a tongue. "You have been spending your time so pleasantly that didn't even dare to think of something different. About the meaning of life, for instance. There are so many things to think about!"

"Time is running out," coldly answered the Death. "It's time to leave."

"And how many other ones are leaving today as well?" Glamour addressed the Death.

"Lots of," she answered coldly. "Come on, it's time for us to go," she turned to Nasty Woman.

"W... where... to go?"

"Into the other world. To prepare for an answer."

"Say hello to all your sponsors!" Glamour burst out laughing. "By the way, they will all be grabbed soon as well. And still, they don't understand what they have been living for."

"Very few ones understand it," answered the Death. "They have no time for this now."

"Glamour rules over the world!" Glamour burst out laughing once again.

"If it was in my will – I would gladly suffocate you!" Death looked at him with icy eyes. "So many ones you have sent to me already, and some of them even before their time."

"All men are mortal," Glamour replied philosophically. "Well, come on, don't you dawdle!" and he hit Nasty Woman with a fist sideways. "You have no chance but to leave. No more chance."

"Swine!" Nasty Woman hissed with hatred.

"Oh, sure, you are a decent swine, indeed," confirmed he. "I would rather tell – very glamorous one!"

"Swine!" she managed to hiss once more before Death finally embraced her with own hands and both of them have disappeared in some grayish haze.

"That's it," Glamour hemmed with satisfaction. "Minus one slave. And how don't they really understand that it's not the Glamour who brings them happiness?"

04.03.2013

## Wrath of war

A whistle of a flying shell. Air, dissected by an iron pig. Explosion. Explosion - just behind the next hill.

Missed. Missed again.

Alive. I am alive! Still alive.

Have missed the mark, slightly – but have missed. Lucky enough?

And how many times again must he be lucky enough during all these days, to remain alive? How many?

However, it could be worse – much worse. Worse than when his lung was shot and he has been gasping since then, sucking air into lungs with some sobs, and releasing it outside – still hot, warmed by his organism air... the air of war and destructions. Even worse than when the explosion of a grenade has deprived him of his three hand's fingers... instead of them – bloody-stained lumps.

A nevertheless he is still alive, living in this mad war. Alive among hundreds and hundreds of other mad ones.

Will he last for long?

A machine gun fired nearby. Into entrenchments! – where the killing iron will not reach him. To the ground – the ground of native land... the country, which was hardly resisting enemy's onslaught. The enemy... How, when these people, just the same as he is, when have they become his enemies? Why enemies? What a monstrous absurd and error must have occurred that they suddenly became enemies? Another madness?

Anyway, they are enemies now. Worse than that – the hungry beasts, feasting on corpses of killed and wounded, rejoicing with each death of hated enemy... next cut thread of human's life... human... No, they are not like humans now... not anymore. Each of them – is not a human anymore. They were like them, in their former lives – but not anymore. No.

Since this madness of war has begun.

And once again a whistle of a machine gun and a desperate shriek somewhere far in these entrenchments. His comrade has died – a brother by motherland, by faith, by customs. Yet another stopped life way. Yet again a grief for his parents – if, of course, they are still alive... One more life put on the altar... what for? For the sake of what all this war was started? Territories? Resources? Money? World influence? But how insignificant all these temporal goals in comparison with one – yes, with a single stopped human life! And there are hundreds and hundreds of them by each day.

Enemies couldn't feel regret. They had no desire to understand. They had to kill – kill their enemies. Same people as they are.

And this was the most awful, the most horrific that a blinded by the power and riches human mind could invent. A mistake, terrible mistake... unforgivable mistake. An error, which price is – the split blood – the blood of wounded and dying people, the blood of those, who once were them. An error, which price is – ruined cities and destroyed families, corrupted human fates. An error, which price is – unleashed a war of two nations.

The war... and for how long will this war ever last? Until the last soldier is killed? Until all major cities of the enemy are wiped out from the face of Earth? Until the flame of grief inflames all far horizons of this country – a country, whose destiny is to be subdued. To become a raw appendage of a more powerful state and – more aggressive – those which begun the war, made a monstrous mistake for which both will have to pay.

They will not withstand – he knew it. Technics, weapons, resources – the enemy has all it in plenty. Much more than they can dream of. They had only one thing left which has played such a malicious joke – natural resources, riches of Earth interior – the motherland, where he has to die. He has to die, seeing coming victorious forces of the enemy, seeing their proud and blind delight of a victory, seeing their hatred to those survived – civilian population... to survived civilians – if, of course, there will be many survivors. He hoped there will be many. It must be many – for sometimes after decades and decades his country could reborn.

And still he has to fight – along with other your men, quickly mobilized and driven on the front lines soon after the beginning of the war. Hastily trained. Slightly armed. Not murderers – living people.

The burst of machine gun has abated and he has slightly raised his head. As he has suspected – enemy's infantry was advancing in full order. Damn, it would be so great to have some heavy technics here and now – some tank. Or tanks. But all large forces have already been mobilized in other directions. And they have been abandoned here, against superior forces of the enemy, with almost no means of protection. They have been left to die here on the battlefield. Well, he thought – to die means to die. There are no other options possible, apparently. A pity, his death will be in vain.

He has suddenly caught himself on a thought of how he can die to grasp as many as possible enemies together with him, for enemies aren't talked with, they have to be – killed. But whether they would begin to kill him if they have happened to meet in different circumstances? Possibly, they would even become friends. Yes, friends with that very young soldier that has so ineptly got out forward...

A recharge of submachine gun... a sound of taken and inserted charger. A shot. Enemy's soldier silently falls down with a punched head... One more enemy has fallen. Ruthlessly killed.

Madness... This is total madness. Humans, transformed into animals and brought for murders.

Non-humans? Are there are humans in the war at all, humans – soldiers? Soldiers, who have still remained humans? He met and saw those returned from wars time and again – almost nobody from them could get accustomed to peaceful life. Only singles did. For this is war. For this is madness.

Enemies were approaching – without concealing, methodically and openly. They saw and felt their victory – feasted on the victory, feasted each moment with relish. Then they will feast over the conquered territory, too... They didn't know yet what a monstrous error they have already committed. Mistake, for which they should pay off once...

The columns of the enemy are absolutely nearby – there is no more reason to cover in the entrenchments. The order of their commander, shouted in the air – "Forward!" And here he is – their commander, leaving an entrenchment – and moving towards the enemy. And falling. Falling without a single shout. But the impulse is picked up – and soldiers rise. Rise on their last fight. The shortest fight possible.

Sounds of discharged weapons. People, dying from both sides. Dying for nothing.

He has risen the time he has heard the order. Has run forward – first, second, third – enemies fell before him.

But a shot finally comes – and pain burns his shoulder. He shots once more – and yet another soldier of the enemy falls down. One more shot – and blow in a breast throw him aside.

Ground. Native ground. You are so close to me now. So close...

A bent face of the enemy. A gunpoint, looking at his forehead. A shot. Last one in his life.

The war...

The madness of war...

03.04.2003

## Déjà vu

Kirill was pursued by some ill fate. Or maybe a healthy and kind one. It was quite difficult to find out, because when you have already sailed away from old coasts and haven't moored to new ones, and only a boundless blue sea of life is lying ahead of you with no signs of tempting far-away coast, – it's really hard to tell when, actually, something out of an ordinary will surface itself on your course of sailing, and extremely harder to find out whether it was for good or for bad. City just like a city, sea as a sea. The sea was a cold one, however, and the city was rainy – but even the great Peter wasn't powerful enough to change that... except, perhaps, for Saint Peter – yet even that is not a fact by all means.

And what really disturbed Kirill, who like any other true IT specialist was devoting almost all of his life to own metal computer friend, were the cases of so-called "déjà vu", which became frequent recently. A strange word, and no less strange phenomenon, which has been annoying Kirill for several last month already, precisely like a sea iceberg standing on the path of his ship, the most significant and invisible part of which was, as it usually goes, inaccessible for common human sight, being hidden either in the depths of memory or in the waters of destiny.

This wonder of nature manifested itself variously. It could be a dream in which he, being dressed in the exotic black cylinder and dress coat, was traveling along familiar streets of St. Petersburg with some excessively unusual titles in an old Slavic language, as if they were given names only recently by willful Peter the Great himself. Or he could be rushing through some sort of cellars in these dreams, vainly trying to locate his companions, who have been recently seized and taken away from there. Or he could come to some Anichkov Bridge and stand idle like captivated for ten or so minutes, so that people, hurrying for their works, start looking askance at him as if he was some kind of a madman.

"And what if I am truly going crazy?" he was thinking from time to time when current streams of objective and subjective realities mixed up to such an extent that it was no longer possible to distinguish them from one another. "No way, just don't get enough sleep," he calmed himself down over and over again.

And it could happen that he starts discussing the architecture of some new software module with his colleagues and analysts, begins to argue, turns angry and blurts out something in the spirit of: "Fuck off to Admiralteyskaya Embankment in a post-chaise!" And then he stands with his mouth wide opened and cannot answer even to himself – why is that a post-chaise and Admiralteyskaya, anyway?

And the other day he even went to a roof of St. Isaac's Cathedral with some kind of Chinese tourist group and started performing "Kalinka-Malinka" dance with imagined music in the face of the stupefied public under the gaze of tens of smartphones cameras. And we should actually admit it, that he danced such nicely, that these Chinese even applauded him upon finishing of this creative rush as if he was doing all that specifically to amuse them. He didn't try that in any sense – even had no real dancing experience in his life – well, not this particular life, in any case.

Is that even normal, aye? The computer has replaced him both friends and a girlfriend for many years, which weren't noticeable even on the horizon of his life, and he dances on roofs of buildings during own day offs! Perhaps, nature itself mixed in something special into this autumn air of St. Petersburg city, forgetting to warn weather forecasters and all the others, less skilled in respect of knowledge of her possible surprises, residents of the cultural capital? And, possibly, Kirill just got bothered with going down the stream of a small sea of his private life and decided to discover new depths of his creative potential? Unfortunately, we were not told about his true motives – and we are absolutely uncertain if he himself gave any thought to it.

Yet déjà vu, most likely, perfectly knew it – and decided to surrender to Kirill once and as a whole. So here and now he was standing, looking at the "Admiralty spike", glorified by a classical poet, and different, almost alive images were rushing before his eyes.

Noises of post-chaises. The footfall of horse legs. Newsdealers, crying something aloud on city streets, swinging with their huge newspaper sheets. The team of workers, hurrying on a pavement, being supervised by a gendarme. Two ladies in ancient wide-brimmed dresses with small white lacy umbrellas, who were slowly walking through a park together with their small manual doggies. Looking totally different "Humorous park" of Peterhof. Regiment of imperial soldiers, marching on the square by a fountain...

As if some other life, another reality in Kirill's consciousness was laid upon this one, recognized by all considering themselves adequate people as the only existing, only real one. This second reality was definitely related to past times when the humankind didn't yet launch into cosmos, but just like now people considered themselves as the last unique existing standard of mind and reason.

And what is the reason and where does its standard lie? Maybe, our ancestors from old times were much more reasonable than us, modern ones, rushing about and around in endless searches for personal happiness, being unable to accept the destiny, desired by the highest powers, in whom many of us have ceased believing countless ages ago? Perhaps we, ascended by technological measures contemporaries of ourselves, remorselessly destroying each other, have already massively gone mad even without some mysterious déjà vu?

"One can go crazy!"

"What did you say?" asked Kirill, who was sharply torn off from inner reflections by a suddenly talking interlocutor.

"I say – damn crazy beautiful city you have here!" repeated this unexpected stranger. "Beautiful city, I tell you!" he laughed, having bared a couple of golden-color teeth.

"Beautiful, yes," Kirill inertly repeated after him, not having returned to his usual senses. "And where are you from?"

"Me? Baikal region. On a business trip here. You appreciate your city, you do, it's beautiful, even though wet! Well, farewell!" said short-term stranger and without new excess words went away to fulfill his private affairs elsewhere.

"Honestly beautiful," Kirill, who started to slide in own thoughts from a wet reality into a cozy and warm himself, was disturbed again by a new voice – this time it was women's one. The girl of apparently twenty-five years leaned the elbows of embankment fence, glancing with interest both at thoughtfully looking afar Kirill and sailing across Neva ships.

"My native," Kirill replied unwillingly. "And it's indeed wet. Just like now. You should better cover with an umbrella because it's possible to get wet and ache even from a drizzle," with these words he gave his umbrella to a girl.

"Thank you, but I have no need for an umbrella. I love rain," she smiled. "Casts different thoughts and memoirs. Even déjà vu sometimes."

"You too?" Kirill looked at her interrogatively.

"What too?"

"Well, you said – déjà vu. Are you having them too?"

"On a constant basis recently. Trapped with no way to escape!" she laughed. "For instance, not further than yesterday, I saw a dream where I was walking in the rain and looking at ships – and what do you think? Today I am indeed walking in the rain, looking at ships."

"You've got an amazing coincidence here!"

"One can say that," smiled the girl. "You are a local one, huh?"

"Since my very birth, which happened I don't even know how many years back, especially taking all sorts of funny déjà vu into account."

"And I moved in here recently, from Chelyabinsk. It's wet here, but the air is fresh. And it's easier to remain creative here. I am Liza, by the way," she introduced herself.

"Liza, don't go away," Kirill quoted a popular song. "You can call me Kirill. It's clearly visible that you have arrived here from a mean city, aren't afraid of rain at all. And what exactly are you creating?"

"I am all like that," smiled recent stranger. "I am a novice artist, painter. There will be an exhibition of my works here soon, so I arrived in this city. Perhaps I should remain here for a longer term, how do you think?" she added, having winked at Kirill.

"Well, you have already prevailed over the rain, as far as I can tell. You only have to win against a déjà vu now – and everything will be good and shiny for you," Kirill answered, smiling. "And I can only paint like a chicken with his paw, by the way. Totally not born for painting."

"Oh, but I don't want to win against it. My déjà vu happens to be so interesting at times! I started feeling comfortable with it. Well, sort of a best friend, who is always nearby and with whom you don't feel wet. And concerning the painting... probably, everyone draws the way he is able to. One can draw, say, with his own deeds – such interesting pictures can be born that way!"

"With actions... yes... I guess you are right," Kirill got lost in thoughts for several seconds. "By the way, what were your plans for the upcoming days off? Weather forecasters promised us a good weather. Would you like to go for a walk together? We truly have many interesting places for tourists and guests alike. Let's go to Hermitage?"

"It's possible to take a walk," girl blushed. "I didn't manage to visit Hermitage yet. And one of my last déjà vu has been already wandering there!"

***

Two young white-winged men, whose true shape could give humans an abundance of thoughts concerning the possible fact that highest powers exist after all and for all, and don't care what some earth skeptics might think about their existence, were ironically looking at each other. After so many years their main task was successfully completed, and only a little updating of a course for their wards was awaiting them.

In order to organize a meeting of these aforementioned by us Kirill and Liza, these two their invisible curators from the other world had even to resort to the mechanism of the awakening of previous memory in souls – a permission for such interference was granted to them from above. And the memory, which is being kept in souls of men, as every even the most inexperienced Guardian Angel well knows, is stronger than the death. Just as love is.

"A funny name humans thought up for this memory," Kirill's curator was thinking, looking how his ward goes on a meeting with Liza, holding a bouquet of roses in his right arm. "Déjà vu... what sort of a word!"

"Do you remember that dream, which I have shown you?" asked a mental question for Liza her invisible white-winged curator. "The one in which you have met him prior to your real meeting? Tell him about it. You can do it now... now it is your new, most real, drawn with your own deeds reality."

10.09.2017

## Diagnosis

"Well, come in, come in, take a seat. What would you like to start complaining today, so to speak?" and face of the doctor in a black dressing blurred in a smile, having bared a dozen of golden teeth for a short instant of time. "As it always goes here – if you don't complain and lighten up your earthly burden, so to say – then you won't recover. And if you do complain – you will start feeling yourself better for some time, even though you disrespecting yourself afterward. Am I right?" and the doctor sat down in a chair, inviting the patient to do the same. "Tell me where it hurts, Josh."

"I... doctor, you see, something is really wrong with me," the patient started his confession while continuing to fidget slightly on a chair from nervousness. "I... I started feeling joy, doctor!"

"Is that so?" and the doctor looked over his new client with a squint, having put his pen aside. "You must already know how pernicious for the health of your organism this forbidden feeling is, right? And for how long has all this been already going?"

"For several months, doctor. I am feeling very uneasy! It started seeming to me that all my current so-called life is absolutely inappropriate in the sense that right now I am not in the right place where I belong. That I am capable of doing something other, much more significant, something that really matters..."

"How is that you are not in your place, huh?" the doctor replied him with a smile while continuing to slide through his patient with steel-colored eyes. "You have a very prestigious position of the head of the board of directors of one of the largest banks in our country, and that means that you shouldn't experience any sort of material discomfort and all. Am I correct?"

"That's not what matters, doc. To the hell with this comfort! I am terrified. With each and every passing day I am becoming more and more afraid to not live the life I was meant to, you see?"

"To the hell, really?" and the doctor once again bared a dozen golden teeth, having stood up from a chair and started slowly walking inside the office. "Tell me in details, how all of this has started?"

"You see, six months ago I... I saw a dream. Very unusual dream. I dreamed like that only in my... c... ch... during the period when I was significantly physically smaller and weaker. And in this dream I... I was flying, doctor! At first, I was a huge butterfly with gracious colorful wings, which was flitting from one flower to another, and then I suddenly turned into the mighty blue-winged bird, who was soaring up to the high skies and diving down to the earth like a stone, and then..."

"That's enough!" the doctor suddenly sharply interrupted him, having highly raised a hand. "You perfectly know that the ministry of health-preservation has strictly forbidden to experience feelings of joy and delight because they both lead to irreversible consequences in organisms of our patients – and it was prohibited especially to try infecting other individuals with these feelings, which is what you have precisely tried to achieve right here and now!"

"I... for... forgive me, doctor," and Josh confusedly hung his head. "I had no idea that it's really infectious."

"Oh, it's extremely contagious. We have already fought against the most real epidemic about two thousands of years before! Fortunately, we prevailed over it that last time. And we as world doctors have no desire to see how these incidents repeat themselves, you understand me?"

"I... un... understand."

"Tell me in more details of what you think about and how you feel as of recently."

"I began feeling myself from time to time like a c... ch... what is this word?" the patient frowned as if endeavoring to overcome invisible barrier inside his own memory. "Ch... ch... child! It's as if I became a child once again, doctor. After that ill-fated dream, I ceased to feel for short periods so casual, normal and habitual to me and all of my acquaintance's feelings of grief, boredom, and inner melancholy.

At first, I started to smile, doc – yet... yet not with that kind of smile you are smiling now while looking at me. Then somewhere deep inside me, some inner laughter began to be born – yet it was not the laughter people laugh now during public celebrations and festivals. Then... then something happened to my sight – and my entire life started feeling to me as being such ridiculous and such... funny. I started feeling myself precisely like a robot who is carrying out his routine mundane social tasks day after day, yet being incapable to find some time in order to... to become alive, doctor. As if I haven't lived before that moment, you understand? As if I have been sleeping all time before and only in that dreadful dream I have really, truly awaken.

Gradually I ceased to be afraid to open to someone my s... so... damn it, what have you done to this word, I have almost forgotten it... soul! It became much more painless and easier for me to meet like a c... a child with new people and without habitual former regrets and melancholy leave them if they so desired. I started feeling that deep inside them... that there is something just the same, similar, living hides inside them. That these adults – they... they are children, doctor, just... they just became forever-silent children, as if they were forced to shut up their mouths so they don't shout from the joy of living. So that they cry from pain and grieved from unfulfilled once promised to them happiness...

I ceased to experience fear before my future and reconciled with own past. It started seeming to me that it's absolutely inhumanly to cause others my own pain which I was constantly holding inside me. And then, in one of these days when I was coming back home from my job, I... I had some spare free time, it happens very seldom nowadays, but nevertheless... and I... well... I am ashamed to admit that, but... I lifted my gaze to the sky, doctor, and there... there was the sun! Oh, how dazzlingly brightly it was shining to all of us! With what kind of joy it filled me during these instants... all so habitual to me melancholy thawed in a flash of time under its warm caressing beams. During that... terrible moment... I desired to cry out from delight because I was feeling alive once again for a short instant. Do you understand me, doctor? Damn it, you most certainly don't even have the slightest idea of how's that – to feel oneself alive!

And then... then all kinds of strange thoughts started visiting me, doctor. I tried to fight them off, diligently rejected them, but they were coming for my soul over and over again. I was thinking that... that if people experience all that which I have passed through during those strange days, then... they would cease tormenting each other. There would be no more wars in the world. Everyone would find that kind sort of deed he really likes to be engaged in, and this would bring him happiness – and together with it inspire people around him to search for true themselves. Each one would finally come to the place where he belongs – not the places imposed to him by either fashion or marketing, but the place chosen earlier by his... soul. The world would be changed. Children... children are often unhappy in our world of adults, but... in the world of kids they... they are precisely like angels, doctor. In the world of the children, our inescapable pain would no longer exist... Do you understand me? Hell no, you probably don't understand the slightest portion of it!"

"Oh, don't you worry, smart ass, I have understood you perfectly. The Childhood Syndrome – that's your diagnosis, my dear Josh."

"No... that can't be true!" and heatedly walking around the office patient sat down on a chair in a dread, his sight stopped and previously shining eyes started filling with tears. "Is that really so serious?"

"It's extremely serious. All symptoms of diagnosis are present – on your very face, I would even say. Your lively face, my unfortunate Josh."

"But doctor, only now I have become truly happy, even with your di... diagnosis, which is leaving me with no chances for a normal life."

"And exactly for that reason, we will be forced to forcefully direct you to sterilization of your memories and feelings, Josh. We cannot allow your disease to affect our absolutely healthy social organism."

"But... I have no such desire, doctor... let me out! Release me! Tyrants! Demons! Soul-killers!" the patient shouted as soon as dressed in black robes men all of a sudden entered the office, took him by hands and started dragging away in the unknown direction.

"We shall all be there, one way or the other..." his interlocutor admitted philosophically, having bared his golden teeth.

***

"Demons, you say?" grinned the doctor as soon as representatives of souls control service have taken away this new awakened one to the memory erasure procedure. "You know, you may be even right is some regard..."

With these words, he slowly sat down on a chair. From endured excitement, his tail was forking on the end and then again merging into a single whole, and hoofs were tapping in impatience. One more awakened one. Too bad. Statistics inevitably demonstrated that more and more such ones were being born with each passing day – and that means that more resources will be required in the upcoming future to fight with them afterward.

Something has to be invented in order to return to the people their lost feeling of happiness, at the same time keeping it from them. They will not be able to survive a second planetary epidemic.

18.11.2017

## Sacrifice

"Commander, you, I do hope, clearly understand that you have been summoned here not by chance?" with these words the timeless leader of the Brotherhood looked over his subordinate, without interfering, however, with his psi-field. He clearly knew he would be able to read everything he desires only through facial expressions, and had no need for trained for the course of several thousands of years psionic skills. "The topic of this meeting will concern your last mission on the planet Earth."

His subordinate, second-in-rank "Alpha" team commander, was well-known in the ranks of the Brotherhood as the founder of strategy and tactics school, as well as the commander with one of the highest fulfillment success rates of planetary missions in the Visible Worlds. But the Earth... the Earth turned out to be much more difficult than it seemed before their embodiment there. And recent mission on its lands became a superfluous confirmation of that fact.

Commander stood up straight just as by command, looking how golden-colored eyes of the Brotherhood's leader were sliding through lines of the news bulletin, prepared by archivists following the results of their last assigned task. Lines in Another World's language were highlighted in the air just before his eyes, sparkling with silvery shade in the ether that was filling a room, and then gently thawed, being forever dissolved to once again remain hidden in endless storages of registrars.

Another World – that's how inhabitants of this world agreed to call it between themselves. Habitual for Visible Worlds laws of physics, chemistry, biology and a set of other so-called "sciences" didn't work here as usual. For its inhabitants, the world was a mystery and a science in itself. Another World was a unique kind of a binding knot between all visible worlds – both an entry and exit point from them at the same time. A vast set of portals, representing the rarest rifts of the fabric of time and space, connecting Another World with other ones, were generously scattered on inside it by a hand of the maker. The entering of one of such portals became a birth in the linked visible world, and during so-called "death" a return could be made through rifts-portals back to Another World. Such a transition was always followed by the embodiment in the external physical form that was common for inhabitants of each of the visible worlds, and only by parting with this shell it was possible to return back to a native, multidimensional Another World through the functioning rift.

Once, at the beginning of this world's exploration, when exact locations of these portals weren't widely known, pioneers of discovery often became involuntary victims of different incidents, related to these rifts, due to imprudence being transferred – and, thus, being born – in one or the other of visible worlds. Time in Another World was flowing in its own pace with its own grace, and trips to other worlds, even the longest ones, generally took no more than a single year in Another World – but, despite it, even such a temporary lack of presence of any of Spirits could give a birth to a horde of different questions from those fellows who knew them in person. What would a wife of some humanoid from the Alpha Centaur star system say, for example, if her devoted husband came out to examine local surroundings, only to return back home a year later?

Inhabitants of Another World had no common for Visible Worlds divisions into social groups (otherwise the Brotherhood couldn't be born), and they lived infinitely longer, but random wanderings through visible worlds often weren't a part of their daily schedule. Therefore, after discovery and mapping of all currently found rifts, access to them was strictly limited only to members of the Brotherhood, Free Wanderers and representatives of the Supreme Council. And each such birth was associated with its own Mission.

"Regarding your last Mission on the planet Earth in the star system of the Milky Way galaxy, commander," the leader of the Brotherhood continued, "as you, certainly, remember, we have sent another group together with your own, one of the members of which was your both earth and spiritual brother. And you had to..."

The Brotherhood was born as the answer to the evil, under which shuddered – sometimes to the very core – some of the visible worlds, and during several thousands of Another World's years became widely known not only in its own but in some of the visible worlds as well. Some called it as the Brotherhood of Spirit, others – as the Brotherhood of Light, some as the Knights of Radiant Heart, and most respecting it admirers – even as the Angelic Brotherhood. By joining the Brotherhood, each Spirit of Another World undertook obligations to strictly follow its code and precepts that were based on goodness, honor, and justice. Service to the Brotherhood could take a various set of forms, based on developed skills and abilities of its member.

It contained, for example, the school of Psionics, whose members specialized in telepathy – the art of reading through thoughts and experiencing feelings of inhabitants of visible worlds – and, no reason to conceal that fact, inhabitants of Another World as well. This was an extremely useful skill, especially inside younger visible worlds – teams that were going on a mission there almost always included at least one psionic in their ranks.

The school of Creativity was yet another widely known one, whose adepts specialized in the mental visualization of objects and ideas. A thought, strengthened with a faith, was the basic construction element in Another World, and by means of increased concentration of thoughts it was possible to create not only individual new objects and filled with them spaces, but in some exceptional cases even to influence certain events and circumstances – both in Another World and visible ones. Visible worlds didn't possess such a luxury, however – but even inside them adherents of Creativity school could demonstrate own gifts and talents in available to them forms – verbal, musical, art and a great number of others, depending on the level of civilization's development, inside which they were to be born.

The school of strategy and tactics, commander's creation, was well known as well. Members of this school specialized in fields of preliminary planning, assessment of possible risks, formation of structures of teams and other questions, related to preparations of teams for chosen by them missions as well as analyzing of tactical changes that could happen in case of emergency situations in the world where any such team has been involved.

Finally, the most prestigious and reputable school in the Brotherhood was the school of Prophets. Combining a set of skills – psionic, tactics and strategy, imagination and thoughts-creativity, healing of both souls and physical shapes – these best members of the Brotherhood took part only in the most important among campaigns and journeys, if these worlds were in danger of self-destruction due to excessively generated by its inhabitants amounts and forms of evil. Such ones were present in their recent mission on the Earth as well.

"...Preliminary mission planning in this visible world revealed a vast set of complexities, which were subsequently faced by a team that was assigned to it. I am talking not only of difficulties of local aspect, related to dispersion of physical entry points of the team that was traveling through the rift but complexities of world-outlook nature of inhabitants of the target visible world..."

Commander's thoughts smoothly returned to recently occurred events. The Earth... his fifth birth on its soils. Humanoid inhabitants, reminding monkeys with their developed habits. Almost equal to zero psionic and thoughts-creativity skills among its populations, and at the same time – hypertrophied and torn off from spiritual bases science that was about to become the executioner of this civilization. "Complexity of world-outlook nature" was a rather soft formulation for a total absence of any serious spiritual basis without which a long-term, by standards of Another World, civilization building procedure was totally impossible.

"...Not all members of the team fully realized the challenges that were awaiting them. Not all liked the humanoid shape in which the Spirit of each of them was embodied upon entering a space-time rift..."

To tell the truth, not each and every physical shape was appealing to him, commander of the "Alpha" team. The greatest personal sympathy was formed between him and various cybernetic shapes, which were possessed by representatives of mechanized civilizations of the Visible – yet there were quite a few missions in such civilizations, partly because a part of them was now resting in peace only in historical chronicles shortly after the dawn of own birth. Silicon-based bodies were also quite satisfactory for tasks of counteracting of actions of harmful galactic representatives – and precisely such types of missions commander preferred to undertake most of his time. However, ether bodies of several civilizations of Illyuon constellation could be considered as being the most convenient and almost not demanding any additional adaptation – members of these civilizations already knew about the existence of Another World and rifts and were capable to feel the presence of its spirits in their own society. Biological forms – ones such as those that were possessed by inhabitants of aforementioned Earth – were considered by the commander as being the most fragile and unreliable. Whether it was his personal technical addiction or that very ambiguous experience of life inside a body of a huge butterfly in the civilization of Almaray planet – it's hard to say for the commander. And regarding "not all liked the humanoid shape" – that was definitely about him.

"...Mistake, indirect consequences of which was a new world war, which has begun on their planet and is still going on by the present moment of our, so to say, dialogue."

Yes, these madmen-monkeys have started a new, third world war, after all. And his support team was partly to blame for this disaster. Under-planning. Under-effort. Under-result. Too many "under". The day when a blast wave from one of the bombs that were dropped on his city destroyed his physical shape and portal of Another World took his Spirit back, he couldn't find any grain of peace from grief and melancholy. And now... a part of the team under his guidance, being physically eradicated from the Earth, was already staying with him in Another World, and part of it was still fighting on Earth's soils. And he felt totally broken apart – to have no opportunity to help those remaining on the Earth and no reason to help those that have returned. The fact that he could be deprived of honor to be a part of the Brotherhood for a long-term – he no longer had worries about it.

"...Thereby stopping the most severe and dire potential destructions and having given us the chance of sending an additional team. In regard to current circumstances, we are obliged to honor his good memory due to his sacrifice through the Ceremony of Light-back-giving..."

"To honor... the memory?" commander perplexedly looked at his leader, as if having come up from own memoirs.

"Brother Lellian ended his life's journey, as you probably already know," leader looked silently and coldly at him.

"Yes, I am aware that his physical body was killed by a bullet of an American sniper, but after his return into Another World he..."

"You, apparently, haven't fully understood me, commander," and timeless leader of the Brotherhood fixedly looked into his eyes. "For the sake of saving of their world, he sacrificed himself in ours."

11.12.2017

## For the Patriarch!

Today I have woken up extraordinary early – the sun itself hasn't had the time to rise on the east. I am awake for almost an hour, and still unable to comprehend what has interrupted my blissful dream. Something keeps moving somewhere inside my breast and disturbs me. It's strange. Never before did I feel something similar. Some unworthy thoughts are pooling through my mind – probably, Satan himself is trying to tempt me. I shall expel these thoughts of heresy – in the name of our Patriarch!

In vague feelings I turn on the light and the video – for a morning prayer ceremony is going to start soon, and we, Divine children, will unanimously incline our heads in these solemn minutes, and with all our hearts will bless His Holiness – modest vicar of our divine Father on this sinful earth.

As always I take an over the gilded cross-shaped device and accurately press a small button on it – and this wonderful object, a gift of the God himself, which our beloved Patriarch has named "video display", comes to life. As far as I remember, several centuries ago such things were named "consoles" and so-called "TV" were analogs of these "video displays". However, I am not totally assured in this. I wasn't a diligent student in our school seminary – and we've been taught very little of our past anyway.

Little time is still left prior to the beginning of a morning prayer, which will be broadcasted through these video displays to each apartment – each shelter of every soul. I must now consume earth food in order to saturate my body – and all my powers will be put in a spirit further to be a modest servant in this imperfect world for the sake of goals of our Sacred Father, may His name forever glow in the heavens!

Since the time, when humble servants of our Patriarch invented some magnificent way to almost instantly create food from separate substances, granted by nature itself, – we know no such thing as starvation, for a food can be made almost from everything in this world of ours. Truly, only the Lord himself could grant our Patriarch such great power over the world, truly our Patriarch is his deputy on the Earth!

I have had the time to sate sinful body and have almost dived into pure thoughts of that magnificent kingdom of paradise where we, humble servants of our great Deputy, are being led, when video display suddenly made a familiar sound – that means that morning prayer is about to begin, and we, imperfect creations of our grand Father, will be granted yet another possibility to purify our souls from inner darkness. If we are going to be submissive and love our Patriarch, then this prayer will give us indescribable joy and peace – for that's the way it ought to be.

The prayer was wonderful – as always, it was amazing. It's such a joy – to stand, having submissively inclined one's head and listening to spellbinding church's chanting, – and to feel like a particle of something so much greater, something eternal. It's an incomparable joy – to overhear a voice of the Patriarch when he welcomes his children and blesses them for the new day in this world.

When a chant has come to an end, I felt myself in the seven heavens – and soul of mine was singing in delight. All those guilty thoughts with which Antichrist have been haunting me this morning, have gone. Such is the way of things – for a true light, granted by our Deputy, clears and purifies our souls – and no harm or heresy is granted way to the door of our spirits!

For now, my task is to travel to a central church of our city – and by just works of divine servants about five hundred of these small houses of Divine have been built, – to present my new creation on a fair court of its head Holy Alex II. He'll read my newly written book – and, if it's approved by his holiness, he will grant his highest goodwill to printing agencies to multiply this text, so that Divine children can taste its aroma and become even stronger in the just faith in the God, and our omnipotent Patriarch.

I am leaving my house and inhaling a clear Divine air with delight. Humble servants of his holiness Patriarch were able to invent such traveling mechanisms, which left air in its protogenic cleanliness, emitting outside no so-called "gases" and working on a solar energy, granted us by our magnificent solar star. Ways of our Deputy are inscrutable, indeed!

I am moving in a direction to the mansion of God, and joy is overflowing me. I already foresee my meeting with his holiness Alex, I foresee his blissful smile, I foresee how my book will help our brothers in their way of mind and heart. This is truly a wonderful day!

***

Oh my God, where did those hellish thoughts come from, may the Patriarch exterminate them all?!

Something is going on in the soul of mine, something very strange and unusual, something unclear for me. This is practically the same feeling, which has grown in me two days ago... some sort of vague doubts of the fidelity of my own life and life of my earth brothers... Is even a morning prayer no more capable to purify my soul of these fatal doubts?

This feeling was born inside me after an appointment with his holiness Alex II the other day after I have given him the manuscript of my future book so that he could tell me his opinion as well as his blessing for its distribution.

To give his blessing... he hasn't given it! He not only hasn't given the blessing, but he was also greatly angered and malicious... his Highness was enraged... that's impossible! That's unimaginable! How, how can it be possible that such a great individuality was capable to fall from grace to the anger?! I didn't trust own ears when he has begun his speech!

"Whether is it known to you, my son Peter, that by your... h-r-r-r-m-m-m... book... you ruin all precepts, given by our great Deputy?!" voice of his holiness was cold as a steel, some spiteful notes were breaking through.

"Father, how do I break his precepts?" I questioned.

"How? Do you dare ask me how you ruin his precepts? I'll tell you, how! In that book of yours, you mention that God himself was the maker of this world of ours, and you assert that our Patriarch is His humble servant. Our great deputy is not his 'humble servant' - our Deputy is His son, the very incarnation of our Father in this world! He is the God, His embodiment! Whether it was not taught to you all in your church school, I wonder? Did you not learn that the word of our Patriarch is like the word of God himself, expressed through our Deputy, and thus it shall be the law for all divine children?!"

"Your holiness, but how is that possible for a heavenly son to stand above his heavenly father?" I asked.

"To stand over his father? My son..." and his holiness choked, "the father of ours is the Patriarch! He's our father and the savior of souls of this world!"

"But we've been told..." I tried to speak.

"You've been told? Tell me, my son, who spoke you all that things?"

I mentioned the mentor's name of our spiritual school.

"I thank you, my son, you have performed a great service to us right now in a task of eradication of all... heresy."

I shuddered when he pronounced a word "heresy". Heresy is the biggest crime, heresy deprives one of his inborn rights to pass through a divine gate of paradise - so all holy churchmen told me... only my mentor spoke nothing on that subject. Why is he guilty in heresy, why?! How did he misbehave and broke divine will? And I asked his highness this question.

"He committed a crime by seducing divine children from their holy way and is subject to be punished for this sin. We'll carry out all necessary measures," and his holiness made a sign for me to become silent and ask no further questions. And, having no power not to obey, I became silent... and that vague doubt started scraping in my soul once again.

Meanwhile, his Highness continued speaking.

"Furthermore, you state that for all sins made a divine son will be judged by his heavenly Father during a Sacred Court and 'on their deeds, they will be given'. Truly, 'on their deeds they will be given', but whether it's known to you that our omnipotent Patriarch as an embodiment of the will of our divine Father was granted the right to either punish or grant a pardon to his sinful children in his endless favor and mercy in this world already?!

And then you keep writing: '... for only our unearthly Lord has a power over both real and unreal, and only His court is just and eternal...' The court on the earth is conducted by our Patriarch! We, his humble servants, can only submissively carry out his will, which is also a will of our divine Father, having no right to ask useless questions on whether his judgment is just or unjust – for the judgment of our Deputy is eternally just and honorable, for he is the very embodiment of a God! Whether the cases are known to you... my son," and his holiness choked once more, "when our great Deputy performed unjust judgments over his faithful children and servants?"

"No, father."

"Right you are, my son. For his judgment is just and just eternally – forever it was, forever it will be, may his name shine in the heavens!"

This very instant of time a blissful smile appeared on the face of his Highness as if he has just seen the Second Coming of the Savior along with a retinue of divine angels. However, when he has looked up at me once again, his smile disappeared in a single instance.

"Yet this doesn't forgive your... failures... my son," and his holiness choked a third time.

"You speak: '... for there is only one great force in the world of ours and only one great treasure – and this is a love, for it's a manifestation of our divine Father in our world...' – that's a lie! Our power is in our belief in the Patriarch! What other power do you desire except for it? Only belief in the Patriarch moves us forward and saves us, only such a belief aids us on a life's journey!"

"Your belief is a suppressed doubt," words came into my mind that instant of time, yet I constantly rejected these fatal thoughts away. His Highness was now looking at me almost with anger, and his voice became absolutely cold.

"But not only do you constantly undermine belief in our most gracious Patriarch, you still try to make his children turn from a true path! You speak: '... and all imaginable customs, rituals, and ceremonies would vanish as if they never existed before... and men would pray in heart and not by heart – and an expression of this aspiration would be the love...' How can all sacred rituals disappear in an instant, if they are prescribed to us by the holy Patriarch himself as a mean to become addicted to his eternal good fortune?!" his holiness almost shouted. "That's unbelievable, that's unthinkable! That's a true heresy, my son! And you keep writing as if it's not enough! You undermine their trust in us, humble servants of our Father! Just think again of what you are saying – '...and all things of this world disappear and be gone, and will matter no more for those who enter the kingdom of the Father... and never were that way'.

You undermine their trust in us, humblest attendants of our father! Just rethink of what you are writing in that book of yours – '...and things of this world will disappear and vanish, and never be important any longer for the one entering the Divine Realm... and never did matter, for temporarily live in this world is, and as we enter it without a thing, except for the flame of our hearts, thus we do leave it with nothing except for the fire mentioned. And therefore all worshipping and rituals and everything used for it, and all imaginable earth cults matter no more...' It's unimaginable! All those sacred rituals which we maintain are the greatest gifts, prescribed to us, with which we render aid to our faithful followers! We purify their souls, we, as the servants of the Father, redeem their sins, we rescue them from the clutches of the Abyss! How dare one not to acknowledge and recognize that, how can we reject a response gratitude of our brothers, granted to us by them in their restrained generosity?!

But you, you dare saying – '... for only the love's fire of the heart can redeem the sin, and no rituals, no artifacts, no other terrestrial things... for they are transient, yet only the flame of one's spirit and heart may burn forever...' – that's a true misunderstanding of the way of things! Our Father granted us the right to atone for sins of our children that come to us, guided by their humility – and we serve a great purpose by releasing them from this burden at once, but you... you!" his Highness enraged himself so greatly that was almost choking, "you dishonor all our kind, all our services, all our achievements! And for the last part – '...for our Father lives not outside, but inside each of us first and foremost... and He is the God, and He is the love...' And He is – the Patriarch! And He is – outside, for only He is holy, and we are all guilty, and God has never been living inside us! – and only He by the favor of His can rescue souls of ours, and we ourselves are incapable of doing such a thing!" his holiness stood up and has been angrily screaming.

I still couldn't recover from surprise, embarrassment, confusion... during that time that aforementioned doubt started overcoming me once again.

"I will overlook up to the end your manuscript... my son – and inform you of my decision in ten days. But don't even dare to hope that I am going to give you a chance to publish it without some essential... modification... and, possibly, to publish at all. Besides, we will perform the inquiry with your... hm...mentor, as well as with you," and he coldly stared at me. "And for now go in peace, my son," his Highness regained self-control. "Walk in peace."

In confusion and doubt, I left the temple. This was truly a day of sorrows.

Leaving the church I noticed how one of my brothers, who have just left the church, was approached by khanji – so we named the enslaved men-derelicts, who have been growing in numbers ever since our Holy Empire began a war two years ago. We treated them with great... favor... some of them have been granted a right to live in cities, yet they certainly have been living hard – however, this subject was never brought up in the speeches of our Patriarch.

This particular khanji approached my brother-in-spirit and started asking him about something, apparently. And then my blissfully smiling brother without a second thought and hesitation kicked him with a foot so strongly that khanji has been thrown aside and head over heels having swept on ladders...

I have been watching all this scene while my fly-car – one the transportation vehicles, invented by confidants of our Deputy, working on the energy of a solar start, – was carrying me away from the spot. And I could do nothing to help the khanji...

A pain, immense and incredible stirred up in my soul that moment, – a sympathy to this little brother, being thrown aside, rejected, kicked off! – filled my heart. That very moment gave a birth to further painful and intolerable doubts inside me.

***

I had ten days before the new meeting with his holiness Alex II regarding my manuscript – and had no desire to waste them in vain. A pain, enormous, indescribable pain – it tore and crumbled my heart. I didn't understand – had no ability to! – how is that imaginable for my brothers to be so... so... cruel – how? why? what for?

All the grace has gone to free the road for the pain. And after the pain doubts followed.

I have heard earlier about that Holy War, that great war, that just crusade. Still remembered how the Patriarch addressed us all... how loftily did he speak about those under-humans with no faith in the Father that we were fighting with... of those murderers... of those sinners. He said that by killing their bodies we save their souls... I trusted his words that time – I cannot deny the faith in my Patriarch! – but now... after the event with that khanji – I started to doubt. Hour after an hour, day by day that cursed doubt has been growing – I could sleep no more, I rushed in nightmares during sleepless nights. I oversaw hundreds of these poor khanji – and legions of holy brothers dressed in white robes, slaughtering them with a single blow of maces, shouting "in the name of the Patriarch!", instantly making a cross sign – and marching on further, further, further...

And then I woke up, having no more powers to behold that massacre. And then I reflected.

Ten days after I once again came before the eyes of his holiness – and there was not the slightest sign of joy, shining in my eyes. As well as in his.

"We found your... teacher... my son," and his Highness choked a thousand time. "And studied your manuscript up to the end. And now hear our decision!" and he solemnly raised a hand. "For the spreading of false gossips, for attempts to make our beloved children go astray from the true path and into the bosom of Antichrist, – a man named Chris is sentenced for imprisonment into the catacombs of the Cathedral of the Patriarch forever, up to that day when Antichrist will come for him to take his dark soul! The sentence is signed by the Highest Patriarch himself and is not subject for appeal!"

I was stupefied. Chris, my teacher who has taught me so much in that spiritual school – he's sentenced to imprisonment. Never, never, never in my entire life did I hear of even a single case of similar action... and now... before my very eyes... how is that even possible?!

"Escort the sinner!" the voice of his Highness rang out.

And then they – several brawny men in white cassocks – pushed him outside. I didn't recognize him – I would most certainly never recognize him should we meet in different circumstances – he looked like the former Chris I knew since childhood no more. He grew awfully old and hardly dragged his feet, so four assistants had to constantly jog and push him – there was a blood visible on his face. "Tortures?" – a thought flashed in my mind.

"Teacher, Chris!" I cried out loudly, trying to overcome the noise of the strengthening wind.

He turned back. A weak smile appeared on his dried up lips.

"Peter, my sonny, is that you? They caught you too, yes? Forgive me, sonny... please forgive me... I should foresee that that will once happen."

"Teacher, but why?! Why everything has come to this at last? Did they... have they been lying to us all that time?!"

It was still visible that Chris smiled once more with his not obeying lips.

"And here and now, my sonny, you have awakened at last," he muttered, and during that same instant, a roar of the gushed wind silenced all other sounds.

I saw, how four men dragged my mentor somewhere in the direction of a building's corner – I tried to rush for aid, only to have been instantly seized by same three men, dressed in white cassocks.

"Stop twitching, oh brother," smiled one of them.

When several seconds after his holiness appeared before my eyes once again – I was surprised no longer.

"And as for you, my son... we must perform the procedure of... cleaning, so that your brain can become sacred and holy once more and not a single demon even had the chance to crept into it!" and he smiled. "Seize him! In the name of the Patriarch!"

My entire world ruined in a single flash of time. Everything I trusted, all that I hoped for – everything became nothing. All was in vain. And when my... brothers... seized me – I resisted no more. That was no longer necessary.

"May the Divine will guide me forevermore," a thought came an instant before a weighty wooden club of one of the white brothers landed on my head...

26.05.2005

## Salary

Salary... such a sweet word! Honest payment for your work, your self-pressure, your idleness, your indifferent-sad swaying day by day through a stuffy office, your hypocrisy, your self-interest, your eye and brain-washing, your rearrangement of papers from one folder into another and hours of life, thrown into a garbage can; your suppressed, decaying, thrown out on boondocks of Universe individuality... such a bitter word! Here it is, lying before your very eyes...

Sweetly crackling recently got out from a printing house colored pieces of paper with different numbers, drawn upon them... how lovely and, apparently, innocently do they rustle, demanding your attention! There are lots of them in a short-term and so little in a long one at the same time... Here and now you accurately recalculate them all, trying not to evade even a single instance of this illusory delight, already estimating in own thoughts on what you are going to spend all these riches in the nearest future. Such is the deification and meaning of the job of a man, an embodiment of hopes and expectations of millions, now in your hands as well - crackling so impatiently-sweet, stupefying your sense of smell... You have been burning all these days in a chamber of times along with a unique possibility of self-learning, granted to you, knowingly, fastidiously and irrevocably for a reason - and have finally received a well-deserved, earned, acquired with a blood bribe! Each and every piece of it. Now you can buy much...

In this world of yours almost everything can be bought for these colorful pieces of paper, right? Things, feelings, words, honor, and conscience of men... even, probably, souls of some - from those that are purchased cheaply and by the gross. But you are most certainly not some awful demon from the underworld, yes? You will be satisfied just with things and feelings... to begin with. So let the offer forms the demand even further.

Surprising, unusual, delightful world! And why were you born in it only now – and where have you been wandering during all your last times? Oh, it matters no more from now on! Here it is, your own salary, lying absolutely-totally nearby... Oh, such a nice day it's today – one of your most awaited and expected. A true Event! And so you have already started dreaming of how you will spend fairly or not totally so earned sum... Oh, such a pleasure it is – to spend... Buying, buying, buying... consuming, consuming, consuming. Probably if you had plenty of those paper pieces, you would certainly buy the whole Universe itself... such is a pity that it's not for sale! You already know what you will buy first, you have already made a plan... the most grandiose Plan of the purchase and sale of your life. How strange is that it looks so similar to the ones of your planet's relatives... fucked stereotyped plagiarists – that's who they are! Oh, let this tiresome working day end as soon as possible for one of the reckonings with your salary to come into action.

How wise are your planet's colleagues – they have already invented a universal price-list of everything. A payment for each and every sin. Yes, that's right – for any sin ever made by them. And you are certainly not going to be original in this business, yeah? It's a pity that seasonal discounts are not yet in action, however, the prices have practically been made stable. Amazing world! And how did you even image to survive in it without that very salary of yours? The one wishing to be on sale or to sell finds the owner or the buyer – and he finds his own... Each buys each one – except for a small group of fools, having no desire to live according to uniform private earth law. A vicious circle – but whether it was you who have created it first? You were simply born in this already built-up world of your ancestors... and what's the point to really alter it? To buy, to buy, to buy... to sell, to sell, to sell! Since the time someone has invented money, it became so simple... so naturally – as natural as you grab your long-awaited wages. And what would you cost without it... cost as a man? But what's the reason to measure your value by a different criterion when you have money on hands and in mind, and time of your life has been converted in it in advance for a lot of upcoming years... for there are plenty of things this world has to sell you! In exchange for this next salary of yours...

Have no fear, take it. You have deserved it, after all, earned, right? This money is now yours by right – sort of a universal man's measurement tool. And its amount has been growing with each passing year – a true equivalent of your market cost... and only now, having got this new salary, your feel yourself truly happy. Your heart sings in joy for you know how much do you cost – a whole heap of colored crackling pieces of paper...

14.08.2011

## Sign of the Way

Dirt. Slush. Dampness. Decay's smell. Water, dripping from a ceiling.

It used to be here so for a time being. No one was ever going to fix this cellar, and it was unimportant for inhabitants of this house – totally and irreversibly. They, too, were unimportant for those tenants, not to anyone, not to anybody.

Only a few ones aided them and responded to their requests... immensely simple requests, so easy for these rich tenants.  To give some money – as little as they can, as much as impossible. To bring a small piece of bread – for they were starving to death.

Practically nobody ever helped. So few ones.

Why? Why? Why?

What an immense amount of boldness was required for them in order to address someone! To plead for help in the condition, in which they were, for now, to stand against a gaze, full of hatred and contempt.

What for did men despise them? For, when their father died and mother passed away from this world as well, having choked in some furious illness, for, when this has happened, government expropriated their apartment from them – so totally young, and since then they have been doomed to wander through courtyards and cellars, by hook or by crook finding even a single piece of bread? Stealing so seldom, so much often – just to beg. To plead for help, for aid with something – what can be given, can be spared. They were left with the last possibility of survival – a sincere human request, addressing the hearts of men... But almost no one ever dared to help.

Once again they gathered here today, in a stuffy and dirty cellar – best option, which they have managed to find during last months. Gathered to discuss results of the day – to share what it was possible to find with each other. If it was possible, that's it.

They didn't conceal anything from each other, didn't hide, referring to adverse circumstances – shared all they have managed to get. They, who have been struggling against such deprivations, had no knowledge of contempt and egoism, they aided one another... They – two brothers and a sister. Two sixteen-year-old teenagers and fourteen-year girl.

For almost three years they have been living that way. How it was possible, as much as they could. They have already sustained three years of such life – how much is left for them in the storehouse of life? A month, a year, a decade? Nay, it's better not to think of that, not in that direction. Period.

The obstinate reason made one feel uneasy, running in circles time and again – even now. Tried to create rescue plans, to calculate possibilities to jump out of this dark and dirty fetid hole into the living world. To leave this excuse for a world behind, and enter a new and pure one, not its pity caricature.

No matter what, they were left to explore this type of world for now on. Only that pitiful one. But what will be with all those noble causes and achievements, of which they have dreamed so often in long-forgotten childhood, what is going to be with all them? Will they be lost? Or will find the inner strength to survive?

Must survive.

They have to survive for their dreams to be realized – their pure dreams must survive in hearts of theirs for them to survive – so that they can live on as men. Dying is not an option, in both cases. They will survive. And implement their light dreams afterward.

His reflections were suddenly interrupted by a soft and high pitched voice – one of his sister, who has just come running from the street. Entered this poor excuse for a home.

"Pasha, Pasha, take a look at what I've found today. Come to me, please come closer!"

He took a look. There was an apple pie in her hands – a big apple pie. Already slightly dried up and soiled, with a large part which has been bitten off. She yearned, poor soul...

"Vanya, Pasha, take it. Take it all. I have already eaten, was given food. A wonderful kind grandmother, single such one for many ladder flights. Only one. She gave me warm and sweet-sweet tea with jam. Can you imagine? Never in my life since the death of our mum and pa have I eaten such yum-yum. She allowed me to eat some pies, and when I have told her that I have two brothers as well, she has been searching for something for quite a while, distressed. And then she told me that for now she practically has nothing more as a food for you, for she is no more able to walk freely, and her sons buy and bring her meals. A pie, this very pie – she said that she has baked it herself, and for now that's everything she has to give you. She gave me that for you and then told that if I am either hungry or terrified, I can return to her once more – and she will warm and feed me. That's it. These are great news!"

While she, distorting and eating words, has been chattering all that, he approached her and silently sat down nearby. Took a glance at her – she was shivering. Then he embraced her and pushed to himself. Let she be warmed, calmed down. She's a good fellow, brought some meal. That was rarely possible even for both of them. A good fellow.

"You are the good fellow," he told her. She smiled. "I did my best," he heard.

Now, now they are going to eat to be warmed. Their organisms will obediently take offered food and transform it into a heat. It should suffice for today – and tomorrow they must repeat it all from the very beginning.

And every day is so much the same. A month? A year? A decade?

With no visible option to escape this circle. It, certainly, exists, – yet he's unable to find it. But he will find, most surely will. For their own sake, for the sake of his younger brother and little sister – an escape route will be found, a breach will be located. He's obliged to locate it.

Slowly did drops drip from a ceiling. Time hung heavy. He was sitting and reflecting... remembering his former carefree life. How much he's missing it now! They all are missing the caress of parents, their kindness and care. Life forced them to become totally-totally adult very early, being thrown away from a childhood. It was necessary for some mysterious reason... Was required...

To teach them not to be afraid of deprivations? To help them be kinder and tolerant to men, especially now, when so few of them were ever going to behave the same in return? To make them understand the pain and burden of others, same as they are?

Probably. Most certainly.

But from this endless stream of vital lessons he, seemingly, learned at best a lesson of compassion and mutual aid – he could never imagine his life without an aid to his brother and little sister. He was obliged to aid them to get out of this hole. Help them...

In this very instant of time his little sister somehow amusingly smacked one's lips, and turned to another side, still holding the edge of his jacket in her small hands. He turned around and once again covered her p let the foolish cold doesn't disturb her at least in her dreams...

They didn't even have a tiny possibility to earn some money – to earn with theirs, though childish, but totally selfless work. It would become as such if he managed to find some job at last. But never in his condition was it possible.

No one, nobody gave them a job – they were almost immediately thrown away at first sight. "People," he was compelled to shout to all those men, giving clips and punches, decorated maidens, fastidiously screwing up their faces, and starting to whisper something to those men quickly after his first appearing before them, "people! Why do you drive me away, leaving with no possibility to get out of this terrible hole, in which I have sunk? I am trying to jump away from it, trying to change my life! I am not even begging anything from you – I'm simply trying to earn something, even for a meal. Why do you despise me so? You don't even know, you have totally no idea of all those burdens and deprivations which I along with my brother and little sister had to sustain! You, whether you know, I wonder, how's that – to live with no roof over a head, with no place which you can call home... to live the way I do... to live, being ready in each new day to cease living, having simply died from hunger? Do you have the slightest idea of this life's taste? Have no desire to know? I, too, have none – totally – but had to feel it on my own lips. I had to. And now I can make nothing... Almost nothing".

Do I indeed can make totally nothing... is that really so? Cause if... if a constant source of food and heat won't be found soon – they will be lost. Will die... and... that's all?

If he's unable to earn... something... a bit... then... his little sister will have to... have to...

Nay, no, no way! The damn reason, shut up, shut up, shut up!

That will never happen! Never! I won't admit it! Break oneself about thresholds, begging for work – but won't admit it!

After all, she, Nina, could become a true princess... a sunray for a lot of people – she, since her very birth, she had the talent to play life... playing it so lovely, so naturally. She has been living almost like a child even now in that cacophony of their life. She could become a wonderful actress – actress of life... various life... uneasy life.

And he along with his brother could help a lot of people, teaching them to value what is being given to them by life, to appreciate any blessing, any help... to respond to the request, a sincere human request... not to allow one's hearts to freeze...

Water, slowly dripping from a ceiling. A peep of rats behind a wall. Two boys and a girl, nestled to each other. Sleeping. What is awaiting them the next day?

Next five hundred sixty-seven days...

***

A pen, being put aside. Sheets of paper, piled upon each other. He will continue his work tomorrow – continue writing. He still has much to tell people.

A still young man with a strange for the random passerby radiant sight left his table. Yes, he's going to continue the work he devoted himself to tomorrow.

He reflected for a moment and smiled. How lovely and natural her sister was! She has been living that way even now, living as a child, still capable to take care of her and others. She has been living like that even now, when troubles and misfortunes of their past have been overcome, having left a large hem in a memory. Slowly healing hem.

Have all the lessons been learned? Is the meaning of his life's events been understood? Were answers, given to the questions, asked by life itself, honorable and wise? Questions asked more than ten years ago... Much has been understood and comprehended, but more is awaiting him on his road. And he'll try to analyze results of his selections, comprehend own errors. He'll make it in the book – his first book. No, in their common book – a book of their life. Two brothers and a sister.

His sister called him yesterday by phone. Her voice was, as always, melodious and joyful. A lovely voice of a close person. Yes, she rejoiced her new life. Was indeed happy. She was granted a new role in a remarkable film – a role of a gentle wife and loving mother, the one, which she so perfectly carries out now in her own family. In a family with no insult and hatred ever possible, one without mistrust and self-interest, with a light and air of freedom, gentle aroma of love and mutual aid and assistance, trust, gratitude and kindness – where all that is present as a basis, a core. She's truly happy in that family of hers – she always spoke so... shared her joy in their meetings.

He's happy as well, in his new work.

Only his brother doesn't send news for quite a while. Never mind, he'll sure will, when returning from abroad. He's now a businessman, influential one and a man of action – largest magnates of a country listen to his opinion. Yet this sort of power hasn't spoiled him, he – they all – were given a lesson of deprivations for a reason. It made them kinder and wiser, despite the obstacles, in spite of the barriers.

Now each of them implements his own dream. Just as they once dreamed...

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 the advice 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, the attention of circus managers was 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 the 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.

21.12.2004

## And all diseases will be gone

I stopped. I stopped when have noticed a picture, totally breaking all conceivable and inconceivable laws of human logic. It wasn't simply strange... it was... somewhat ridiculous... amazing.

For a couple of years already I have been a regular visitor of this establishment, was there on a two-three month basis, I got used to beholding yellow walls with shelled and falling off the plaster, constantly sad faces of its people... used to see queues of older persons all with lowered heads and sad expressions on them, used to observe how some of them not without the help from other colleagues have been forced to wait in longest many-hours queues in order to receive a priceless ticket, granting one the right to learn one's fate – for even they, these people, tried to appear here as seldom as ever possible, tried not to be at all.

I had to come here time and again – my current condition didn't allow me to do anything different. I had to stand in queues among the same brothers-by-misfortune, to listen to silently-cold voices of doctors, ascertaining deterioration of your disease and constantly diligently drawing something on your out-patient card, without troubling themselves with any comments on that subject, though.

I got accustomed to this place, despite all its absurd. I could do no other. I cared no longer of what my doctors would tell me – my own sentence I have known for quite a while already and for a long time have reconciled to it. Different thoughts occupied my mind – I thirsted to know why these men so diligently avoided to look you in the face while reading your diagnosis, leaving you no options of survival – not in this life at least, not during ten incoming years. I was truly curious why they, snow-white like a funeral shroud in this house of grief, only multiplied this grief with their indifferent faces, cold voices...

Was a monthly ascertaining of the absence of any positive changes in my illness really desired by me? Whether I really needed those endless inspections, required by no one, even myself? No. Not for this, I thirsted. I thirsted for words – a kind word of participation and understanding. I desired to hear words of support from them – just to know that some other can share your pain... simply to be aware of that. I wanted to behold a shine of joy – a joy of life – even in someone's eyes, once in many months... But, obviously, I desired too much... too much in this life – and hopes of mine could never come true.

Probably for that particular reason now I have stopped, being amazed at what I have seen. I would, certainly, not able to say anything meaningful first tens of seconds, if some casual passer-by has suddenly decided to inquire why was I standing with my mouth widely opened, hardly incorporating cold winter air. There were no such ones – and that's probably for the better.

That house of grief which I got used to observing for those almost two years, which I knew practically thoroughly, – it was no more both inside and outside. A sad inscription, engraved by dark gray letters "City hospital № 17" was gone, as well as lattices on windows and always-rude security guard, wiggling from constant sleep debt. Instead of an inscription, there was a bright... a signboard of sorts... have no idea how to name it, where new words were imprinted: "Townhouse of healing. We are happy to wish you a good health!" Lattices on windows disappeared as well, and there was a shining light, coming from windows... and when I have habitually risen up by stairs, I was greeted by an elegantly-dressed young man, who said something like "Come in, please. May you be always in good health!" and magnanimously opened me a door.

Shortly after that, I had to come to my senses for at least ten minutes in an entrance hall. And this hall itself changed as well. No more there were decayed walls and tiny cloakroom with eternally snapping and rude woman of thirty-five years. There was a sort of large parquet hall instead – walls changed their color to grass-greenish, and instead of a cloakroom attendant Masha there was a smiling woman of thirty years, who, when I have approached her, also welcomed me, kindly helped to take off my coat, and, having given me a label, once more wished me good health.

To tell the truth, I didn't expect all that. I got so much accustomed to former "yellow house", and to see it totally changed was truly surprising for me. Even more intriguing were new people – attentive and, I shall not be afraid of this word, really sympathizing.

When I have climbed a new beautiful twisted ladder on a second floor, my eyes surprised me one more time. Narrow, constantly badly lightened corridors and men, crowding in them, were gone, as well as sad-yellow walls and endlessly-long line of doors with diverse and hard-to-understand names of specializations of these doctors – instead there were wide, brightly lighted and spacious corridors with some sort of bluish-white (and, as it seemed to me, as if even a bit shining) shade walls, and there was practically no trace remained from a heap of doors with badly readable names of specialties of these "doctors", eagerly not expecting you behind them.

Amazed, I was walking forward through this corridor, badly realizing where were my sick feet now dragging me along. I was wandering and overheard some surprisingly beautiful quite melody, being poured on a premise... for an instant it seemed as if I recognize it – it contained familiar tonality, however, I had to admit further that despite was tonality is familiar to me, its rhythm was totally new. Nevertheless, this music was surprisingly beautiful... so astonishing that I was compelled to shed a few tears myself, listening to it. But if only the music... Some unknown aroma penetrated this mystically transformed corridor – it was unusual, as well as the mysterious melody, and pleasant at the same time.

I was slowly moving through the corridor, looking around and never ceasing to be surprised. It seemed that this painfully familiar "City hospital № 17" ceased to be itself anymore and became a... museum of fine arts, at the very least. I say "museum" just because habitual to me former naked walls were now decorated with pictures – ones of our classics... images of love, joy and "simple human happiness", which all of us have been searching for so desperately.

I... have no idea how to describe you all that, which words to use when talking to you, ones reading those lines of text right now, so that you can understand me... so that I can share with you all that oceanic variety of feelings, which have overflown me at that moment... I felt as if I have finally arrived not into some pitiful and painful hospital, but in the paradise instead... or at least into the expectation room on a threshold to it.

I was traveling down this mysterious corridor and saw no other fellow sufferers... no sign of eternally arguing patients, no smell of spirit filling a premise, there were no visible nurses and medical brothers, pushing their carts by this narrow corridor – there was nothing... normal... habitual, to say so.

When I, at last, have approached the first carved door in this corridor – almost during that very instant of time a doctor opened it and came to me. A doctor... to tell the truth, one could hardly name him a doctor for now. A one habitual to me, anyway. A man of approximately twenty-five years old, dressed in a dark blue dressing gown, smiled to me and said: "Don't hesitate to come in. We are truly glad to see you," and, having that said, he welcomed me to his office, coming after. Obediently I entered the place.

And when I did that my eyesight has decided to deceive me once more.

There we no traces of walls, covered with advertising of all-brand-new "universal" medicines, neither cots nor couches, no signs of iron medical little tables, already so familiar to me. There were wide carved oak chairs instead, as well as some beautiful (but, unfortunately, unfamiliar to me) pictures, soft carpet floor, once again some pleasant smell (however, it differed from what I have encountered in the corridor), quiet music, flowing in the office's air... there were so much more to behold.

"Come in, sit down, please," the man told and helped me to sit down on a convenient oak chair. "What troubles you today, sir?"

To be truthful, I was taken aback. Whether he really has no idea what has been bothering me all that time?

"I take it that you are surprised? There is nothing to worry about, it has been like that for quite a while," he answered in the meantime.

"What exactly has been like that?"

"The house of healing, most certainly. It has been in such a state for a long time."

"But I was in your hospital yesterday..." I tried to object.

"Yesterday? You did not visit us yesterday. You have not been here for several decades."

I was astonished. Did... did he know me? And... several decades? I distinctly remembered that was here yesterday and my attending physician ordered me to come back tomorrow... thank God, my memory still served me well enough.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, most certainly," said the doctor and warmly smiled once more. "You entered this office and your biometric parameters have been analyzed. You were there ten years, two months and three days ago since your last visit."

"But... that's impossible... I... I don't understand... yesterday... today... a new building... signboard... music... what... what happened?"

"You ask me so many really interesting questions – I see that you are an inquisitive and reasonable interlocutor," that man told me. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. So, how did you name it... a hospital? A house of pain, right? But... we have not been using these words for many years already... unless there should be a pain? Both health and cure – that's what should be, and no way for pain and suffering. We bring no suffering, we bring health."

"And the music..."

"Music? Yes, that's our new melodic rhythm for the last year. World scientists have discovered, that exactly similar tonalities lead to a sincere and nervous relaxation and, as a natural consequence, to improving regenerative processes in the cells of live beings."

"And a smell... what's a strange smell is that?"

"Nothing more than a recent invention of a new branch in the science which has been called as 'smell-infology', as far as I remember. This mix of aromas improves a brain activity and have a relaxing and calming influence on a human organism. Certainly, there are lots of other aromas, serving different purposes, but this particular one suits us best of all."

"And the pictures on the walls?"

"Oh, mind you, we are not a bombproof shelter of the times of the Last War, right? Such an interface forms a positive spirit in our... in our potentially healthy people, and aids them a lot. After all, you must have certainly heard of the last researches of the United Alliance Of Medics, who have discovered, that our organism is capable to recover by itself from any known in the present moment (and, possibly, any future potential) illness by keeping an appropriate inner positive spirit? So, well, such an interior is used to promote its formation as well. It's that simple."

"And how... I... I still haven't understood... please tell... tell at last who... are you?"

"You ask too many questions... forgive me, for I cannot answer them all. Our time... time is for an outcome... it's – the most valuable human resource..."

Something suddenly started hammering in my ears so I could hardly distinguish separate words, being spoken by the mysterious... doctor.

"Each one... can... must... himself... desire... be healthy... then everything becomes... possible. Remember that... well."

"But... tell me... who are you?"

"We... yours... future..." last words finally reached me.

And just a moment later a knock at a door transferred me into the next world.

***

"So, woke up finally, Ivan Petrovich?"

"Pavel... Pavel Petrovich," I whispered, still coming to my senses and silly beholding the decayed yellow walls which have surrounded me, and own iron bed on which I was laying.

"Yeah... sure... who the heck cares. Wonderfully, wonderfully. Just remarkably, you know."

And having that said a man in a white dressing gown bent over me, looked in the eyes somehow semi-malevolently and smiled.

"Now we are gonna to put you a clyster, Ivan Petrovich, and all your diseases," and he smiled once more, "they will be surely forever begone..."

01.01.2006

## Gamer

The figure in a black as night attire, which has stopped reflecting shadow and absorbing light an uncountable by earth standards number of years ago, punched a chessboard with rage by its dressed in dark-red gloves hand, shaking all controlled figures. This game was lost. The king was defeated – one can even say that he has sent his own soul to the upcoming court of the Maker. And how incredibly useful for the game party this soul was! Animal cruelty, indescribable unscrupulousness, inhuman slyness, endless thirst for power and glory... and now all of this was in ruins! In the nearest future confidants of this dark king will leave him – some by leaving this mortal world as well and some by hiding in forgotten corners of their pathetic planet.

The black-and-red fire was blazing in the eyes of the Gamer, who has been recently sitting beside this mystical chessboard. He knew that he had broken the Law, he already knew that his plans wouldn't come true. The Earth was lost – yet only for a while. "Others will come after me... and then we shall play again," he reflected, walking to and fro about the room, waiting for inevitable Convoy, who was to put him in shackles and place up to the moment of the beginning of the Court there, where even controlled by him figures of mortals had been denied access long before the time of their own creation.

The game board, nearby which this figure was recently sitting, was now living its own life. Somewhere from its bottom and side surface, the light started coming more and more distinctly, flashing through small breaks and cracks, whose numbers were quickly growing – and the gray fog, that had surrounded black chess figures, was dissipating as if depriving them of its protection. One after another, black figures on the chessboard were turning into dust, falling under the feet of victoriously marching white ones. Without their king they had no more will for life – not in their earth world, in any case. Very soon, in the May of the forty fifth year, if we are to measure in time standards of mortal earth beings, these shining from a new inflow of powers white figures, which seemed to the Gamer and his king only several years ago as being so small, so insignificant, so easily disposable, will break through last lines of defense, setting up their flag over the heart of his, Gamer's, city.

The figure in a black attire started to roar, vomiting tongues of dark flame, and stretched its hand over a game board, trying to sweep away in his final blow as many white figures from the board as possible – but claws of this hand have only powerlessly hit against the invisible barrier, which has surrounded the chessboard during these instants. The figure roared from pain, promptly shrouding its wounded hand in a gray fog, and took a step away from the chessboard.

"We shall come, we will return! We will be reborn in your souls once again..." it whispered when a burning, scorching, intolerable for her light, coming from warriors of the Convoy, rushed with them into the Hall of Fates.

The Red Army in the world known as Earth victoriously set up a flag over the Reichstag.

***

The ones gathered in this spacious hall were going to decide destinies of the mankind, which they have entrusted to themselves.

Everything was going as they would like it to be in many aspects. Members of long-subjected to them governments and heads of the largest banks and multinational corporations have been voluntary-forcibly faithful to them for a lot of years already, obediently executing given for them orders, because they perfectly knew that death is not the most dreadful of fates as punishment for non-obedience. Terrorism, that was encouraged and sponsored by them in territories of adjacent states, played for the benefit of these rulers. Chaos was their weapon and its keys were reliably hidden, as it seemed to them, in their own hands. Crisis, by which their controlled mass-media frightened residents of various earth states, had to become permanent, and, according to their plan, in a bowl of this great new confusion a uniform and universal earth religion has to be formed, designed to justify their, who were considering themselves as demigods, right to punish human flesh and dominate over human mind and spirit. This new religion, new world order, had to possess strong and proven by time roots – ones that will originate from precepts of the founding fathers of the revived empire of "true Aryans". The king has died – long live the king!

Today's agenda was directed to searching for methods of destruction of the remains of an essence of doctrines of true Prophets. Smiles wandered on their speckled by wrinkles faces, and their eyes looked somewhere up coldly and apart, as if in contempt. They were the gamers in what they called as the Big Game – a game for the future of their world.

***

The new gamer, which took the place of his lesser skilled colleague, who has managed to lose the game, which was starting so brilliantly by others, was standing behind other-world chessboard and moving figures. They, his pawns, who were thinking of themselves as masters of the world, were totally suitable for the fulfillment of his own plan, and qualities of their long dead souls considerably facilitated the management process. Black, as if weaved out of a thick web, threads, coming from the Gamer's head to these figures on a board, continually hissed and stretched, transmitting mental directions and orders through them. Under their influence board's figures obediently shuddered and moved in the desired by the Gamer direction. "We will return," the new Gamer whispered, "as we promised. We shall still conquer this world of yours. We shall still win this game party. Our puppets are completely controlled by us, unlike yours, to which you have granted a free will and therefore have ceased to operate them directly".

Overwhelmed by thoughts of own plans and ideas, the Gamer was walking to and fro about the hall, greedy exhaling tongues of dark flame. He desired to win a game party for this human world. His own life was at stake.

04.08.2017

## When a veil falls

He was the president of the country.

A large technologically developed state. Military technology, natural resources – everything was in plenty. The newest bacteriological weapon, keeping in awe all neighbors – he has even published a decree of its "authorized" usage in the begun war with frontline democratic "state".

Democratic... damned fools! Pathetic liberals, benefactors of people! No, they simply didn't know the force of absolute power. Total dictatorship, complete control over every word and even thought of each inhabitant of your country... a feast for a whim! All scientific minds mobilized into the development of even more frightening and horrific types of arms... Single-handed decision-making, a will to execute and pardon... Daily hymns, sung to you in each house, each apartment... of course! – because the punishment for those found guilty is death – instant and painful death under the concentrated plasma stream.

There were no dissatisfied ones... or at least those, trying to openly declare it... Psychogenerators, scattered near borders of this country, did their job right – now he is free to force people to think how he desires. Mental waves of vast variety, last invention of psychophysics – and human is under your full control. Cause either elation, either hysteria, either unlimited aggression in which, being armed with newest "gizmos" of military technology, human became an almost universal machine of destruction...He could do everything. And he enjoyed it.

Has drowned in blood the revolt in the frontline island state. Has left lifeless desert on southern suburbs of his country, where hordes of the enemy have dared to intrude – the same whitish desert remained in all territory of the attacking state. Threatened to throw off the newest modification of psycho-neutron bomb on the neighbor, who was unwilling to yield convenient trade routes, having destroyed all mental potential of the pigheaded one – he gave up very quickly, having become the witness of demonstration of its possibilities in small scales...

He possessed all. Everything was below him – he was above everything. He was the president of the state...

***

Mechanics peep. Red measured words on the X-display screen – "Your account is empty. Please replenish your balance". Damn! The end...Slowly unhooked from body sensors and controls, the neuro-pulse helmet, removed from his head. That's all. Game over...

A lonely thought, spinning in the head: "eat". So... where is a food here? He has turned his head around. Oh, here... just near the terminal. A needle, inserted into a vein... very soon nutritious liquor will be soaked up and carried by blood through the organism – it should suffice for some days. Should suffice... a shrill sound signal... done. He has pulled out a needle.

So... he has rummaged around his pockets. Twenty credits... not enough... only for sixty-seventy hours... heck... no matter. A helmet, being dressed again. Heaps of wires and connections fitted to a body. A token put into a machine, which has greedily grasped it... Satisfied mechanics peep.

Start. The virtual world never waits.

***

City streets, lightened with lanterns. A signboard over one of many buildings – "Salon of virtual findings". Hundreds of terminals over the walls. People, sitting in them.

Next terminal... a twitching man, braided by mechanics. A stream of saliva, slowly flowing down on a floor... The face is not visible – it's being covered by a small helmet. Peeps of equipment...

He was the head of the largest mafia organization...

02.06.2003

## Critic

In one of the cities there lived the Critic, who has been blaming everything he meets.

"Your society is corrupted and petty! Your thoughts and lives are filled with vanity! Your moral is worse than that of animals! Each of you lives only for himself! You are going the wrong way! Grieves and grief await you!"

He became widely known thanks to this unstoppable desire to see a better world – yet people avoided him, and from the grief of his own loneliness, he condemned them even more.

Once, in hopes to dispel the melancholy that has been tormenting him, he was walking through the suburb of his hometown and sat down on the coast of the murmuring spring.

The spring charmed him with a melodious murmur and freshness of its waters.

He was so fond of observation of how waters of the spring carry away autumn leaves, which were occasionally falling down into it, that hasn't noticed how the woman sat down near him, going to scoop spring water.

"Do you like it?" she asked with a smile. "Fresh water flows here."

"Yes," replied the Critic. "Water is good and people are, alas, not at all."

"How many leaves have floated by you while you were drinking?" his interlocutor suddenly asked him. "From what trees each of them fell?"

"That's a strange question!" the Critic was surprised. "I haven't paid attention to it."

"Than how could you possibly paid attention to all people, living in this world?" smiled the woman. "Like leaves, they were floating by you, yet you didn't truly notice them. And even the water that is now flowing in the spring is not the one it was several moments ago."

"What is your point?" questioned the Critic.

"Drink only water of fresh perception!" the woman laughed loudly and poured out a bucket of icy spring water directly on the critic's head.

26.12.2017

## Tough one

You are the tough one – and that lies out of doubt's borders. Dreadfully respectable type! You have achieved success in life, and now it successfully continues to support your illusion of own happiness with such degree of intensity, that you simply don't have time for anything other except for support of own respectability in the community of ones similar to you. And they respect you, certainly, not for whom you actually are, but for all that external social attributes, with which you have painted yourself. In the company of the ones like you hypocrisy, you know, is the nature of things.

How many powers and time were spent in a struggle for that invaluable mask, how many people were smashed, how lots of beautiful feelings and words were thrown out on a wind for the sake of opportunity to overtake several others on this roundabout route which is out of sense! But for now you are cool, and it's not subject for doubt, because all those millions who have made you their idol, can't be all mistaken, yes? And they have already managed to stop doubting own infallibility – because, according to their opinion, the ones who have managed to be imprinted on pages of "Forbes" magazines are hardly capable of making mistakes. You, much like the comrade Lenin, have become the idol of many – you became simply intolerable. And the stream of your life didn't take you out to a coast of serenity and boundlessness. And whether did you really desire to swim in that direction?

Power of money because of money for the sake of money not without money. Money replaced so many things in your life. You have become extremely rich and valuable person – that's why simple human happiness was too expensive for you to afford. It, unlike you, is able to understand people and doesn't run after to each passer if they have "Rolex" watches or "Porsche" cards at their disposal. It's very human because it searches for humanity. It's much like a Firebird, and one can grasp it by tail only be being simple and kind – and you have become too tough, suspicious and intolerable. Probably, it's almost unbearable to remain as such at all times – yet by some mystical ways you have managed to achieve it still.

Probably, at least once or twice you managed to notice some kind of special people, by and away from which your highly profitable life express was carrying you time and again. These people were, according to your measures, simple poor ones – yet at the same time, they were rich with something totally different, the phenomenon of so mysterious to your nature. They were able to celebrate life in each its instant and therefore knew no such thing as grief. They were sincere – and hypocrites feared to approach them, being afraid to be disclosed at the next instant. For now, you do understand that they were rich with happiness – for there was something from the God inside them. You know, this something could belong to you as well...

You have built your castle on the false base – and now it's being shaken by blows of conscience. But nevertheless you, apparently, don't understand that all those common truths which have been once called as both banal and boring, even being rejected by you have been living nearby still as if invisibly marking and fixing something. It's they, these truths, will never lose its value no matter how thick and strong the dust layer of fabrications and lies would use the ones who have still not understood that truths aren't capable to be banal.

But all of that is, apparently, not your business – for after all you move, run and rush forward by a belt road, without seeing a path. You didn't understand for the sake of what you once again – and maybe the for the last time, – have come to the planet Earth. Dreadfully respectable type!

24.05.2013

## Legend of Divine Island

"There is a legend," the Wiseman smiled, "of the Divine Island, inhabited by singing Angels, where, seemingly, even the time ceases its movement. We transfer it to our warriors from one generation to another, and each and every year several brave ones stand out from the crowd, willing to find this true miracle."

"Have anyone of them achieved it yet?" the young man questioned.

"We don't know it for certain. Probably, many of them were lost on a journey to the Bridge. Possibly, some of them decided not to ascend it and turned back, but, being tormented by feelings of shame and fear, decided to never return back home, having found themselves a haven in foreign lands. Perhaps, someone, at last, has managed to pass on the Bridge and reach the Island, but whether will they decide to come back to our usual world, if they have once tasted that mysterious heavenly beauty? And, besides all other things, the very living on that Island should have transformed them so much that lots of people would certainly not be able to recognize them, renewed, even if they returned to our habitual home."

"And what is that wondrous Bridge that you have mentioned?" curiosity and genuine interest were shining in the eyes of the young warrior.

"Would you like to hear the legend of the Divine Island?" smiled the Wiseman.

"Yes!" the young man ardently answered him.

"Well, then listen and remember it well!"

***

"This Island is not marked on any of earth maps, yet it still exists. Many say that it's too majestic for the foot of mere mortal to step on its surface... others do argue that only those who have passed mysterious trials are given this unique chance and joy. Probably, someone would compare this island to an earthly paradise and would surely be mistaken, for his ideas of paradise are too superficial and ambiguous."

"And where is this Island located, in what overseas lands?"

"It's far and still close to you at the same time. And the first thing required for each of the warriors marching in a journey is the Intuition."

"And what in fact is that Intuition, and how can one find it inside himself?"

"The voice of Intuition can only be heard when the mind of yours becomes silent and heart of yours starts speaking. The first steps are always made with Intuition, therefore those who have chosen a wrong direction initially may never find the Island, even if they will have been traveling through many foreign lands throughout their entire life."

"But are those still able to once hear the voice of their Intuition, and curtail to the right path?"

"Certainly, if they will manage to suppress inner whispers of own Arrogance."

"And what happens with those who once chose the right way?"

"At the beginning of their journey to the Island, they have to pass through the Wood of Life Difficulties."

"And what is that – the Wood of Life Difficulties?"

"It's a mystical forest full of growing trees, which people have agreed to call among themselves no other way than Problems."

"And why did you call this wood mystical?"

"The fact is that every traveler sees this wood its own way. Someone cannot distinguish among a never-ending stream of trees the wood itself, while another practically doesn't see any trees at all. This wood is live, it possesses its own reason and behavior, and is capable of changing and transformation of itself according to each wanderer in compliance with his World-Outlook. That's why for some it seems as dark and gloomy, with a set of various clinging foot snags, fenny bogs, burdock, and nettle thickets, while for the rest it becomes a bright and sunny wood with joyfully-rustling trees, ever-singing birds and juicy berries, growing here and there under their feet."

"And why one has to overcome this wood on his journey to the Bridge at all? Cannot we simply bypass it somehow?"

"One has to pass through this entire wood so that he can accumulate enough Wisdom, without which it will be extremely difficult to journey to the end."

"And what is awaiting us further, after the wood? Probably the very Bridge to the Island itself?"

"Oh, certainly not!" the Wiseman smiled good-naturally. "Just behind the wood, the River of Time keeps flowing."

"What a strange name for the river! And who has decided to call some usual river so pathetically?"

"Oh, if only it was some common river! But no, it's even more surprising than the Wood of Life Difficulties itself."

"Most probably, it's very wide and filled to the bottom with some sort of predatory fish like piranhas?" the young man cheerfully burst out laughing. "Nevertheless, it's probably not too difficult to cross it by swimming."

"No sort of predatory fish is ever present there," the Wiseman unexpectedly replied firmly. "To be bitten for feet by some pity piranhas – it's such an insignificant trial! It's much more uneasy to feel the Link of Times under own feet and pass the river, leaning on it."

"But what's that – the Link of Times?"

"The rope bridge, connecting two sides of the river, is called that way. This bridge is very, very, extremely ancient and old, for it has existed there since the most ancient eras, connecting the times. Waves of time of that river are lapping under it, sprinkling it with myriads of water drops and consequently during all the time of its existence the bridge has become extremely slippery. An inexperienced and self-assured traveler can easily slip on its boards and fall down to the river."

"But is that not possible to get out of river back on the coast and start everything anew?" the young man was surprised.

"Alas, but as soon as the man gets caught into the raging whirlpool of that river, the time starts flowing for him so quickly and uncontrollably, that, when he will finally manage to swim to the coast, he can have already become elderly aged man, and thus will possess neither the forces, nor time or desire to move through the river any further."

"But how is it possible not to stumble on that bridge through the River of Times? How can I truly feel the bridge under my feet?"

"The feel underfoot the link of times means to understand that behind the last instant there will be a following, and behind the current, there was the previous one. We were forgetting the previous instant and never knew the following, but that doesn't mean that there was no previous, and the following would never come true. To understand that means to feel the link of times, and, feeling it, not to slip. To understand the rapidity of time and the value of each given to us instant means to cross the bridge over the River of Times."

"All that is so uneasy!" the young warrior sighed. "Well, and what is awaiting us after the River of Times? Now it will probably be that main Bridge at long last?"

"No, before reaching the Bridge on the Island, one still has to travel through the entire Desert of Loneliness."

"Sounds very terrifying!" exclaimed the young man.

"In the Desert of Loneliness, each man remains alone with himself. In the Desert of Loneliness, he is being tormented by his own demons, over whom he still hasn't totally prevailed in course of own life. Demons of Fear, Doubt, and Grief are being encountered there more often than others. It seems to the traveler that he is left alone and abandoned to the mercy of fate, though it's his fate itself that leads him through this scorching desert. Demons are constantly tormenting him, trying to make him fall in despair and curtail from own path, for they do clearly know how very close is the final goal of the traveler. The sun of reason does constantly burn down his skin, poisonous scorpions and snakes of evil thoughts endlessly crawl under his feet. There is a lonely Oasis of Hope in that desert, yet one can reach it only by the end of the day when your forces are practically extinguished, yet there is a faith in a miracle living deep inside your soul. Those who have reached the Oasis are granted the good fortune of Strength of Spirit, which is so greatly required for the ascension on the Bridge. From the Oasis to the Bridge there lie two more days of traveling through the desert."

"But how must the traveler move under the scorching sun for two whole new days? This is a pure suicide mission!" the young man cried out.

"By noon of the third day, the Angel from the Divine Island comes to a half-dead traveler. He covers him from burning beams with his snow-white wings, helping to restore his forces."

"And how did you manage to learn all that?" the young man was feeling uneasy. "After all you must have never seen even a single Angel in your entire life!" he exhaled.

"So says the legend," the Wiseman smiled. "And besides all that, there are still few ones living in our world, who have once met them face to face one way or another."

"And what occurs then?"

"And then the desert once comes to an end, and the man comes to the Bridge."

"That very one, leading to the Island?"

"Yes, that one! It's said that the Divine Island lies in the middle of Ocean of Life and is surrounded with high rocks, hiding what lies inside them from eyes of strangers. The only way for those daring to get on the Island is to pass on the Bridge alone. The Bridge gradually rises up, ascending higher and higher from the rocky foothills banding the desert directly to the center of the Island. It' said that there is a cave in the rocks through which it's possible to enter the valley in the center of the Island, – but one can reach the cave only by passing the Bridge."

"Well, if the traveler managed to reach the Bridge at last, then it would not be difficult at all to overcome the rest of his path!" the young man sighted cheerfully.

"Oh!" the Wiseman answered with irony, "if only it was that way! The truth, in fact, is that all the previous trials were only the preparation for the last step. The entrance to the Bridge is being guarded – protected by a huge and terrifying many-headed and almost invincible hydra. This hydra possesses many thousands of heads, breathing poisons of envy, sulfur of contempt, the fire of irritation, squealing and abusing the warrior in thousands and thousands of voices in many ways. It's almost immortal, because as soon as you have overcome in a verbal duel one of her heads, another one immediately grows on its place, being even more awful and terrible than the former one. So, envy transforms itself into cruelty, contempt becomes hatred, and irritation turns into anger, and from the endless abuse your very ears can wither easily."

"What is the name of that monster?!" the young man exclaimed in horror.

"It's called no less than Public Opinion," replied the Wiseman. "After all, if one desires to reach his most cherished and pure dream, he must once overcome the roughest and condemning Public Opinion. The truth is in fact that despite almost full invulnerability of this monster, the traveler can nevertheless ascend the Bridge, because this monster with his entire external dreadfulness isn't capable to cause any harm until he is engaged into the fight by the will of the traveler, who have forgotten the true purpose of his journey."

"But how is that possible to evade this monster?" the young man was surprised.

"One must simply... pay no attention to it!" the Wiseman burst out laughing. "This monster is being fed by the very surpluses of human attention, and by such emanations, he finds his next victims. Those who desire too much attention, the risk to become too dead sometimes."

"Wow!" the young man exclaimed, being struck by what he has just heard. "How simple and difficult at the same time is all that!"

"Those who managed to pay no attention to abuse and rage of those aspiring to lead them away from their cherished dream, pass by a monster and step on the Bridge, starting to rise by Steps of the Way."

"And what do these Steps look like?"

"The legend says that they are unique for each and every traveler. They can vary in quantity and distance between each of them. Each step is like an unforgettable instant of time, a moment stretched to infinity in eternity. Each step is one of the most important lessons given to the one on his Way, what he is truly lacking and for what he has once started his journey. It's sort of fixing what has been learned previously."

"And then what?"

"And then the traveler sees under his feet the storming ocean and steps, leading him afar, and the sun, shining on him. It happens from time to time that the distance between the steps becomes too long, so it's impossible to neither pass nor jump over them in a usual way to keep moving."

"But how is that even possible to overcome such a distance then?"

"And for this task, there must be a Faith living inside you. Only having the Faith can you step into the air between the steps and not fall down to the ocean, raging far below. Arguments of mind never help here, common knowledge becomes useless, and no usual earth skills or abilities are of any aid either. Walking on the Bridge, you are being transferred into a totally another dimension and is being changed with each and every step on it, returning back to your true nature. This is your true awakening."

"Well, and then?"

"And then you pass through the Cave of Resurrection, cut down in rocks, stepping on the land of the Divine Island. You can call it as the Island of Pure Dream if you desire. I dare not to describe this Island even with the words of a legend, for so it's surprising and magnificent!"

"Whoooh, what a journey!" exclaimed the young man as soon as the Wiseman has finally gone silent, cheerfully and with love in his eyes looking at his so attentive and grateful listener.

"And what will happen with those who have finally managed to reach the Divine Island? What new unforgettable adventures and encounters are waiting for them ahead?"

"And this is, oh my attentive friend," and Wiseman happily patted the young man's shoulder, "will be a whole another story!"

06.07.2012

## Master

"Greetings, oh great Master!" the Seeker started yelling. "I have heard a lot about your wisdom and knowledge and truly desire to become one of your devoted Disciples!"

"And won't your heart jump straight out of your chest, should I accept the offer?" the Master squinted his right eye and looked fixedly at unexpectedly found neophyte while continuing to nibble sunflower seeds. "For, you know, I have no desire to stand responsible before Gorzdrav for your breathless corpse, you see? After all, I am already on a note, for my own health is not the one it used to be in youth."

"I would surely jump out of my trousers from the joy if you take me with yourself!" assured him the Seeker.

"It's a bad karma to jump like that. After all, we are not Europe here, see? Different spiritual climate, so to speak. And who was that wise man who advised you to visit me, especially so early in the morning, aye?" murmured Master while scratching his own back.

"Destiny itself has brought me to you by tracks rarely-walked and ways inconceivable!" ardently exclaimed Seeker.

"Probably, ye found the announcement in the newspaper, aye?" Master coughed, having choked with his next sunflower seed.

"In newspaper used in the toilet for the paper!" Seeker started chattering. "I have understood finally that throw away my life aimlessly in the trash can, like an ultimate fool, I do!"

"Well, you are not the very first, and surely not the last!" Master laughed in reply. "The last little fool here in our village was Vasily."

"I finally desired to comprehend the meaning of my life, my mission, my path!" Seeker continued to chatter a tongue twister.

"Well, if you are such nimble, we can join our ways," answered Master. "Can you chop firewood, for instance?"

"I will gladly learn this lesson!" ardently confirmed Seeker. "Just make me your Disciple!"

"All right, all right, have it your way!" Master coughed another time and spat out next sunflower seed on a grass. "Grab that ax over there and go with me. I myself is too old already for deeds like that, need a fresh blood to make things shine."

***

"How are you holding your ax, silly one!" Master shouted and struck Disciple's head with a crutch. "What's the reason to hold it with one hand? Hold it with both hands when dealing a blow!"

"Like that, we should cut strenuously through burdens of our life?" Seeker looked hopefully at Master, brushing away sweat from his forehead.

"What sort of burden is that?!" Master looked shocked. "You were simply asked to chop firewood, nothing more and nothing less. What, have you eaten too much henbane to make daily routine tasks look like a feat?"

"I have consumed too much of Internet, Master!" bitterly exclaimed Disciple. "I have eaten it too much and become satiated! I spammed through forums, trolled poor children, scribbled disgusting articles in newspapers, I did!"

"Sins of yours are heavy!" Master has thrown up his hands. "And what are trolls, exactly?" he decided to specify just in case.

"Ones such as we are, Master," sighed Disciple. "Shivering creatures."

"Oh, you haven't tasted our frosts yet, dear!" Master laughed. "Not to worry, we shall cure you of this civilized nonsense, only give us some time."

"Many thanks to you, Master!" cried Disciple. "Just tell me what should I do now, I am ready for everything!"

"Keep on chopping firewood, stupid city-dweller!" Master yelled and once again laid a precise blow with a crutch upon Disciple's head.

***

"Very well," Master noticed with satisfaction, climbing upwards. "Stove is good, it gives warmth. And warmth is priceless nowadays."

"Hearts of men have grown indifferent and cold to burdens of their earth brothers..." Disciple nodded knowingly in response.

"Goof!" replied Master and threw a felt boot from his leg into Disciple. "Firewood is cheaper, and oil radiator would cost me a fortune for sure. And my pension, I'll make you know that isn't a fortune at all, and it's without a premium. They didn't even give me a veteran of works status, nasty ones!" Master grumbled disappointedly, settling on a stove.

"Master!" frowned Disciple. "Master..."

"Zzzzzzzz..." noise came to his ears from stove's location.

"Master!" Disciple cried beggarly. "Master, I look forward to hearing from you!"

"Yes, what-what-what?!" opened his eyes almost fallen asleep from warmth Master, having stared at his Disciple. "Why have you once again disturbed me when I was regaining my strength, aye?" he said and threw a second felt boot in Disciple.

"Master, we have been engaged in some nonsense for several months already – we were dragging waters from a well, collecting grass in stacks, catching fish in a river, cooking a fish soup. When will we finally start doing something important and great, something that matters? My spirit has grown tired waiting for future achievements!"

"Does it look like insignificant to you? The fish soup we used to cook turned out to be great, by the way. Especially when made from carps and catfishes, – delicious! For a long time, I haven't tested such a meal without you."

"Are you scoffing, Master?!" Disciple cried bitterly. "What kind of significance is that?"

"Your empty head!" Master sighed. "It surely doesn't want to put a meaning in things you are doing. For if you put sense in your deeds – you would love it, and if you loved it – you would do so with joy, and if you did them with joy – you would be happy, and if you were happy – you would share that happiness with others around you. And what kind of fish soup they would be able to cook then? Divine!"

"Easy for you to say!" Disciple took offense. "You keep lying in warmth while I have to freeze each day down here on this wooden bed. I would certainly like to be in your shoes!"

"Are you sure you want that?" Master blinked his eyes. "No problem, climb over here! And I will luxuriate in your place, for I get used to enjoying the place I live in no matter where I am."

"Shit... how do I... where is... damn it... master! There is no free place here at all!" started complaining Disciple, has once again hit his head against a brick of the stove.

"It's you for whom there is no place over there, for you have your own place in life, simpleton!" with these words Master threw back his felt boot onto the stove. "Catch boot!"

"Why do you give me your footwear, Master?" Disciple looked at him with confusion. "Come back to your stove and I shall climb down to wooden bed."

"Not so fast!" laughed Master. "Quickly put on felt boots and sheepskin coat, you shall go to a post office now. The lesson of humility and patience awaits ye."

***

"Back so soon?" Master smiled, seeing as covered with hoarfrost Disciple has hardly rolled over a threshold and has wearily fallen to his bed even without putting off felt boots. "Well, how are my boots to you, don't they put too much pressure on you?"

"Hard is the journey in sandals of yours..." Disciple murmured wearily with hardly obeying lips.

"Well," Master sighed with satisfaction, moving on a stove. "Russian Post, village... Should I explain it further, or will you manage to comprehend it itself, spineless troll? And I, by the way, went there every month to collect my pension. But I do see now that you can replace me in this battle."

"Who the heck advised you to settle in such boondocks, Master!" grumbled Disciple. "God only knows how long I have been traveling to you through woods with no direct direction in order to find you!"

"By beloved dolt!" Master lifted his hands. "Who has told you the false fact that it was obligatory to crawl through woods for several days in order to find me – your own ego, or some kind of Buddhist? You, I gather, haven't even heard of such a thing as public transport even once in your life? Bus number sixty second goes to our bus stop every day, and it takes only ten minutes to get to me from there."

"Wisdom of your speeches escapes the vision of my spirit..." Disciple murmured wearily, falling asleep.

"You have to find right stops in your life's journey, simpleton!" Master laughed in full voice.

***

"Master, why do we need all this at all, what's the point?" Disciple carefully touched Master's shoulder.

"We need to catch it first at this point, and you keep disturbing me from setting a drag-net on foxes right now!" and Master straightened out him. "Silence!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" replied Disciple. "I will be silent as a great Buddha, beholding the world."

"No way, I don't demand these self-tortures from you here!" Master hushed on him. "I can't cease communication for such a long time myself, and won't advise you to do so either. We only need to set a couple of traps here – and then we go back to the stove."

"It's important for men not to fall down into self-made pits or traps by bringing evils to our neighbors..." efficiently confirmed Disciple.

"Oh, my! When will you cease philosophizing for an instance, aye? Your ego is still wagging a tail just like a fox!"

"I have gathered wisdom during this year, including one from you, my Master!" Disciple assured him. "Now I feel myself stronger."

"Tell this to forty-degree frost tomorrow when checking drag-nets," said Master spitting on a snow.

***

"Master..." a familiar call ringed in the air once again, as always.

"I am not the master for you already! I am Egorych, Stepan Egorych!" said grandfather, wearily sitting down on the stock of wood. "I have been repeating you this for several years already, troll's head, and you are still crying 'master!' and 'master!'"

"But in that old newspaper announcement you called yourself as 'master'," objected fairly overgrown during the last five years Disciple.

"I am a plumber, you dumb! They always name us that way. And I was looking for a disciple-assistant to repair pipes in our village, for they have been completely worn out during a Soviet period and may burst to pour at any moment, – and no masters will be able to help us if that shit happens."

"It turns out that..." Disciple fatefully sat down on the ground, being shocked by what he has just heard, "you are not my Master?"

"Well, why not? If destiny itself has brought you to my doors – this means you belong here. After all, we have greatly uplifted and advanced our housekeeping for the last five years, so it might be a good time for you to go into the hands of Avdotya Mikhaylovna, – her pipe under a bathtub started leaking quite a while ago... and she needs someone to help get her pension from Russian Post office either way."

"It means... everything was in vain... all meaning of life is thrown in a pipe..." stunned Disciple was barely whispering with disobeying lips.

"And maybe that purpose of your particular life which you have been seeking, – is exactly to laid a helping hand to Avdotya Mikhaylovna, aye?" and Master blinked his eye, smiling.

17.11.2016

## God's Dream

Devoted to the Living God...

A Newborn God was sitting over the shade of a tall mighty tree, which has not yet been given a name, and he was dreaming. He has just created the Earth and had yet to make a couple of easier worlds in the nearby star systems.

A smile was playing on God's lips. He rejoiced at the result of his latest work – the Earth has turned out to be extremely wonderful.  There was a great variety of climates, which you would practically never find in any of the worlds, created earlier. There were mountains, rising into the heavens, and sea hollows, leading into infinity. There were giant trees, similar to the one, He was sitting underneath, and smallest, indiscernible for an eye of future inhabitants, leaves and blades of grass of unknown plants. There were an incredible variety of living semi-reasonable beings, beginning from some small insects, playfully creeping in a grass, and finishing with sea and terrestrial giants. In other words, this was a fine created world – possibly, one of the pearls of His Creation.

It seemed that He enclosed something immensely-imperceptible into this process of Creativity. As if He has given to the Earth a part of Himself. And that is why now He was happy.

He dreamt of how humans will soon enter this world of His. How man will rejoice at the sight of his new home, created for him instead of ordinary-looking old ones. How people will settle on boundless horizons of this Creation of Creations and will love each other and rejoice to life and the world, given by the Maker.

And thus He made a call then to the most distant reaches of the Universe for humans to gather – those, who will live in this new home – probably, the happiest ones among all living. And humans came to the Earth – not even came, actually, but have arrived from their common previous worlds on their spaceship – the ark. And they have descended down to the Earth from it and settled. And named this date as the date of the world's creation.

There were years, and there were decades, and there were hundreds of Earth years passing. Settled those ones, who arrived from far worlds, on corners of sphere terrestrial, and primogenitors of races, three in number, they became. And loved they each other, as the God asked, for some time – yet slowly to forget of love some of them have begun. And, seeing this, to help those falling asleep the God has decided – and asked He started for prophets to come into this world to advise humans of where that Light at the end of a dark tunnel lives. And came angels-prophets, warriors of fine God, to this world terrestrial and prophesied words of pure origin, purifying hearts of His beloved humans. But nevertheless, the hearts of many have fallen asleep greatly and did not hear words of those prophets of great God they – and crucified His prophets. But the Most Gracious Maker did not cease to hope, for after all he loved humans even with all their lacks and was ready to help always those, Light who were seeking.

There were hundreds of earth years and there were millennia. Yet more actively and heavily did humans stray in dark and murky tunnels. And seeing human sufferings from the darkness, absorbed by them, the God has dared to make a deed compassionate. His Finest Son, by the Father's light enlightened, He asked to come to the world of humans, to help those suffering by His Light and His Love and to set them on the right path. But humans betrayed the Divine Son and killed his body, unable to cause harm to the pure spirit.

And there were great grief and confusion in the Heavens. Light Angels of the World Spiritual did cry, seeing this human's misunderstanding and all the darkness, to which many have already aspired.

And the last, desperate step the God has dared to make. He Himself has descended to the world He created, to test Himself all temptations of darkness, accepted by humans, and to deny it, having shown them the Way once and for all. The First and the Last the God has become in this world of His own, which on the brink of the chasm was flying, the Son of Man, the Alpha, and Omega. He has come into this world, made by Him, as a human and will leave it as a revived God soon.

And, having learned about Him, among all of them living life simple and modest, people began to come to Him. One after another they came and asked.

And the priest shouted to Him: "I banish you, unholy one! Not about you did yours crucified Son told us, and we were not waiting for you. And not even did we wait for you, for no need for God living and just we need. And is it appropriate for a God great to live in a hole pitiful, and try not to drag in paradise for gold, as we did? Disappear, impostor!"

And the politician laughed at Him: "Here you are, preaching honesty, living not in mansions imperial. Better look as we, deceiving others, have built palaces! Therefore, study from us, while we share this wisdom of life with you!"

And the sick, humiliated and offended ones came: "There is no justice in the world of yours ever!" they shouted to Him. "We have given you our stones, constantly dragged by us, expecting heavenly wings in return – and where is a fulfillment of our desires? Or are you not the Almighty, as they say?"

And proud ones came to Him, and silently spat in Him, before others flaunting.

And cruel ones came to Him, and to finish Him off they threatened.

And clever ones came to Him, and to enter senseless philosophical disputes they tried.

And sly ones came to Him and tried to catch Him on a word said.

And simple ones came to Him and their souls were filled with the wisdom of His words.

And seeking ones came to Him, and their hearts were lighted up with joy, for they have found at the long last.

And just ones came to Him, and silently submissively bow down before Him.

And pure ones came to Him, and fire of their spirit shined even brightly for they were staying nearby Him.

He accepted them all, refusing no one. For how is it possible to refuse to the children, coming to their Father?

But somewhere on a joint of the worlds, invisible to an eye of human, enormous clocks keep ticking, measuring the time until the Judgment Day, the day of estimation. The Moment Of Truth.

But still loved did the God his children – and lived in their world near them for the time being. And the chance was given to everyone...

But all this was later, much later. Even though time has no meaning for Immortal ones.

But for now, God was sitting under a huge shady tree on the planet Earth – and was dreaming. He was dreaming of the new wonderful worlds...

09.10.2010

## World on the horizon

That was disgusting. Nay, that was terrible. Only four hours after "officially legislatively approved dates of time of rest" has passed, and all shops have been closed. Not a single one from those necessary to him worked so early... or late – whatever is proper to each one... Damn!

He needed one shop... just a single shop, trading the necessary stuff. All those twenty ones familiar to him, which he has flown by on fly-car, "have been closed due to the upcoming professional holiday of sexual minorities in accordance with the official decree of the capital's mayor". All of them!

Damn!

Such legislative citizens... such angels. Wolves in the sheepskins. Three out of twenty of these downtown-shops traded dreamcatcher, nineteen out of twenty traded "kayfan", ten out of twenty – "lisben". It's, of course, the informal statistics – according to official reports, contained in the central database of the State Department, everything was clear. Crystal-clear. Too clear to be the truth.

And these are those, who should in every possible way to "help and assist in every manner" of preservation of citizens' health... wolves in sheepskins.

And yet that very dreamcatcher has been forbidden for application, manufacturing or any use in the collateral purposes in all state's territory. The strongest possible drug, made about five years ago as a by-product of some super confidential research of scientific laboratories of Pharmaceuticals United, it was capable to change human's brain completely. Not some weak hallucinogen – it completely changed person's vision of his surroundings after the injection of only one milligram into the blood. It was, actually, nicknamed as such, "a dream catcher" – all deep layers of human's subconsciousness were revived, ten, twenty, the thirty-years-old memory came to life – all in one instant, all like a raging stream... and this was even better than VR – for no additional equipment was necessary anymore, no electrodes... human's brain could do everything – it was simply necessary to aid a little.

Who of us did not dream? And dreams of how many did come to life? This devil's drug made this possibility absolute – and you have been living through all your twenty, thirty, or forty years in these several days... in the world of your illusions, though, but was this really important? All your dreams came true – all those, provided by deep memory. And approximately a month later a human died – his brain was simply "burnt down". The brain simply did not survive.

Really, that was a very fascinating death. To die, feeling with the rest of your fading consciousness, that you are happy – for you are fulfilled. For your dreams – here they are, all in front of you, – all came to life, and who the hell cares what sort of dreams were these. To die with a blissful smile on your face...

It was supposed to be given to dying people, whose chances of survival were equal to zero. But they have miscalculated. Two-three percent of the state's population died of its usage annually – and they were not doomed. Fifty percent of these ones were not even thirty years old...

And then they sounded the alarm. And then they have published their decrees. And then they have mobilized that Liberty Security State Police Department... late. Too late.

"The love has come – die, love, oh damn!" – a phrase from the recently seen interactive movie has emerged from subconsciousness. Yet this love lived on. And internal security service could no nothing.

It's like a plague, like a pestilence – it will not stop until almost all are left dead. And these were just the florets.

***

Almost an hour has passed since the moment of the begging of his searches – and he has not even found a single shop, trading in preparations, lowering level of testosterone, adrenaline and related hormones in blood – something, that could save his body when a radio channel's video stream of information will be transmitted to his neuro-pulse helmet – information, of whose "content's purity" he has ceased to dream a long time ago. To rescue his body at the very least... he had no more hopes of rescuing his soul.

And all of this is just by a holiday of sexual minorities.

How have you thought it over... how predicted. Sexual minorities... oh, sure! Real orgies will take place there, and not only those of minorities. And there have been no signs of any "contraceptive toolkit" for two years already after the publishing of resolution "Of the termination of distribution of contraceptives and preparations with purposes of increasing of birth rate in the country" of our oh-so-beloved president.

Still hoping to compensate natural losses, aye? Two percent of "dreamcatchers", one percent of the military men, one percent of the "accidents", a half percent of murders, the one-third of a percent of "unidentified deaths", the one-sixth of a percent of those, who nevertheless has not managed to emigrate away from here... and this is not the full list by any means.

You will not recover that way – your disease has gone too far. You are too sick to become healthy once again. And those who understand cannot tell it anymore – for the global Mass Media Interactive Network is not for them anymore... never was for them. Only for the government, only for multinational corporations under their "giving hand". And you could even participate in all this – take, for instance, that interactive sex-orgies that will be broadcasted on all channels "with a purpose of familiarizing of the population with sexual culture and stimulation of natural needs of men and women".

What idiot has issued this resolution?!... even its name is idiotic. Bless you, it surely must have been a big person – too big to "stimulate his natural needs" together with mad people crowds in the upcoming day...

Never forget a hand that feeds you... providers of Mass Media content did not forget.

A chip on the right hand has emitted a high-frequency sound impulse and has confirmed it with a predefined sequence of IR-signals.

Damn! This was dangerous! This means that he has left the edge of his quadrant in today's night patrol. This means that after ten minutes this very chip, built into his left hand, – and now also serving as universal bio-passport, such a "smart-human-card" in a miniature, – will send a series of radio signals in Liberty Security State Police Headquarters – his "native home" of sorts – only a series of radio signals which will be retranslated through the governmental stations. Informational stream, ciphered by the newest cryptographic invention SSC-51200, in which numerical postfix also designated length of a key...

Only a series of radio signals... and he will be up to the neck in problems. The internal security service disliked it very much when its employees did not execute orders.

It was necessary to come back. He was not in time.

This means, that once again he has to writhe from pain, resisting his body's desires, when video streaming will begin. This means, that once again he has to try to close his eyes – only to receive painful discharges from this damn multifunctional Security State Police Department VMSS helmet – having no possibility to remove it – because as soon as a signal with the information on the scanned retina of his eye will not be transmitted – he's a criminal. This means that he should die once again.

Almost like those dreamcatchers – almost with a blissful smile on his lips... almost happy.

"You've chosen the way.

And you've become prey.

Forgotten you have paradise,

And thus received thy hellish prize.

Yes, it was you who've rolled the dice..." – it seems, that such stanza of some newly born poet he has recently seen in still free part of the Net. It seems, the author called it "Appeal to the human". And he is so damn right in something...

To look for him, maybe... a brother in arms by misfortune... the derelict of this world... Heck, to find... this one must have already joined the Underground Resistance Force – and thus became impossible to be found. For ten years his department was engaged in searches of these insurgents and fighters for "spiritual freedom" – and only their smallest and insignificant agents have been caught, and only one headquarter destroyed.

I am keeping fighting with my brothers, keeping struggling against them... and have no the slightest idea of how to stop it all... cannot stop it... not anymore.

Sometimes they made it. Sometimes they broke – miraculously –  through all information covering – and broadcasted on the broadest possible range of frequencies – mainly speech and sometimes even video... for ten minutes only. Then they were blocked once again... however, no one has ever found the true source of signals – not in his life.

Sometimes it was an invocatory speech to see that already deformed nature of the majority of people, sometimes it was the statistics of human deaths during previous years – numbers and lines of texts, unfamiliar for those profane. Sometimes it was video records from places of military operations and speeches of how people have been drugged into this war by their government – for the sake of interests of the government itself and that cursed "hierarchical minority". Sometimes these were such verses which he has found yesterday – by the divine will alone still being kept in the Net.

Sometimes... three-four times a year – no more and no less. And for all the rest time there were those Mass Media Interactive corporations.

There will be a holiday of sexual minorities tomorrow... in ten days after it – a holiday of military... there we will once again see heart-touching frames of how our brave soldiers defeat the treacherous enemy and how he, this enemy, continue to retreat under their unstoppable pressure – has been retreating for five years already...

Then there will be a holiday of the man, and a holiday of the woman... the new woman and the new man. Then the day of overall scorn to those in the Underground – sort of official "phew" of the powerless government to the members of Underground Resistance Force. Then there will be a day of prostitutes – not that much different in its nature from the day of the woman... there will be so much.

So many holidays... so little joy. So much pleasure. And once again all in a circle the next year. But for now, this was completely unimportant. It was time to go back, he had at most about five minutes before the entry into a zone of the patrolled quadrant. The patrol has been completed... his home awaits.

He has turned his fly-car, turned on autopilot mode. Now it will travel to LSSP base by itself, automatically regulating its height and evading counter streams of similar happy owners of this transport, and will land on one of free platforms on the base. Nothing more is required. The technics will do everything for you... almost everything.

Then he will make his report on the performed patrol – everything is normal, no suspicious activities have been revealed, no incidents have occurred. Everyone is happy and content... everything is just fine. A paradise on the earth in the borders of his patrolled quadrant... hellish paradise.

He has leaned back on a seat and closed his eyes. He had to rest for a while. A difficult day awaits him tomorrow.

25.05.2005

## Monologue with a child

Hello.

Forgive me, for I have not spoken with you for such a long time. For long, inadmissibly long I have been occupied by things which seemed the only important ones to me, the only deserving attention. And in this race, in this never-ending inconceivable bustle I have almost forgotten about you, have almost left you alone. I have no time left even to speak.

I know, I always knew, how important it is for you – to feel, that you are not forgotten, that you are important to someone. That somewhere someone is awaiting you, awaiting your return. That he will happily embrace you when you will appear again on a threshold of his house.

And now you have returned.

You have traveled by novel and unknown ways for so long – and this world is so full of dangers. But no – you have passed all of them, traveled effortlessly – so easily, as if the knowledge of how to bypass them was always with you, since your very birth... as though they were not even obstacles, promising danger, – but some mysterious, wonderful game... and you sincerely enjoyed it.

Forgive me that you had to knock on my doors several times – that I did not hear you from the beginning. I have almost ceased to believe in your returning.

You know, I have been thinking about you since the very moment you left me. The anger, hatred, rage, melancholy, despair v all of them replaced each other as in a kaleidoscope. All of them dropped on me like an icy-cold stream, depriving of powers and heat.

Yes, there were also joyful moments – small sparkles, which have flown away from an unknown fire, and flashed before eyes for an instant, before being dissolved into non-existence again. I have even managed to be happy all years of your absence – but only now I have become truly happy when you have returned at last. As if I have yet again found something, I have been searching for all my life... something of the utmost importance.

And if you have returned – you must have forgiven me.

Come closer, allow me to embrace you. You have changed... you are completely different now. We both are no longer the ones we used to be.

You have grown up... became stronger. Truly, this life has taught you much – though what can we teach the wizard, capable to change the world?

Approach me, stand no at a house threshold, for this house is our common one. It will always be this way from now on. Now we will be together again, together again – like in the old times, incalculable years ago.

We will be together, for we are the one. I and You. You and I.

I – human... and You – the eternal child in my soul...

01.09.2006

## We are

We are no longer the ones we used to be. Our past burned in the flame of self-rebirth, leaving the place for the Now, which has become a bridge to the Future.

Our path lies in the Eternity, and only we ourselves can pass it.

We all feel the breath of Universe inside us, and our hearts beat in rhythm with Hers.

We are both old and young – for each of us is like an innocent child in spirit.

We foresee, not knowing for sure. We rejoice at the beginning of a new deed and feel sadness finishing what has been started. We love to transform believe into the trust. For without trust there can be no love.

We accept this world as we managed to make it. And it will never be in our right to blame someone other for human mistakes.

You may call us as you desire, for your mere words are unable to alter the essence.

No more we have names, yet each of us has kept his essential "I".

We enter the battle in time and we know not fear.

Curses and blasphemes of the Sleepers are the stones that only strengthen our arms, holding the shield.

Wrath and hatred of theirs is the smoking fire. Yet the tears of the heaven will once extinguish it.

We live, fighting, yet the battle is not our final goal. For it is transient.

We are so different, but in this battle, each of us is a warrior. And each holds his unique weapon.

Weapon of yours is able to destroy you whole, yet weapon of ours is greater.

It changes minds. It alters hearts. It transforms ones struck by it forever.

For this weapon is a weapon of spirit. Nothing in the world is comparable with it.

Our enemy is strong, for he is body-less. That is why we are given this weapon.

We fight desperately for we know no death. The one who was given the Blade Of Spirit has already died before.

We knew not the timing but were intended. We knew not ourselves but were called for. The time will come – we'll be recognized. For great the battle is.

Rejected ones will join our ranks. Enlightened ones will join our ranks. The Newborn ones will join our ranks. For great the battle is.

The heavens cry at humankind's blindness, for even they have feelings. Yet there is always a dawn coming to replace the night.

The time is rushing forward desperately, changing the world in a single vortex. And we are at the forefront of it.

Always we are with you, for we do love this world.

So say We – warriors of the New Age.

25.05.2010

## Observer

It was surprisingly quiet today in the Hall of Destinies.

However, "today" would be insufficiently exact term for the description of time's movement in its common for physical worlds concept and form. Time could pass totally nonlinearly here – to either accelerate or slow down; to twist in a spiral, forming similar in character events in diverse lower worlds at different intervals of their evolutionary model's realization; in rare cases it could even cease its perpetual motion completely in several – and, first of all, strictly determined lower worlds, – if one of the Observers needed to make corrections to the highest evolutionary model of such a world. It only couldn't be turned back – and this is the only and most serious restriction, which has been voluntarily assumed by each Observer, who was taking up a post, for almost an uncountable number of galactic cycles by the standards of lower physical worlds.

It was quiet in the Hall of Destinies.

Not in the sense that is assumed by the imperfect mind of representatives of unlimited number of civilizations, endlessly evolving in the physical worlds, by meaning the lack of difficulties or troubles during their own short-term corporal life, – but in a totally different one, appropriate for those whose tasks included observation and control of fates of infinite number of secondary worlds and all inhabiting them living beings.

This hall was extraordinarily large and existed in several dimensions simultaneously. Its multiple projections, much like reflections in mirrors, each one by itself could give only a very superficial idea of its true beauty and form. In a three-dimensional space, which is common for a number of underdeveloped civilizations of secondary worlds, it reminded a hall of some official government institution with huge going upwards colonnades, from almost unreachable heights of which a light of golden and silver colors were flowing, smoothly, precisely like a feather, touching walls and a floor, forming on its way images that by desires and will of Observers were reflecting investigated by them civilizations and events, which were taking place – or have already occurred, or could happen with certain probabilities – in lower, or physical, worlds. Forms of these light reflections could vary greatly – sailing ships that were navigating through oceans and symbolizing different nations in some of the secondary worlds and their interactions with each other; birds, soaring in the sky, reflecting concepts and ideas which reigned over minds and souls of people; promptly twisting and raging whirlwinds and tornadoes, representing confusions and misfortunes of both individual inhabitants of observed worlds and their groups in general; fogs of claret and gray colors that were enveloping separate fragments of this hall's floor and were connected with origin and formation of new star systems and civilizations; fountains, that were sparkling on light with sprayed water drops, from time to time giving a birth to wondrous rainbows, not without a reason serving as harbingers of happy events...

Forms and images, created by this inflowing light of the highest spheres, were so various and, let us agree on that, unique, that any representative of even the most advanced of civilizations of the lower worlds, if he had been given a great joy of observing the work of Observers from outside, in literal sense would hold his spirit, given to him by the Maker, being bonded by invisible force with a floor's section for a period of observation.

The floor of the Hall of Destinies – or, in some cases, its separate fragments, – could voluntarily, or, following the will of various workers, change their drawing pattern and transparency, so that someone standing on any cell of this floor could all of a sudden – or foreknowing in advance – find out in the next moment that he, for example, is standing precisely on a galactic map, and planets from one of infinite set of star systems of the physical world keep floating beneath him in their mutually attractive dance. One could imagine the surprise of a casual observer, standing on one of these fragments! But Observers could be observed only by their Supreme Coordinator, and he during that very instant – if the concept of "instant" could be somehow correlated to the concept of "eternity" – was living outside of these high walls, observing his creation from within.

For the duration of uncountable eons, which were better known to advanced civilizations as galactic cycles, of time that was streaming like a water, the Observer behold many ascensions and demises of civilizations, whose development he has been monitoring. A great diversity of physical forms of their representatives – humanoid-birds, living on slopes of mountain worlds; reasonable, reminding mermaids inhabitants of oceanic worlds with their underwater cities, stretching for thousands of miles; large ant-like dwellers of industrial civilizations, who have built vast networks of underground tunnels and were controlled by collective intelligence of their lords; humanoids that were similar to orthograde octopuses and possessed strongest telepathic abilities; enormous butterflies, soaring over the plants that were rising on hundreds of meters over the surface of their native world – that seemed totally alien and inappropriate for a citizen of primitive civilizations, – were habitual to a mind's eye of the one, who has watched formation and development of several tens of thousands of others.

The Observer had no right to interfere directly – others descended into physical worlds for this purpose – or, to be more exact, entered glowing portals, located in another section of the hall, – both chosen souls of representatives of these civilizations for their repeated corporal embodiment, as well as other much greater and perfect spirits. The Observer could warn others of the need for intervention and adjustments to a development course of free-willed civilizations if a probability of its demise due to deviation from the evolutionary course was becoming extremely high.

Lots of former great civilizations have disappeared from physical worlds long ago, having left their mournful trace only in the informational annals of the highest world as a lesson for civilizations of the future and a study material for new Observers. How many reasons and ways to bury themselves were in the arsenal of inexperienced civilizations, to what serious consequences imperfect consciousness and ethics of their representatives led them!

Among all them, there were those, who have destroyed themselves and own native worlds in civil wars. There were also those, who during uncontrolled processes of hyper-consumption completely exhausted resources of their native world, making it unsuitable for living. There were those, who were ruined by the science, worshipped by them and artificially imbued with qualities of infallibility – whether it was the destruction of microorganisms, necessary for the biosphere, or a creation attempt of inanimate clones of their own representatives, that was the greatest violation of the Third Commandment of the Highest World. Also listed as dead were those ones, who tried to improve their physical shapes with different mechanical implants or violent genetic changes of own population. There were those races, who were subdued and then destroyed by artificially thinking sentient machines, for they failed to designate a correct border and limits of artificial intelligence techs that were developed by them. There were those being bewitched by opening perspectives of management of existential points for the commission of interstellar spaceships jumps, who didn't manage to build steadily working portals and were absorbed by artificially created analogs of galactic "black holes". Among untimely died ones there were those who tried to operate the fourth and fifth dimensions and to fully transfer own kin there, but as a result, they were absorbed by rifts of spatial matter that were created during these scientific experiments. Finally, there were those, whose planets were just subjected to sterilization during interstellar wars by a more technologically advanced and aggressive opponent... In a word, no matter how high was the technological level of observed during eons civilizations, but arrogance, cruelty, and stupidity of their citizens were always going hand in hand with a sad fate.

For this reason several eons ago the Council of Observers has made a decision on creation of a group of the most advanced peaceful civilizations, that were following a strict internal ethics code and were capable to enlighten representatives of other races in case of compliance of their spiritual level to those technical miracles, which these civilizations possessed. To give too much tech to aggressive civilization was inadmissible, as it meant either almost guaranteed self-destruction of lower civilization in a short-term or an attempt to cause harm to one of the members of Intergalactic League. To give to a barbaric by the standards of League civilization any scientific discovery, that greatly exceeds their technological level, was meant to betray both a League and its ethics, and at best such an action from any of its members was punished by its exclusion from the League for eternity.

For a long time Observers have been studying tendencies of young civilizations development and their potential readiness for a meeting with representatives of the League – because such a meeting for primitive civilizations of physical world symbolized the end of habitual to them history, destruction of a set of scientific and social theories, a revolution in consciousness and understanding of own place in the universe, meaning of life and death.

Images in the mirror sphere, that were reflecting star systems, slid and smoothly replaced each other. Following Observer's passes, this sphere rotated from one side to another, allowing to analyze a state of civilizations in adjacent galactic sectors. Today his attention was directed to one from several tens of primitive civilizations that were located in the same sector, whose inhabitants were calling their world as the "Earth". A strange name for the world, covered with so many seas and oceans.

By all canons of intergalactic League, this civilization was absolutely barbaric, and the greatest dangers to its existence lied in attempts to violate the Third Commandment together with continuous inner planetary wars, raging throughout centuries. How many attempts of its rescue have been made, how many adjustment evolutionary scenarios were considered, and how much more has to be done in order to correct its self-destructive course. Even the question of the compulsory intervention of the League was brought up and then postponed. Yet not the question of this civilization's fate disturbed the Observer today – during his immortal life he has seen a lot of most different fates – but the question of the fate of his Coordinator, who was living there at this very moment, in this small, inconspicuous for the detached onlooker, yet beautiful world.

The Observer inclined over the sphere, calculating and verifying scenarios and adjustments. He knew firsthand how hard the way of the evolution of consciousness is.

23.08.2017

## Not them!

Disaster came – and you were standing apart. This position was convenient for its ambiguity and, as you secretly called it, flexibility. Neither cold nor hot – just as nothing.

The country was ripped apart with the greatest distemper, which has even tormented it for the duration of its entire history. A distemper behind which there was Darkness standing, and its feet have been stepping over once alive people day after day, milling characters, crashing fates. And not only bodies were swallowed inside it.

People summoned it by themselves and willingly invited to share this bloody dinner. They were ready to pay for "changes", demanded by their hearts, with the lives of others. Why others? Certainly not with their own!

You didn't travel in the vanguard of those, – men in black hoods with a color of blood, with hands and souls of which distemper was forged, – you were standing apart, dreaming that it won't touch you with its bony fingers, won't ever reach. So many think that way shortly before their own demise.

It was some sort of calming – yes, you constantly kept reading that your fellows were still perishing nearby, you saw in the glass TV box bodies of tortured and killed – ripped by a machine of death – but it, as it appeared, was so far and uncommon for your own illusionary tiny world, which you valued so much and out of which you didn't want to crawl. Yes, others kept dying every day – but it was them, not you!

Somewhere hundreds of kilometers away bombs were falling on once peaceful cities and tanks were squashing defenders of peace, who have dared to oppose a distemper. Somewhere hundreds of kilometers away from you retaliatory groups were shooting in cold blood groups of refugees who were struggling to break through blockades. Somewhere hundreds of kilometers between you and them, hungry children were crying and old men and women were quietly sobbing. Somewhere hundreds of kilometers from here a funnel to hell opened itself. So close – and somehow so far from you at the same time...

You were away from all of this. Soared over the turmoil of life, so to speak. And over time pictures from your glass TV box ceased to frighten you any longer. They became natural.

And when the hand of dark and red color finally reached your dwelling as well, – it was too late for you already. Vanguards of darkness poured into the streets of your town, bringing their own orders, methodically and openly killing those who were still resisting – not such as you. There was certainly nothing for you to fear!

"Let them die, let them!" you have been whispering to yourself more and more often when images of surrounding cruelty made your mind scream from pain. "They are guilty, didn't submit! Themselves, themselves! Not you, not like you! Let them all die, but you will survive – that's all that matters!"

And when chasteners have left, having taken away with themselves wives of someone's former husbands, – a fiery tornado has fallen upon the city. And it was a blessing – to die instantly.

On a third day tornado took away you as well while you were hiding in dark city districts, marauding. Ones with torn-off hands and legs don't live for too long – not in this body, in any case.

At first, you saw this mutilated body of yours from above – in pools of blood with ones like you, thinking as "not us!". And then suddenly as some kind of stream started whirling you, dragging away from this place to a totally different one – a dimension which you have forgotten up to this point.

And there, in this so unusual and as if the infinite world you were placed near those, – resisting ones, – whom you so recently, still possessing a body, still living in a so habitual to you world, – so furiously and cruelly hated. Hated for the feeling of own imperfection which they caused in your heart. You were placed near those the death of whom you were wishing. You were given a last chance to look upon their eyes – and they were given a chance to see ones like you. And when they – shining ones – looked at you – silently, with no hatred in their eyes, – you were forced to look away. And you had nothing to tell them during all your term.

...And then your judges came for you as well to bring there, From Where No One Has Ever Left. Many came back to Earth – yet not from there. After painfully-sadly-endless and infinite times of waiting you were dragged there.

Why it was you? Certainly not them!

21.08.2014

## Unreality

By a road, made of black stone blocks, along with the anthem, coming from a loudhailer of the accompanying armored personnel carrier, accurately measuring out the pace, a military convoy was striding. Faces of soldiers were, precisely like ones of medieval warriors, protected by casting opaque gloss visors of their helmets, and they, proud winners, representatives of the highest human race, which has conquered Earth and near-Earth worlds, worn shoulder straps with a sign of black sun and eagle, who has captured entire globe in its mighty claws – a symbol of eternal night in the world.

This military convoy accompanied a group of terrorists, that has been captured a few days ago, into a distributive concentration camp – resistance fighters from defeated countries of China, the Soviet Union, and North Africa. The fate of these insignificant representatives of lower races was already decided when their sun-eyed immortal Fuhrer, governing their highest race for almost a century, ascended to the throne of Fatherland. The genetic material, used for extension of life by close to the Fuhrer confidants and generals, including himself – that what these under-humans will soon be transformed into by clever, perfect and efficient machines of the Reich. One way or another they will serve for the benefit of the great Reich in their death if they haven't wished to serve as prisoners of concentration camps in their life. Soon enough – several years from now on – last remains of separated resistance fighters in the Central Asian and North African regions will be suppressed by the new stunning technological power of the Empire's military machine – and battle for the Earth will be completed at last. Handfuls of survivors after atomic bombings of their countries by the Reich weren't destined to win. Not in this scenario, in any case.

"Heil! Heil! Heil!" soldiers were loudly shouting, measuring out the pace.

"Glory for the great Empire! Glory for the sun-like Fuhrer! Glory for the eternal Reich!"

A few could brag of such a technological breakthrough, which has been achieved by the Reich during the last several decades in this compelled fight against the remnants of resistance forces.

Atomic weapons, used with the blessing of the great Fuhrer against the largest countries of Europe, Asia, Africa, and North America. Mechanized robots, towering like colossuses over buildings and capable to incinerate steel and concrete with plasma and lasers – in the past, they were used by the Empire on the front line, and today as a personal guard for high-ranking officers. Genetically modified soldiers of the Reich, surpassing by several times all of the best representatives of lower races in force, accuracy and reaction time. Cybernetic semi-humans, semi-machines, enclosed in nanofiber armor, whose mechanical bodies were controlled by a living human brain, deprived of the memory of own past – perfect killers, implicitly executing any issued orders. Insectoid-like nanorobots, carrying paralyzing vaccines in their tiny mechanical bodies, whose sting led to a cardiac standstill after several tens of seconds... paralytic gas "zaltsyn" had the same effect, only paralyzed entire organisms of its victims in a few seconds.

Microchips, implanted since the birth into all citizens of Fatherland, capable to activate themselves through a received in due time outer signal and complete control over the psychoemotional behavior of their carriers. Fine machines for genetic re-engineering, used both for treatment and improvements – correction of "God's mistakes" – of Reich's soldiers. Molecular re-integrators, that were transforming living beings into molecular admixtures, sorting their atoms and directing it to a proper pipeline inside enormous automated production conveyors...

This list went on and on, and many of the most advanced scientific and technical developments, designed to provide a space expansion of the Reich, were classified. One of the known to a wide public was a "ZigHeil" project – a group of circumsolar orbital modules that were collecting energy of a star and sending it back to Earth through sub-dimensional zero-channel. "Venus" was another publicly known space project – an industrial colonization of planet Venus by forces of more than one billion of Reich's prisoners, the majority of which were fated to die.

The science was devoted to serving invincible Reich, giving birth to all new ways of destruction of rebellion's remains and controlling of own representatives of the chosen race. What can be stronger than the science, given to the mercy of mad geniuses? It gave citizens of the Empire, true Aryans, a hope for immortality. And history is always being written by the winners.

"Heil! Heil! Heil!" greetings to a new day and their immortal Fuhrer of awakening from their night dreams citizens were filling streets of Empire's city.

"Heil! Heil! Heil!" everything sank in this merged in a one huge cacophony polyphony, every morning for many decades already.

"Heil! Heil! Heil!" and there was no rescue from this mad roar of living dead people.

"Heil!"

***

"Hey! Quietly! Wing on the right!" the elderly Angel with a charred left wing and three golden feathers in a white right, all of a sudden entered the room, where several young recruits fussed around unusual device, forcibly pushing each other with their grayish-white wings in their desire to glance into the sphere of this probabilistic and time demodulator. At the sight of their chief, they immediately flew away from the sphere and stood in a row, soaring at a small height over a shining with an azure light floor of this institution.

In a clear human language this institution was called as Angelic Military Academy, and so suddenly appeared in this apartment colonel was one of the deputies of its top command. The device, which has drawn the attention of young Angels, was designed for a modulation – a viewing of the events, taking place in a real time in various worlds, where graduates of the Academy had to travel from time to time with special assignments and missions. And it was called probabilistic due to a reason that it allowed to estimate dynamics of a change of probabilities of scenarios of various events, as well as to study those scenarios, which could have happened in examined worlds but haven't due to some reasons.

And colonel just found our cadets exactly when they were viewing such unrealized scenario of the human planet, known as "Earth".

This device, even though it was one of the latest perspective scientific development of the Academy, wasn't one of a kind. What wasn't developed behind its walls by Angels-engineers and further used in practice in their missions by Angels-cadets! There were generators of energetic barriers, capable to protect whole nations of physical worlds from adverse events; defensive helmets for a protection of mind of certain people from the influence of false ideas and negative feelings, generated and directed to them by demonic opponents; infamous in human worlds bows of engineer Amur, which were striking their victims and never missing; armor suits made from angelic fluff, allowing worthy people to survive inexplicably, coming out dry from waters of accidents; there was even a well-known generator of alpha rays, capable to alter space, so that enemy bullets and shells cannot touch human fighters; beta-beams generator was used to change some of the local probabilities of events at the right time in order to encourage worthy people or punish guilty ones; beams of gamma-generator gave inflow of new powers to whole groups or nations of people, if their course of life was recognized as worthy by the Law. And this was just a short sample from a whole list of Academy's miracles.

"Quietly!" meanwhile continued that elderly colonel, who has come through many battles with demons. "Who gave permission to use the demodulator without due induction?" and colonel severely looked over scared recruits with his golden-colored eyes. "Perhaps, I should send all of you to a mission on Earth?" he sounded his thoughts as if purposely.

"In no way, comrade colonel!" stammering, answered one of the young cadets, having put his right wing to a head. "Veterans speak – there are hard times there right now. And we lack the necessary combat experience, sir!"

"You are completely right, greenhorn!" colonel grinned. "You don't even know yet how to counter-attack a simple human depression, but already tried to watch events scenarios. Now, who will tell me, what does the first law of Spiritual-dynamics tell us?"

"The first law of Spiritual-dynamics, sir, says, sir, that in favorable external conditions a soul grows wider and becomes softer and kinder, sir! And in unfavorable it contracts and becomes firmer and tougher, sir!" the same young cadet replied it as a tongue twister.

"This is a correct answer, you, greenhorn!" colonel barked in ears of his cadets. "All of you should learn it by heart and wing by tomorrow! And don't you dare to use demodulator again without holding a proper induction. Is that all clear?"

"Aye-aye, sir!" hanging in the air Angels answered simultaneously as in a chorus.

"Otherwise I will send you all to the Earth tomorrow," colonel thought silently. "Times are truly hard out there."

05.08.2017

## Burthen

Once upon a time, the Fool was traveling by a long journey of life, carrying on his hunched back a backpack which was filled with Nonsense. Somehow in this long venture, he met with a Wiseman who was coming in a different direction.

The Wiseman saw a worn-out face of the Fool and asked:

"What have you left behind your back, traveler? You bear something so heavy that it has already spoiled all joy of your way."

"I am carrying Nonsense!" the Fool answered him proudly.

"No matter how far you brought it, it won't bring you happiness," replied the Wiseman. "Look, there is almost no place left for a piece of wisdom inside your swag. Perhaps it would be wise to leave this burden behind you?"

"No way!" answered the Fool. "Under no circumstances, I will part away with it!"

"But why?" asked the Wiseman, being puzzled with such nonsense. "Have you no desire to become rich with Wisdom?"

"With my own eyes, I observed how millions of other people were carrying Nonsense on their backs, dragged it, filled their mouths with it – all in attempt to take as much of it as possible with them. And this means that it possesses something unimaginably valuable."

"And what have you imagined of its value?" smiled the Wiseman.

"I will go on carrying and talking Nonsense!" the Fool replied him sharply. "No matter what its final cost will be!"

26.12.2017

## Of the non-existent princes

One day this will happen.

Your prince on a white horse will once come to you, though you will not hear him. You will not notice him in the human crowd, you will not open your doors when he will knock. You will not recognize him and let him enter, for you have not been waiting. True princes always come unexpectedly.

They need no heralds, announcing their arrival. They need no applause. Shouts of approval of others are not required for them. Even horses are necessary no more.

They always come on their own – with years of hard work and constant challenges they got used to relying only on own powers, they learned to trust themselves. You will not hear them far off on knocking of hoofs of their dashing horses, you will never see them caracoling. They have left white horses far behind of themselves, for without them they can move faster. They have rejected a gilt harness and a well-cared mane, they have refused convenient saddles. Now they always come on their own.

For that reason you will not recognize him, you will pass by.

If they towered proudly over the others on their graceful horses – they would be too appreciable. But they need no applause.

If they raced you on their snow-white horses – you would never forget this short journey together. But they need no dependence on them.

If they have offered you to marry them – you could not refuse. But they want to see others being free.

They denied this greatness. The stepped down from their horses. They became small princes.

And with time they got lost in a big crowd.

That is why you will not recognize him, for you have not known him. For you knew only big princes – too big to once become small ones. That is why you always look above your head, hoping to see big ones and never noticing the small. They became useless.

And still, they come. And still, they continue to knock on the door of yours, knowing that those doors will not be opened – for there is nobody inside to do it anymore.

And still, they hope that one day, lots of years after, you will remember that quiet knock you have heard so long ago, countless days before, but chosen not to open the door, for the unexpected visitor came in thunder-storm and you were too afraid to presoak your feet. Yes, you will remember it once – and smile, having understood, what sort of traveler was on the road.

Seldom, very seldom they come to those who could open the doors – but doors still stand closed – for there is no one to open them from the inside.

They have not died out. They have not vanished.

It is you who have killed your princes.

08.07.2006

## Education

Education... what a strange word! A formation of all imaginable images in human minds and souls. An ideal system of formation of the man sleeping, the man unreasonable, the man unwise, the man full of useless information. Oh, if only information could somehow compensate for the absence of reason!

You still perfectly remember those school days, right? You felt yourself such a clever one, such erudite, so understanding and so quickly learning. From the earliest age you already knew that twice two is strictly and by all means four and four only; that no more than three spatial dimensions do exist, and space is both linear and homogeneously; that a man is a successor of a monkey; that no speed is greater than the velocity of light; that modern mankind is millions of years in its age; that people don't and never did live considerably more than one century; that a man is a being with no wings and thus cannot fly; that your mother Earth is the only and unique living planet among entire boundless space... All this and so much more has been made your only truth, an axiom, a new picture of the world if you desire. But not at once... the operation lasted for many years.

All in all, you, probably, still remember, how surprising and full of great secrets the world seemed to you when you were just a small child? And every day brought with itself a new wonderful discovery. Now you have seen a pigeon, gradually pacing on a roadway and tried to pursue it, but he, certainly, has soared in time into the sky, where the way to you was closed; now you have noticed an incredibly beautiful and unforgettable flower on a lawn, which didn't have a name by that time, and have been inhaling its aroma for a while with a blissful smile on your face; now a butterfly landed directly on your nose as if you were a flower yourself; now you overheard a singing of birdies in wood branches for the first time in your life; now all of a sudden some strange drops poured down from a sky, and wetted you from feet to a head; now a sun looked out as suddenly and started shining directly in your face, as though tickling you with its rays; now you have found some sonorously ringing streamlet and began sailing self-made branches-ships; here and now you are running on a green grass, clapping and joyfully shouting in happiness...

Forget about that all! Your world is so much different now... Educated, verified, measured, lined, predictable, stable. Your world is dead now. Yes, you perfectly feel why that is so – you have become too educated. Your inner live world has been destroyed for many years...

You have been told of the "facts", invented by your science, but they kept silence of the fact, that they completely contradict each other in their general set. You have been forced to learn by heart formulations of thousand and one "natural law", yet they never mentioned that all these laws are in fact no more than the theories created by same scientists of sad origin, so close to the mood of yours at present. Your silent and once quiet mind was overloaded with whole armfuls of thick textbooks with completely useless and unnecessary information, and then they made you spit it out back over and over again, like undigested remains of food... is that the way to learn the calmness of mind then?

You were tormented by endless mathematical formulas, for they asserted that mathematics is the queen of sciences, and for now you diligently day after day use received abilities for the calculation of own profit. One thousand and once more you have overheard something like "That's impossible!" or "Stop telling us nonsense!" – and since that time they have smeared all your imagination over a wall of their own whim. Time and again did they reward you with these "terrible" points and marks, looking into your eyes with a reproach, and thus lowered your self-respect over a plinth – as if a man was unworthy of their highest attention unless he has learned to vomit back all these facts for an excellent mark!

All this did not happen at once. Injection after the injection, fact behind the fact, formula next to a formula, law following a law, but they have finally painted their own picture of a world for you to consume, which in turn has been offered to them by others before – and under the pressure of their public authority you had no more willing to refuse. Your carefree and cheerful childhood has sunk into oblivion, and the epoch of education took its place. You resisted and cried out at first, feeling how the poison of unification streams through invisible veins of your soul, you tried to escape from these tenacious paws of dead pictures of the world and imagined laws, but the system has finally prevailed nevertheless. It has formatted and educated you for its own sake, it has filled your mind with stamps and cliché, and made your soul an indifferent observer of own miniature death, it has made you almost ideal mechanism-robot, perfectly capable to carry out his "social mission", imposed by lying politicians and mass media. Since that time you have ceased to fully feel, ceased to really rejoice, you have actually ceased to live. A false world picture has made its dirty affair, and has given you substitutes of the lost joy of innocence in turn... has given you alcohol, drugs, safe sex...

You were a unique creation of God, unrepeatable, unsurpassed, never demanding comparison with others, – but have become one of many. You have educated. Now you have an unloved monotonous work, a respectability, and that head of yours contains one thousand and one fact of what actually this world is, that particular one in which you are slowly dying for now. Yes, maybe for now you know the name of that lovely butterfly that sat down on your nose so carefree in your childhood; you remember the pronunciation of the flower, which has inspired you so greatly once; you can teach your son of the types of chemical reactions occurring on the sun that once caressed your face; and pigeons tend to cause only loathing and fear for now when they are stupidly flying over your head. You believe that you have learned this world and have nothing more to be surprised about, for there is one thousand and one answer and explanation in your possession of why something is occurring so, and not differently...

But do wonder, do ask yourself even for an instant, whether you feel yourself easier from all this gathered cargo of your illusory knowledge, whether you feel happier and more cheerful than once so long ago in a half-forgotten childhood... And if you don't... maybe something is terribly wrong with that new picture of the world of yours?

Yes, they desired a better way. Indeed, they have themselves become victims in this system of formatting souls of humans. Truly, they had no idea what they were doing. Will you be able to break this vicious circle with your own life? And are you capable to create as a master your new – solar and bright – picture of the world?

24.08.2011

## Odyssey

Long, infinitely long ago there were these wondrous events taking place, of which we would tell you further. Probably, no one from all living on this New Earth couldn't tell for sure how many grains of sand has passed through the Clocks of Eternity after the time of Exodus.  Almost eight thousands of years have passed since that wondrous Odyssey took place, yet the ones living now ceased to remember of it. Sort of distorted myth and nonsense of human imaginations, which have found its service in idols, it has become. Yet nothing and never will erase memories of it from the Ether. And let it become the treasure of your history in the way that we have managed to write it down.

This was truly a remarkable Ship. Unsurpassed creation, which has become a home for a handful of survivors. Oh, how happy were they to escape the common fate of their once native worlds! They went to the Odyssey through boundless space after their native worlds ceased to exist on the invisible Chart of Universe. Too much evil was inflicted to the world by these three planets, too artful and cruel their inhabitants have become in their majority. And overflowed was then the Bowl of Patience, and crying and gnashing of teeth there was, yet unable were inhabitants of worlds aforementioned to change the consequences of what they have accomplished already.

The handful of chosen ones – several hundred from each world – were given a second chance. A chance to gain a new home, new soil under their feet, New Earth. Then, after their flight, they would call this world "The Earth". New ground in windows, the source of salvation! And the Ship-Ark, which have delivered these immigrants to a new inhabitable world.

Oh, how ancient this planet was, how many troubles and disasters have it already seen before the time of Arrival, how many stories and destinies of it were stored in the memory of Ether! Not the first, by all means, not the first civilization on this planet's surface new immigrants of Three Worlds have become, and, maybe, not the last one at all. Yet know nothing did they of the history of their new world, for hidden were all traces of it by the planet's seas, and mountains, and subsoil. And so greatly these traces were hidden so that until the time required not a single one of new mankind could learn it and uncover.

And descended the Ship on continent spacious, among mountain valleys, and blossoming gardens, and rivers widely flowing. And the one named as Adam – the captain of the Ship – together with his wife Eva went down to Earth, and rescued ones followed them. And ready they were to kiss the soil of this New Earth, and rejoiced indescribably, for personally saw they of what their former worlds were turning into with their own eyes, on their rescue Ship departing.

And settled they on the earth, and started living good-natured and joyfully, deeply in memory their spiritual these last moments having imprinted. And this date significant of the moment unusual as the time of the creation of world have entered their history soon enough, for a new wonderful world they have acquired in possession and care after the burdens of their past, and grateful immensely were they for it. And captain Adam as the first man on the Earth was named and entered their history that way. And so it was recorded since those times ancient.

And may fast bylina our goes, yet not for long their attitude so flows. Started they to change gradually, and the history of their past was distorted by all-new "wise man". Started forgetting of the Exodus they, and as the tsars of nature imagined themselves, no less, as if it was not the nature of their former worlds which has destroyed their homes, obeying the Divine Law of justice. And thus broke up formerly uniform and united nation into groups and languages various, and started they dispersing through the world into all directions, in eternal searches of happiness, as if it could be found somewhere from the outside at all. And forgot they own relationships former, and the point of the Exodus did they forget as well, and pra-Earth, and Laws Divine. And more than once did tribes of the Divided since then went on war with one another for the lands once common and uniform. Yet we will not talk about that, for mournful is the history of centuries mentioned for us, story-tellers.

And the Great, Enlightened Ones from worlds Divine were descending to them, yet didn't wish to hear them Divided ones, and didn't cease to be at constant war with each other willingly. Altered foolish "wise men" words of the Great Ones, and placed them to serve their own ego, and the history of the Ark of Salvation turned into a myth in the eyes of humans, for which they are responsible. And much water has flowed under the bridges since then, and grains of sand passed through the Clocks, and centuries passed.

And developing were they their "science" and technics, so that in even more quantities and scales could they exterminate each other ruthlessly. And shredded they Earth on rags and pieces of states and territories, and lines virtual of borders painted on charts of theirs, even though there was no sign of lines mentioned on the Earth itself, and never will be. And wars they waged disastrous, and massacres performed bloody, and generously mother Earth have they been feeding with the blood of their own brothers for centuries. And justified their nasty things before others, but tried to hide it from the eyes of God, as if it was ever possible to hide even a single thought from His sight. And so greatly have they deteriorated, and so corrupted have they become, that already is being filled nowadays the Bowl of Patience, and elements planetary go wild to remind this mankind of the former fate of the former homes of theirs. Yet again, as always, like a random accident or coincidences do people consider these events and trust all sorts of false prophets and "wise man" they do, and listen to their hearts they do not. And promising they death to themselves more and more wildly and furiously with each day passing.

And rests the Ark in places unknown, waiting for a choice of humans, and destiny of the planet is being decided nowadays. And there will be no one, who either by his actions or his inaction wouldn't have impact invisible on the destiny mentioned, and will there be no one who will ever evade the responsibility for any of the outcomes possible for the Earth. For impossible it is to sit out and hide aside when a battle for the world is going furiously.

And with that, we do finish our short story unusual, which have been told to you for now. And whether the truth is that or the fiction – is not for us to decide for each one. But who will try to spend the time vague and inaction, or starts catching small fish in waters muddy, as if arranging a fiddle while Rome burns, – on his deed he will be inevitably judged.

03.03.2013

## One day you will awake

One day you will awake, and your former world will die for you forever. It will thaw in beams of the morning sun of new day, it will disappear like night autumn fog, it will evaporate as former tears on someone's face dry up. It will be no more – as if it has never been before.

At first, you will not feel it, you will not realize, what has changed inside you... what was so yesterday – and today became differently. But the old habitual world of yours will be no more, ever.

Something will change inside you, something so imperceptible and hidden... sleeping... in you before. Something will turn in you, at last, something so ancient as Universe itself. Something will finally manage to come to light – and you will not recognize this new world.

You will come to a window, open it and look out... you will see that rising sun which has decorated heavens... will realize how the fresh wind hammered into an open window sways your hair and tickles your face... will feel a moisture on your skin, brought by it from unknown lands... will hear, how amusingly beeping those cars of people, traveling to work, on the ground... will see, how these funny men run below, always trying to not be late somewhere... will notice, how some bird rushed through the skies just before your new window to this world... and will be so surprised, how did you not notice all of this earlier.

You will not understand at first. Since these times it would be your insoluble question – how was it possible not to feel, not to realize all this earlier... how was it possible to live almost blindly.

You just will not realize it. You will not realize, for what unknown purpose have you lived differently before, why that gamma of feelings pouring through your heart now, – why was it inaccessible to you earlier and wonderfully became accessible now... just stretch your hand.

This will become an eternal riddle of your life, which you will not want to solve – for it will not be necessary henceforth. For in these very moments your old world will be no more.

You will be unable to tell, where has this feeling of greatest respect to the world, in which you have the luck to live, and all things living, come from. You will not know where have all your constant anxieties suddenly vanished and where has your grief gone.

Where has your desire to struggle for your personal sort of justice disappeared and from where the feeling of absolute internal tranquility and acceptance of everything that occurs has come from?

Where has the feeling of own greatness has vanished and why it has been suddenly washed off by the arisen ocean of love to another?

Why don't you want to continue proving something to someone, argue with somebody, to put clever and silly arguments pro's and con's, and instead you are ready to simply look at these disputes between others and to smile to their childishness?

How, why, what for your interests, that had been so important previously, were somehow forgotten and faded, as though they never existed... for what reason did a single feeling replaced them – to always see this world as beautiful, as you see it now?

Why did other adult and serious people suddenly began to seem to you like small children, battling in own created sandboxes with each other – and sometimes even so funny and diligently throwing handfuls of sand at each other... and sometimes even wiping the face, full of tears, with their small lovely palms?

Where has all your former anger gone and why do you now greet and shake hands of your former immemorial enemies – and your soul exults, seeing, how their faces are changed when you affably smile to them and stretch your hand...?

Why do you now approach the bed where your beloved one still sleeps, what for do you sit down on the edge near him, why do you bow to him and kiss, and then lean your head to his own... where has this tenderness, overflowing you, come from?

What for, what for do you need all this? Where has your old world gone?

An instant fear will pierce you. You will be frightened by what has occurred to you. You will not know how to live on with this new feeling of yours. You will passionately want to return back, to life so habitual for you – so reasonable and logical. The mind will keep saying that you have not had time to do so many things – have not had time to build the house, to make your career, to do this, to do that, – and if you will accept your new world, you cannot do it anymore... simply will not see the point. And you will want to listen to him to strongly, for he has aided you in this life for so many times already – and you will almost make it...

But then you would suddenly remember as the sun shined on you – surprisingly beautiful for all these years, how wind pulled out your hair, how you felt an autumn moisture on your lips, how you saw a flying deciduous round dance, and how love to the world overflowed you... and you will throw away these impudent attempts of mind to spoil this beauty – for you will not want to lose it anymore.

There will be many years after – but they all will be different.

Your sleepy life will come to an end – and will not be repeated anymore. You will at last manage to see this world such what it always was for those who saw – and what it became for you from now on.

Both rising and falling, both success and failure, both joy and grief will happen as usual – but all of them will be different. They all will become a reflection of the wonderful new world, to which you have once – in that memorable day – come, and in which you are living now.

Just... just because something, that has been sleeping in you for so long, will once come to light. Just because one day you will awake...

08.03.2006

## Justification

Vasily squatted under a doorway canopy, diligently hiding his face from a pouring rain. Drops of rain drummed on his head, rolled up under his clothes through a torn raincoat, squelched in worn out sneakers. It appeared as if the rain in some uncontrollable mad rush was trying to clear country's "second capital" from all that he could qualify as dirt by his unknown motive.

As if he couldn't do only one thing – to wash away sins of humans. Servants of the temple, which was sparkling in this cloudy day with washed gilded domes, for instance, could – for a well-known payment, of course. Yet only not that rain. How could he, a simple rain, ascend to these heights?

Passersby promptly rushed under this storm from one building to another, overflowed cars on sidewalks loudly urged to stand aside each and every one except themselves, and Vasily – what's in Vasily? – to him, this marvelous new world of as-if-sanctity was totally far away in all possible meanings.

Karma became a new fashion by the will of moral's observers. For several years already every resident of this cultural capital – and not only it – has been trying to correct own karma without correcting himself. Show-windows of charitable shops called for it, newspapers and central television constantly reminded of it, even the face of some orphan on a huge advertising billboard appeared to silently offer all of its contemplators, who have been rushing through a central street's ring each day, to bring another portion of their savings to children's church shelter for the sake of clearing of own Karma. For several years already people have been insincerely smiling to each other on city streets, inquiring of a state of health of their interlocutors along with a weather's forecast, buying various discounted knickknacks in numerous charitable shops which have grown as if mushrooms from a heavy rain and stated that they were giving a part of their profits on "good deeds". Even banks offered an increased "cashback" for purchases in such little shops. It all became a question of fashion – to purify one's karma, feeling infallible.

Vasily had no idea how it all worked out – but the union of marketing specialists and those, from temples, turned out to be surprisingly productive. He, being watered in this very moment by a storm, didn't know that in terms of marketing this was called "rebranding", and in terms of finances, it could be measured by a sum which only they – devout collectors of treasures – were able to afford. Anyway, this certainly helped to save themselves in own eyes for many, – except Vasily.

Five years without a home – is it much or is it little? Someone will spend out eternity in the dirt, feeling no flight of time at all, – and for him, these five years became their own eternity. Five years through cold and snow, dirt and such rains which were washing streets of St. Petersburg from time to time. Five years in worn-out clothes under disapproval looks of passersby and without a single chance to find a constant shelter. Sleepless nights, spent in open entrances, hundreds of shouts and kicks from residents of these buildings. It all has been – it all will be going. This is a vicious circle.

***

Ultimately our memory saves only the best of moments for us – ones which are worthy of living in the ocean of memories. And sparks of these memoirs don't fade away up to our last day on this rock.

...First year of his wanderings. Late evening. The sound of footfall behind his back.

"Hide me away, please!" a girl of seven or so years desperately shouted. "Hide me from them!"

When two adult figures, wrapped up in shadows, appeared on a pavement's horizon, there was no more time for reflections.

"Here, come with me!" Vasily shouted to a child.

Several dozens of meters, absolutely close. Here, in a yard, broken door entrances were always open. When you wander through the entire city, which has become your final resting place, your memory tenaciously stores inside such spots, where you can spend your next night – or at least several remaining hours till dawn when law-abiding citizens will once again go for their most important and significant jobs. Like in a vicious circle.

The child ran after Vasily in door openings and went silent.

This was a day – or a night if we are to judge by time – when he saved future great ballerina from thugs and rapists. Yet in that very day, he didn't know of all that – that kind of knowledge came so much later – and in another world.

...Third year of his wanderings. The rain, drumming on a bridge his strange rhythm and drawing circles in waters of Neva river. Vicious circles.

A little kitten with orange fur, who is desperately beating on a water with legs and trying to reach a high stone embankment with a meter's height above him. He would drown that day if not for Vasily's aid. Would drown as many are being drowned by force – whether they are cats or people. What is some saved kitten, after all? Just a clear distinction between compassion and indifference.

...That very day, those very minutes which few mortal ones are capable to predict in advance. Winter wind, freezing a face. The glacial face of Neva. Group of school students not far away, moving as a chain to another coast.

Here a weak ice breaks from their measured step and one of them falls down into icy waters with a splash. A cry of despair, being carried around.

When Vasily ran up to the place of that ice break, the student was still on a water surface, yet none of the surrounding children had any power to pull him out. They pulled their hands to him, trying to grasp – but small weak hands of theirs have been sliding off over and over again, accompanied by cries of despair.

It happens that we don't know the exact limits of own powers until the moment they are truly needed... and neither did Vasily. Having grabbed him by a wrist, he pulled the child with both of his hands with such a force that he has flown away on a surface and landed two meters behind. But this breakthrough shook Vasily, turning him around, his legs slid off and he fell into icy waters himself.

Time and again, up to the moment when hands and legs finally refused to obey him, he has been fighting for life. Over and over again he was trying to get out on the ice, but forces were fleeing from him – or perhaps this so memorable for his soul and destiny winter has finally decided to take its toll. Here icy water flows into his mouth, forcing to stop breathing. Flashes of light – last messengers of this world – and he is drowning to the bottom of the river...

***

...In that last farewell instant of his life he had no idea of what would happen afterward when the very concept of time will change itself. He had no idea how in a world of immense beauty, which was unimaginable for his tormented and exhausted mortal body, three golden drops – one for each soul that he has saved – would fall one day down on a bowl of great Scales, forgotten by many. How these drops, similar to ones of rain, – so small and so big at the same time! – would touch its surface, and in that instant, one of two bowls will bend and light up with inextinguishable fire. During that instant these three drops, which were seeming too small for many, will overweight all mistakes and pain of his past, lighting up his way. At that moment – a moment of fading link between this world and another one which is being constantly forgotten by those born in this, – Vasily by no means could know this. Mortal beings are rarely granted a privilege to know their future in advance. He didn't know that these drops would become his – absolutely sincerely and disinterestedly coming to the rescue – most significant Justification.

He couldn't think of how shortly after this moment two glowing with warm and soft light figures would stand to right and left from him and lead him into the Great Hall – a divine place where only worthy ones will once be gathered.

Where there is a place for justified and expiated and no place for paying off ones.

19.01.2016

## The memory of the millenniums

Small nomadic tribe. Hunting and living, living and hunting on each new terrestrial haven. But they were short – for the vastness of steppes awaited them, they were short – for battles were inevitable.

Battles of equestrian orders. A lethal enemy's weapon – long bent sticks, firing killing needles. His companions died every day... he learned to get used to it, he had to. In peaceful times the tribe expanded and spread again – ready for new battles, new life, and new victories.

This was his life. In this world and in this time.

***

Turning to the opponent. Double swing of a sword in the right hand. A strike – and flatwise blow on the armor sideways. Moving the sword back. The sword describes an arch over opponent's head and again strikes in another side. Now the blade starts moving to the ground... both hands take it – and another blow on the plates, closing a shoulder on the right hand.

On the left. Right. Left. Right.

An arch again. Again the sword is turned in hands and flies into attack... another blow. Continuing to shower rival with strikes, he moved sideways. Some more steps and he has appeared behind the back. A blade, brought by two hands over his head... this should be the last blow, the opponent will be defeated.

The steel racing into attack... the opponent is turning to face him... The clanging of clashed steel. His strike has been beaten off. The one he battled was not the weakling at all. A series of successful blows – is everything he has managed to make in this duel. There will be no easy victory – but a long and daring fight instead, a battle which he has thirsted with all his heart for a long time – a battle of worthy ones. It will be the battle of worthy – and let the strongest prevail!

One step back. The foot set back aside for stability. Clanging of steel tools which have met in their dance – now it's his turn. A sharp withdrawal of a blade downwards – opponent's sword slides off the block. Now a blade's turn in a bottom. The blade has flushed, describing a circle in the air, – a blow. Opponent's plate armor has absorbed the major portion of blow again – he resisted.

Now a tap of a sword for repeated blow... he had no time left. His flatwise blow on an armor has not shaken the contender, and that has given him time. Now he has to resist rival's blow... his sword was describing an arch for another blow... but it was too late to use it as a block.

A hit. Stars in his eyes. The blow of the opponent has been made directly between the plates, covering a shoulder, and a helmet. A dangerous one, also demanding high skill, to lift a blade highly – and fair time for a swing.

Blow. Block. Blow. Block. Clanging steel, which has met in its favorite dance. Two flitting blades.

Two men, breathing heavily under heavy armor, enclosing their bodies. Two warriors, who have met each other in battle. Two knights, fighting for a title of the champion of the tournament – fighting for sighs of beautiful ladies and admiration of commoners. Battling, battling as if all their life goals and all hopes have been put into this battle...

And let the strongest prevail!

***

The centurion's order is clear. His phalanx along with others will pass in a wedge through the enemy – pass, sweeping steel-clad infantry and crushing the marksmen, positioned on a hill. It will be a glorious fight – yes, glorious fight. They will prevail, they will win a victory in this battle for the emperor. Legionaries of Rome know no defeats.

Quickly given orders. Movement in the ranks of contradictory armies. Minute, another, the third one. Phalanxes preparing for battle. It will be a great battle...

Two iron walls, bristling with swords and spears, which have moved towards each other. The fighting shouts, carried by a wind across the field of battle. The loud orders of commanders traveling by air. The fight began to boil...

His formation bit into enemy ranks. The exposed forward spear... a sword's swing – and rival's shaft fly aside. Forward strike – the enemy falls on the ground.

A blow on his armor from behind. He has reeled, but has resisted – armor has absorbed a blow. The turn towards new danger... a blade, sparkling in morning beams of the sun – and another opponent falls down.

A block. Someone from behind tries to strike at him again. A movement of blade downwards – and swift attack back without turning...

And yet again the blade flits in hands. Again, as countless times before, once the simple legionary, and now the leader of a phalanx – is in a fight, in the glorious battle of great Roman empire. The shouts of battle and clanging of metal once again. Enemies, falling from blows of the blade.  His comrades in arms, dying on the battlefield...

A battle once again. Battle of his empire – and his battle also. Glorious fight of the grand empire...

***

The scientist and the researcher, the physicist and the chemist, the writer and the philosopher, a wise man. He was all of them – all of them were living in him. He devoted himself to work – for the queen, for commoners, for all citizens of his own country, for the ones in other. It was his life – his life of studying the world...

***

They were hunted and pursued. They were searched for and eliminated. They were hated – hated by those, who had not the slightest idea before of the right to execute and grant pardon, which they would soon gain. But they have gained this right – received it for murder and persecution of others, have chosen it as a necessary step – the one, leading nowhere. But did they really know about it?

Prisons and colonies. Penal servitudes and executions without trial. The ruined families. The deformed destinies.  The destroyed culture. It was a horrible time...

***

He was the creator – one of those, loving his work – the artist and the writer of a new century. The century of creativity and freedom, a century of democracy of reasonable people – a century of peace, a century of creative recovery and inspiration. The century of world's blossoming – century of sunrise.

He worked along with other people. Creativity for goodness became a symbol of the epoch. Virtue became a world star, the sincere love became the sun, tenderness became the drops of a rain irrigating the Earth, the purified human hearts – stars in a sky.

The wonderful epoch of sunrise and ascension...

***

Pictures emerged from his memory one after another and immediately rushed away into unknown lands.

Epochs and centuries, replacing each other. His life – his set of lives in this world, set of the ways, passed by him in different epochs. He was all of them... he was in many times.

Now, only now he has finally remembered it. He has remembered it at the long last – this memory of his ways was always with him, was in each new life, but only now he could feel and realize all immenseness of own life – and all its greatness. Lives in myriads of epochs, life in myriads of times. Myriads of lives in one of the myriads of worlds.

How huge was his journey! How even longer and greater it can become! He has learned much in this time – willpower in battles, determination, and courage, fidelity and devotion, creativity as a life feat – all this became him. All this has grown and has assimilated in him.

He was in all – and all was in him. He was the creator, he, as well as others, was the creation of God – and was becoming his semblance.

The man has still stood for some time on his knees, listening to himself. This memory was with him – it always was with him. Now it was with him forever. He has already learned much about himself and this world, but there is still even more left to discover. For his journey – is a journey in the eternity.

And then he stood up and with a confident gait has moved to an exit – and left a temple.

Has sighed deeply. So, this way has just begun – his work is awaiting him, his life is waiting for him. And let the memory of this day never leave him – let it become the fire, guiding his way – a new journey in the transformed world.

So be it!

01.07.2003

## Girlfriends

"Stretch! Now push on! Push on! More! Come on, darling, I know that it hurts! Such is our female fate, we all passed through it. Here... I can see his head! A little more! He comes out! He comes all out! A little more, push on!"

Young mother – a woman of approximately twenty-five years – could barely constrain a cry of pain, which was continually coming to a dried-up throat and desperately, like a sea wave, rolling on a coast, seeking to break over and get loose. Two women were helping her during a childbirth. One of them was a midwife, who was now anxiously fussing near the woman in labor – and a complete stranger would give her by her look about forty years even though she was hardly thirty years old, having glanced on her face, which has grown thin due to a constant lack of sleep, and her hollow brown eyes. And the second... sun-casting, golden-colored and as if slightly transparent hair of the second woman were as if fluttering on the invisible to ordinary people wind during these moments, obeying the will of all the energies that were streaming through her, her celestial-blue eyes were shining with patience and kindness; white clothing, reminding a fantastic and magnificent wedding dress, only supplemented and emphasized her beauty. Hands of this second woman, so similar during these instants to a young regal bride, were directed to a woman in labor – and brightly flashing sparkles of light were continually flowing from them and smoothly, precisely like winter snowflakes, falling down from the skies, sitting down on her tummy, from where the newborn baby was about to be completely born. Neither the woman in labor nor the midwife saw in these minutes this mysterious stranger – for eyes of men are too blind to notice what is subject only to a spirit. Yet this didn't confuse invisible guest at all – for the nature of her mission was so noble that a life for the sake of her fulfillment was already the highest possible reward. The light that was now flowing from her hands through invisible thin threads to a mother and her child, was weaving hidden for a common mortal being a purple sphere that was protecting them like a shield. A smile was playing on a face of the blue-eyed blonde and her cheeks have already managed to blush during the time of operation.

Life was entering the law. The baby was about to be born.

***

The woman in a black hood and the dress, reminding itself mourning clothes of a widow, who has recently lost her beloved husband, accurately stepped over a threshold, having almost hooked by a door's handle with a hanging on her back and attached to a belt scythe. Having hushed to a cat, who has rushed under her legs and was just going to start crying "meow", thereby breaking the blissful silence, so loved by this woman, she looked around and methodically put away from a pocket of her black as night dress a book of impressive thickness.

This, as it usually turns out in real life, completely unexpected by inhabitants of this institution guest wasn't afraid to be discovered at all. To tell the truth, only cats and these few living beings, who have not yet lost a connection with what many mortals call as "the other world", were able to detect her presence here.

Having once again re-read one of the pages of her book, which has been wrapped up in a black-brown skin, this green-eyed brunette slowly nodded, as if having made herself sure of correctness of the choice of both time and place, looked on a bony watch that was attached to her hand, and started slowly walking deep along the corridor.

Those ones living in this nursing home, if only they knew in advance what type of guest have visited their house today, would immediately rush away like mad from this future mourning place, protecting themselves with various signs of the cross in a strange hope that they, these signs, can alter their fates, which they have been forming for many years of own lives. The guest in black perfectly knew it – and this fact cannot give birth to anything other than a sad smile. For uncountable eons of her devoted sovereign service, she managed to get used to such an attitude from mankind, and it ceased to disturb her any longer. After all, for her, it was usual – and the only possible one – job, and this guest has been trying to execute it as precisely and carefully as possible.

Maybe in regards with her similar attitude to own work duties, she now decided to say a final goodbye to each of elderly pensioners, who were peacefully sleeping during this midnight in closed rooms away from prying public eyes. She quietly climbed by a cold stone ladder on a second floor with bedrooms, trying not to produce too much noise with her shod black brilliant boots or to touch yet another piece of local household furniture with her casting opaque light scythe, and started traveling from room to a room. She quietly embraced sleeping people, trying to imprint their faces in her memory and to hear the sound of their still-beating hearts. Two out of several dozens – who have lived their mortal lives very dignifiedly – she embraced so strong and has been holding in her hands for so long that beating hearts of the two stopped their rhythms while their masters were dreaming, thus entraining their souls in wanderings through labyrinths of other worlds. One may say that these two were lucky ones – they have left before those to whom this life will seem like a hell after several dozens of minutes. They were the worthiest ones among all living here and therefore according to the orders given today to a black guest, their parting with this world should have been as painless as possible. Having kissed this couple, our guest dexterously opened her thick book on the last page, which materialized from out of nowhere during that very instant and added itself to a book. Two names of her recent beloved ones were already imprinted on this page in golden letters – unlike a vast set of gray and almost black-colored names, which were filling in a small script several previous pages of this chronicle. Shaking her head with satisfaction, the guest in a black hood, covering her head, has been continuing her night trip until her bony wearable highlighted "five minutes before 1 A.M." time. Then, as if having bethought, she took her eternally wearable weapon from her back, approached electricity switchboard and forcefully struck it several times with her scythe. Something flashed inside it, began to sparkle, then sparks started running over the wires, flame jumped on wall-papers, then on elements of furniture, greedily consuming oxygen. Several minutes later entire floor started blazing.

Death was entering the law. And no one could avoid her eternal embraces.

***

"By a granted to me right let a life be given to you!" gently whispered the blue-eyed woman in white, bluntly kissing a newborn baby.

"By a granted to me right you are fated to leave this place with me after several minutes," the green-eyed guest in a black hood, which have come out of nowhere, whispered with a cold and aloof voice, having come near a baby and leaned with both hands on her scythe just like a guard, carefully protecting entrusted treasure.

Sights of two women crossed.

"What a surprise! What type of bad luck brought you here?" said a woman in a white dress, looking at the unexpectedly arrived black guest. "It's written in my book, that this dear child has to be born in exactly two minutes and thirty-three seconds."

"And it's written in mine, that he has to die in four minutes and forty-six seconds. So please apologize me for that, but... I am afraid that you together with his parents have to behold how he slowly dies from a cerebral hemorrhage, which has occurred due to the hard birth procedure and patrimonial trauma of mother."

"That's strange..." the white guest sadly looked at the kid. "What's the sense in it? Can you hold for just a minute, I will try to inquire of it?"

"I cannot delay, for I have instructions, and you know that well. It's possible to delay only in exceptional cases – which is, unfortunately, not this one."

The white-winged woman in a wedding dress closed her eyes and raised her head up as though listening attentively to the unknown secret music, which has been filling the entire universe since the beginning of creation and available only to its devoted listeners.

"Indeed, everything is as you said," she replied after twenty seconds. "With such a swift death the soul of this child has to expiate an essential part of mistakes made during his previous lives, and for his parents this grief according to the plan will become a binding focal point, which will help them to overcome former mutual offenses in order to further become a strong and close-knit family, in which the soul of this kid can be born again, living happily this second time."

"Well, now you see," the guest in a dark attire nodded with satisfaction. "There are no current mistakes and no expected ones. His ways are inconceivable as we both know it."

"Indeed so..." the white-winged woman smiled. "I was entrusted to accompany so many lovely and innocent kids to this world."

"And I was forced to accompany so many sinners away from it," hemmed her colleague. "Well, are you ready for the next trial of death? Please come closer to the parents, embrace them so they can at least feel your nearby presence, they will have hard moments coming to them."

"How compassionate you have become as of lately, my friend, I can't help but wonder!" either seriously or just for fun noticed Life.

"Blame it on the years..." Death answered philosophically. "What they can do to us, women!"

***

Two women – one in black and one in white attire – were sitting on a bench near a city pond, looking on floating nearby swans.

"And do you remember that young man, physicists, who have been always joking about the third karma law of Newton and the meaning of life, the universe, and everything, – and it turned out to be always equal to forty-two? Why did you take him away at such an early age? He had yet to live and live on."

"Not why, my friend, but what for. He would leave his motherland several years afterward, be dragged into a military concern, started working for foreign intelligence services – and would have helped to create such a weapon that you, my colleague, would truly shudder. Therefore, I was given an order to take him away ahead of time to help both him and this world as well."

"Well, let's suppose so," Life was going on with her inquiries. "And that little girl, Polina, who was raped by two thugs – why have you allowed them to kill her afterward? You were standing near them, keeping silence. I still can't forget how hard it was to help her come to life and be born outside of maternity hospital when her drank pregnant mother began to give her a birth."

"Exactly because she had such a family, in which she could not live for more than ten years. Everything would come to an end in a suicide, you understand? And this is such a sin that if you take one on a balance of your soul – you'll be washing it off for a century. And she passed through sufferings now, became a martyr, it will be much easier for her now – it's not Earth, there is an intended place in another civilization for her. And I played a nice joke with these two freaks, by the way, – for the first one I palmed off during a year such a fake vodka that his liver didn't sustain it, and the second one fell into a manhole which was opened this day totally not casually. I was told in confidence afterward, that no more births are planned for these two guys – so you shouldn't accept their childbirth any longer, don't you worry."

"Well, you know..." Life can't help but be curious, "and why do you wage wars, then? You desire to harvest, enjoy sufferings of men?"

"It's not me," smiled Death. "It's people. And what do I do? Do you even know, what longest lists they send me in each day like that? I can hardly manage to fully read them when it's already necessary to put them to action!" she laughed. "I have already seen all kinds of deaths – both clever and silly, brave and unimportant, self-sacrifices even... however, their numbers keep falling as of recent decades. Humans grow thin in spirit, and their lives become common, and their deaths become unimportant," philosophically noticed Death and raised her scythe as if edifying.

"Yes," her colleague sadly agreed with her. "Humans are, unfortunately to me, mortal. And how do you think, my friend, whether there is something in this world that you cannot take away with you?"

"Ideas, probably," answered Death after a minute of thinking.

"And dreams," added Life. "Ones that are bigger than an individual is."

"Indeed," Death agreed with her. "Big ones."

26.07.2017

## Priest

Good health to all of ye, oh laymen!

Thus I have decided to address you in such a wonderful and marvelous way. For we, priests, you know, feel somewhat too boringly from time to time, that's it. You go here and there to us in the crowds on festivals and public prayers, bow us up to over legs and kiss our white hands, yet you have almost no desire even to speak with us a bit. Maybe during only a confession – but do you believe that we do thirst for yet another tiresome monologue of that repugnant acts of yours? And deeds these of yours are sometimes so horrific, that we desire to curtail ears of ours into a tubule and to furiously hush on you – yet one has to suffer, listening to all that shitty rubbish, and to sigh sadly at the end of it, having once again said that phrase intimate like a robot about the remission of sins of yours, for all has been prepaid according to the price list by you already. And thus we can do no other but to listen to all that bullshit, pretending that it interests us up to exhaustion, while feeling boredom there, in that booth confessionary, especially for that purpose being dark and concealed, so that you cannot see expressions on the faces of ours.

Or, say, to all these corpses, in iron boxes by us collected and as relics by us named, you go and worship, for we once have dared to call them as sacred... you almost kiss them in these yours attacks ecstatic, and some of you even decided to speak with them, as if the dead ones could talk... and of us, you didn't remember as if we were not live at all and they were more lively than us?

And it also happens sometimes that some layman arrives, forms on public prayers on all his family up to the tenth generation having filled silently and gloomy, and throws them in hands after having paid according to the price list in a cash desk... and we have no better thing than to pray either for a health or resting in the peace of their souls in that services of ours as if we know clearly of what sort of people in mentioned in form of these – possibly, some truly disgusting ones? And so we have to pray for the ones we know nothing about for the purpose we know all about – for the sake of gold, surely... for what is the other reason to make a prayer cost money?

And even more nasty parishioners do appear from time to time – they silently enter our temple, insert bought from the third parties candles in our candlesticks and light them up... and they are doing all of this so quietly and mournfully, being afraid to utter even a single word so that a strange feeling sometimes overwhelms me that this temple is not a house of God at all, but truly resembles some sort of cellar or a cemetery... oh, horrific! Myself I am being frightened by that thought but can do nothing, for such are the orthodox canons of behaving in these churches of ours. And if someone dares to violate these rules invented by us – either dress somewhat differently or sing something strange – publicly curse him will we, the faith of ours and morals thus protecting, may he bear no doubt of that!

And so here it comes out that we, churchmen, have already become sort of robots to you, and cannot we exchange the word good and salutary with you. And if it comes out that you bear a desire to talk with us in a personal conversation – then of you, our ill ones, have we to talk entirely, edifying you constantly as necessary! Oh, what a difficult business is that – to lay out councils and spit out advice. It happens that one of you comes to one of us and, you know, starts to be grooved – here's something is wrong in his life, there something is not right in his life once again, and thus he totally misses and lacks something based on his endless desires. And here we must sit, listening to you, or even worse standing still like a monument, inventing advice on the fly. And what advice can we lend ye, if we know both you and your situation only superficially? And thus we are forced to give you advice general, universal, by the time itself proven, – to come and visit our church once again, to buy yet another candle from our hands, to order a monthly public prayer (it's possible to order one-time prayers as well, but no so greatly effective they are, for they are too cheap in a money equivalent, ye know). And so you can become so tired from these monologues monotonous and advice identical, that to howl on a moon you desire only, thank God that it's invisible during the afternoon.

And after all, we too sometimes desire to express ourselves, to expose the souls of ours and torments of conscience of ours to you, brother laymen! And wanted I to confess once, but then thought that inappropriate it would be for me, almost holy one, to confess before the very same priest, realizing clearly with what attitude will he listen to these inflaming speeches of mine coldly and indifferently. And thus I have decided to expose that my soul before you without any hesitation, oh my beloved laymen, my gold-bringing lambs, my humiliated and offended. And what should I hesitate and be afraid of, you will ask me, if I am going to tell you a little bit more of myself and stop right there, never going too deep into all those unworthy nasty details? And then I will simply absolve my own sins, thus becoming pure once again... it's that easy, after all.

And I will start with my preparation for entering of a spiritual seminary. Believe me or not at all, but have truly lacked I any serious diligence from the very childhood, as well as a desire to work hard and long. Liked I greatly to sleep for twelve hours or so, and to luxuriate at the table, having stuffed my stomach with all sort of delightful delicacies. And haven't I developed any useful abilities or skills during the time of my boyish years, cause didn't see I any sense in such sort of things – for only one live do we live, and may a flood wash them all astray afterward!

And so, when the time has come for me to decide my future way, my father advised me to enter a spiritual seminary to become a God's person, or so to speak. Work, he said, is not a wolf, would not howl from a grief on a moon, and besides, it's a stable source of income, especially if at the due time one manages to become a head of own church, that's it. Know only how to perform church services, carry out rituals, chide public prayers and talk with parishioners proforma from time to time, taking sympathizing and merciful sight. To convince before you here must I, that not so greatly did I believe in that God, the Maker of us, but whether it was truly necessary in order to execute some dumb rituals and learn several prayers by heart? Every monkey imaginable will easily handle that task mentioned!

And so, well, have I rushed into a whirlpool with all my head – it doesn't take you too much time with a desire, you know. Have educated myself, not showing my inner disbelief, and was assigned as the assistant to a prior from a local temple for my considerable successes. And successes of mine on that field were truly oh-so-great so that I couldn't help admiring myself, not to mention the attitude of my parents. Have I learned by heart somewhat about thirty prayers, had not clearly understood it's meaning, however, – but who is going to understand them if they are written in the out-of-date language, not these fanatical laymen, really? Was able I as well to find quickly quotes necessary in writings sacred, and explain effortlessly why Orthodoxy ours is so much better than all these devilish religions, these sectarians Catholic, Protestant and Buddhist homebrewed. Biographies of our sacred ones, in general, I have memorized well so that to impress people with their deeds both just and unjust, and even more to impress them with a quantity of these sacred ones canonized than with deeds of theirs, – for the more religion of yours have affirmed holy ones, the more powerful it becomes in the eyes of its followers, yeah? Well, a good priest must I have become, confessionally professional and religiously resistant.

And remember do I that once upon a time, while I was serving under the command of my brother-in-church, my prior, this hellish demon, at the back and call like a stepson, some young maiden has come to our temple. Oh, wonderful was that maiden by her look and proportion, so that I was almost losing my mind! She was about seventeen years old only, but was ruddy like the ride apple, with breast large and attracting and face of an angel. And she was speaking, as far as I could remember, that she has become orphan recently and she decided to turn to the God for the remaining lifespan, and thus she has come to us to become a nun in our humble temple. Such a silly human flesh, – I thought that time, – decided that the very God is living here with us... would He even care to listen to us, traders unscrupulous, for even in the previous time He decided to banish all us with a whip instead. But I, certainly, showed no sign, for too painfully beautiful was this young girl. And thus we, well, accepted her into our monastery by my advice to the prior. And that advice did give I with an ulterior motive, indeed – gradually, from the very first day have I started to cajole her, attaching to the sanctity of our church. And both a prayer aloud did I read to her, flaunting, and candles for her on the first floor in the evening did I lit for a bigger romanticism and tried both this and that approach, and still, I wasn't favored. Have been longing she during days and evenings in that home of ours, grieving of something personal and far, unknown to me, and by all signs was it obvious that this place was weighing her, and haven't she found here something she has been looking for, and might she leave us forever soon enough. And from desire my unfulfilled performed I the act desperate – into her private cell during the nighttime I rushed, her door with my keys having unlocked, and threw her on the bed, and jumped on her, being consumed by my burning desire. Wanted she to shout and call for help at first moments, but skillfully did I make her mouth shut with my hand, while deed of mine quickly performing. Didn't that maiden manage to make even a single peek, and ceased to resist soon enough.

And, leaving, threatened I her that would we separate her from the sacred church of ours if she decides to tell anyone of what has just taken place here, and will we scold her publicly as the one who have turned away from the God, and so greatly will we abuse and scold her, that even her parents who are resting in peace in the other world, to us unknown, will be frightened. Reconciled this maiden and nothing did she say in reply to these threats of mine – only on the following day have we found her hung up on a linen rope in the cell. Surely, silent like a death was I and told nothing, and even if I did – would commoners twist fingers only and grin, having not believed in that. Sort of sacred we have become in the eyes of these fools, innocent. Well, and this is probably for the best. Oh, and you should know as well that the prior of our temple was soon dismissed from the service for that awful accident, due to his oversight which has occurred, so as his second hand soon I have occupied his place and have taken all his privileges... quite skillfully, right? Ways are inscrutable, or so they say.

So, I have known neither a grief, nor cares, nor need since these days. Recently I have even though up an ingenious plan – to start producing temples inflatable, rubber. So that a procession can come into a new place to all these unholy non-Christian laymen, inflate that temple here on the spot quickly and effortlessly for a week, and then christen them all, and pray for forgiveness of their sins, and read the burial service for all, and bless all and damn everyone out there. Oh, faith our inflatable, to what ideas can a cunning human mind once come! And for that idea mentioned, should I note, by the higher church ranks I have been granted holy permission to wash cars of parishioners with a holy water for symbolic dues. Recently I even learned the art of banishing demons from these very gold-bringing parishioners, and such a simple procedure it appeared to be in practice: at first declare you someone terribly afflicted and a spawn of the devil, no less, and everyone jump then away from him in a fear and start christening, and fearing him like as if he is infected with pestilence, so that he even cannot say something in his defense, – and after that you start performing all sorts of "exorcism" rituals upon him, improvising until you get bored... both an honor and authority to your temple and a feeling of relief to the under-possessed! So that business of mine now grows and spreads, not by days, but by parishioners, as they say. Recently, for example, we have forbidden our poor sheep to bring candles along with them, period! Let they buy our ones from a local factory three times more the cost if they dare to pretend oh-so-believing. Faugh, contemptible ones!

Only one thing truly disturbs me at times, my dear laymen. Something burns down inside my breast somewhere from time to time and hurts, and aches. And so vile it becomes inside my soul, that I am almost ready to howl on a moon from that intolerable grief! Or dreams come to me of nature demonic, dreadful, so that I cannot sleep at all. But then is passes, thanks to the God! It must be the conscience, they say, yet do not believe I in the presence of it much, for what for must a man possess it while there are so many temptations lying around? Is that really a voice of our soul, given to us by God? It only disturbs me, silly one!

Poof, I guess I have become too frank to you, and have told you more than I should already. Have exposed my innards before you, so to say. And, because I have made it, I should now burn this note to ashes as soon as I calm down. For what is the reason for you to keep believing in us and us only and to read similar confessions, aye? Definitely to the detriment of your belief in our self-chosen hierarchy would that be! So will I burn it all tomorrow, burn it I will, and dispel the ashes on the wind without hesitation. And once again will I be pure like a newborn baby, and almost holy will I be!

...Oh, but why does the conscience keep burning inside me so that I cannot sleep?

21.07.2012

## Messenger on the planet Earth

"A difficult journey awaits you. This planet balances on the verge – and its fate lies on the bowls of scales of Universe. Either life or destruction awaits it further. But they have to choose their path themselves.  Each of them will make his own choice."

"What should I do, Master?"

"You will be one of the warriors who has come into their world. You will have to fight, to struggle with injustice, to be upset with their imperfection. But remember well – this world balances on the verge, and it's prohibited to bring chaotic elements in it. You will have to aid them to understand their ways – to help those who have heard you find a path to their bright destiny, which has always been waiting and still waits for them. To awake those fallen asleep, to encourage those sad, to give new powers to those joyful for bringing of good. Remember, though, that you cannot revive dead ones – there is neither this nor the other world for them. You will be one of many other, who will be sent to this world – you will meet them in our life. You can unite forces – it will be easier for you to travel together. You will easily recognize them – your sensitive heart will not deceive you. When the knowledge of wonderful possibilities of spirit will be brought to this world, when consequences of various spiritual impulses will become obvious – then the planet will transform – as it was predicted. But keep in mind that to achieve this purpose all of you will have to battle – to battle against ignorance and cruelty, which continue to overflow this planet. You will have to fight – including those who have heard you and those awakened. They will have to understand it."

"Do they have any idea in what time they are living and what should they do to not allow the destruction of their interstellar home?"

"No. Only singles know about that – either those sent by Us or those who have come to Us willingly in the course of their spiritual searches. Others either wander in own illusions or close themselves by walls of negation – and that is one more reason of why intervention is necessary."

"Is there is a name in the history of their world, which has been given to this planet's stage, when the first signs of its approaching became obvious?"

"Yes. They call it – Armageddon."

"What's the name of this planet?"

"Its inhabitants call it 'The Earth'."

"I have understood, Master. I am ready to accept my Way."

"We will meet you when you return. Remember of Us, and remember of them. The planet must survive."

"I am ready."

"Into the journey, warrior!"

A flash of radiant shining light. The luminous spirit, shrouded in its beams, like in a cover.  Next instance – and a new dazzling stream of light engulfs him – and he disappears in the light.

***

One last effort of a mother – and the child was born. A pair of caring hands has immediately picked him up, wrapped up in a bed-sheet and went to wash. Only several minutes have passed – and the child was brought back to his mother.

The woman with tear-stained and happy face cuddles the child, silently and tenderly whispering something under her nose...

***

"Have you already made up your mind on how we should name him? We have to give a worthy name to our little son."

"Yes, I have thought up a name. We will name him Christian."

"Interesting. Why have you chosen such a name for him?"

"I... I don't know... it's simply... it's as if someone has suggested it to me. I like this name. Let's name him Christian, all right?"

"All right. I believe it's quite a good name. Let it be Christian."

***

"Hey, you there, coward! Have your wetted your panties out of fear already?! Come, come here, mother's sonny! Such an assistant, oh yeah! She is my girl and you will not touch her! She needs no aid from you! Have you got me, huh?!"

And the little boy was taken on breast and uplifted.

"Have you understood me or not, I ask you?! Stop keeping silence, you, goat!"

One more jerk. A blow in a stomach. Waves of pain, dispersing through the body and the impossibility to make even a single breath. A hand, ready to strike again...

"Leave him be."

And a hand, trying to make a new blow, have been intercepted.

The attacker has turned back.

A boy of approximately the same age stood before him, only he was a bit higher. The guy, who has begun the attack, has jerked and pulled out his grasped hand.

"What the heck are you meddling in our affairs, aye? Why have you come here, foul nit? Who's in the hell are you, bastard?! This does not concern you, pig!"

"Leave him alone. You have no intention to talk to him. You just want to cripple and frighten him."

This third one, who has disturbed this "talk" in such a wrong moment, was absolutely unnecessary here. And what's even stranger – he showed no signs of fear at all. Only the calmness can be read in his eyes – and not even a fraction of dread. He has already learned to see human fear, he read it time and again in the eyes of his victims – whether it was some cowardly excellent pupil or touch-me-not girlie.

But this one – he wasn't afraid, wasn't at all...

"I will repeat once again. Leave him be. You have already tormented enough people – it will be so no more. Not here anyway."

"What's so bad that I've made, huh?! What's the bullshit are you saying, ram! We were having a face-to-face 'talk' here – and it's not your fucking business to intervene! This bastard was meddling with my girl, with my girl – do you understand?! And now he is going to suffer punishment for it!"

And once again he moved forward to the fellow, whom he has beaten recently, intending to continue fighting. Then the interfered little boy has risen between him and his target.

"Fine. Then you will have to deal with me."

The attacker just smiled.

"As you would have it, bastard!"

***

He rose slowly from the ground. Approached that tormented scared fellow and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Have no fear. He will touch you no more. He now has someone to answer to for his crimes."

"T... thanks, for... for h... helping me."

Either the boy has not yet recovered from a punch in his stomach or has still been experiencing dread.

"You don't have to thank me. It's my debt. I have come here to perform own duties."

"And w .. .what wi... will be with... h... him?"

"Him?" He has looked at recent tormentor, who bent and was still rolling from pain on the floor. "He will touch you no more. And, well... he will recover soon enough. It should not concern you now."

"Ag... again thank you f... for your aid. H... how do I call you and w... why have you helped m... me?"

"You ask for my name, right? They call me Christian. I have aided you simply because it's my debt and because two warriors from one side never abandon each other on the field of battle."

And once again he has put his hand on boy's shoulder, and, having smiled, has friendly shaken it.

***

"Please, get rid of your anger. You do not currently comprehend all consequences of your condition, and not only those consequences for you, but also for people who surround you in these moments."

"Stop poking me here! Have your fun poking another, for you are like mummy's child to me! And it's none of your business! How would you behave if some slink had robbed you?!"

"I say 'you' because I consider you as equal, as one inhabitant of this world to similar another. Your anger is pointless – the event has already occurred, and it's your past now. The thief is gone. One can regret his past, love it or hate it, but cannot change it. It cannot be brought back to be lived through once again – possible, differently. But each moment of your life is already becoming a past in this very instant – and so you have to live it to not only having no regrets after but making it a new source of power at present."

"I do not understand you."

"Many of you are unable to do that, unfortunately. And nevertheless they should start realizing, where is the truth and where does lie lurk in the course of their own spiritual quest. Time never waits. It's already running out."

***

And nevertheless, it was wonderful here. Despite all the absurd and discrepancies, which have been brought here by capricious reason of this world's inhabitants, it was great.  The very atmosphere of this small shelter in a much bigger haven was pure.

"Would you like to confess, my child?"

"I thank you, but I must refuse – I will confess only before my divine Father. And for all my errors and mistakes I will answer only before Him as well."

"Oh, is that really so? After all, you are not without a sin, my son."

"That's true indeed. But I will redeem all my faults and nonsenses, once made by me in different lives – and, possibly, in this one too – with my own life. Simply because it's the only way ever possible and there are no others."

"But God himself has granted its servants the right to atone for sins of others and to pardon them. Those forgiven by us are forgiven by Him."

"How cheap your forgiveness must be! I wonder whether it costs 30 silver coins? But you have completely misunderstood the writings you managed to keep – even if it has been deformed by your servants at earlier stages, how is it ever possible to talk about the full accuracy of its interpretation? There is no such law in the Universe, which would allow one spirit to forgive the other for mistakes, made by him, and in one lapse to cancel all their consequences. Another spirit can help only those coming to an end of the redemption – but it's the man himself who walks the path of redemption."

"You are speaking of blasphemy, my child! How can you judge what is true, and what is false, when we have a live proof of the validity of all the laws, honored by us, given to us from the above?"

"You have understood a lot correctly, but, unfortunately, not all. The shortest and ones of great importance words on the planet, on the planets, are 'God', 'Love', 'Peace', 'Eternity' – you have understood this right. The world lives in and is driven by love – by the love of God to His creations and His creations to Him and to each other. The Universe is eternal as you are – and this, unfortunately, not all have yet realized."

"Only the God is eternal, my child – but we are all mortal ones. Only by righteous deeds in His cause in this mortal life can we hope to reach life eternal."

"But you are eternal. Both I am, and you are, and each of us. Planets can be scattered to ashes, but we will live on. Another subject, however, is that you have really decided to destroy this planet into ashes, trying to repeat sad destiny of a predecessor civilization, for which this planet was too their space shelter in due time."

"This is untrue! Those sinning and having not repented do not live forever! The fate of theirs is the fiery hell and eternal torments!"

"Eternal tortures for mistakes of only a single life? For the errors, made by a human on a very short part of his way? Certainly, there are the acts which extend their consequences on a lot of lives. To fall once and to rise from the falling during many centuries – it's a sad fate indeed. Many, however, prefer to dive into such depths, whence they cannot get out anymore, – therefore for them consequences of their actions may become similar to being eternal. But nevertheless – they are not endless, they can occupy many lives, but still are not eternal. But the true meaning of life lies not in the endless sinning and atonement, after all! It's in the creativity for goodness sake, in aiding your fellows, in walking your own bright path through the challenges of Universe – have you truly understood that? Have all your so-called wise men understood that?"

"How dare you defile a Divine Word! You will not be able to stay in this house, devoted to Him, anymore! We have His Word!"

"And that is great. Follow the way of everything blessed, granted to you. Grow this blessed seed in yourself – only then you can count on your perfection, only then you will move closer to your Father. Remember, each of us is His creation, and each of us is eternal. We are all Gods – at least in the potential. As His fraction, possessing all His traits in a germ, we can travel a path from a human – through the angelic human – to the incarnated God himself. And yet we can still remain at an animal stage – some of us have been living so for countless centuries without change – and the fate of those is truly unenviable. It's for us to decide that – for everyone, and this is our most important and most fateful choice."

"This is enough! I will not bear your presence here any longer! Leave this house of our Lord now!"

"Farewell, father."

***

Planet – garden? What a bullshit! I will rather believe in the mechanized iron planet!

Love makes the world go around? It's the physical strength that moves it!

There are other inhabited words? But our apparatus hasn't discovered any signs of life on the planets which are accessible to us – all worlds must be lifeless! We are the unique source of life in the entire Universe!

A man can emit light? Are you even in your mind?! Tell me now, that space is filled with invisible green little men!

A man is capable to change the world surrounding him with his own thoughts? Oh, yeah, sure! I can surely change it with my own hands, but thoughts... I haven't even heard a bigger nonsense than this!

I am a potential God? I am a human! And leave all those potential for someone else to care!

My feelings create the radiations, affecting me and my neighbors? Do I bear a responsibility for negative feelings? I would rather now affect you in a... hm... real way – hit your dummy head with my fists!

Space is not empty? It's filled with the essence of ours? Yeah, yeah, do not lie like a gas meter! Scientists haven't even discovered anything like that – and it simply does not exist! What? Whether I can feel a difference between a temple and a prison's atmospheres? Certainly, no! Wonder why? Cause there is none!

How does a person feel a glance? What sort of noticed flashing spark can arise between two people? There are just two options here – either it all seems to you, or you have a really diseased imagination!

How did Christ cure people? Oh, heck, here you are again, starting to tell tales about him. I have heard plenty of those tales in my childhood already! No more!

Armageddon? Time of challenges? We have been stuffed with these children fairy tales already, feed someone else with them! We are adult and disbelief in such nonsense!

***

He was standing, surrounded by several tens of his allies. Awakened warriors of this world.

"We will not despair, and we will not turn back. Do you remember, how you have aided me when I was still a schoolboy? You have helped me out of pure motivation. The world needs the same sort of aid now."

"Yes, George, I remember. I have not forgotten. You are right, we will not surrender. We will keep working."

"What wasn't possible today, would blossom tomorrow! How wonderfully you have spoken that day!"

Alice has approached him and smiled.

"The faithful one never gives up, the knowing one will bring his knowledge into the world to disseminate darkness of ignorance!"

## Order: democratize!

To: Admiral of interstellar space fleet G.

From: Supreme commander in chief of strategic military-space forces of The Empire, O.

Rank: Top secret.

Planet Z-1776, discovered in cluster CH-35 of the solar system E represents a strategic source of the Liberium element. The potential reconnoitered value is equivalent to 10 billion krejgons/year.

Ecosystem: the Planet is similar to corresponding parameters of our planet of the Outcome.

Population: It is populated with mainly reasonable natives of the organic form of life. Approximate quantity is 30 billion units.

Political system: Entire-planet utilitarian-autocratic state of the collectivist type with tyranny elements.

Technocratic development: rather primitive flying machines of low layers of the atmosphere; absence of nuclear and hyper-ballistic arms; the physics of mass effect is unknown; the physics of a local time field is unknown; orbital space satellites were not found.

The difference of technological potentials: 98 %.

Dragged-out war potential: 0 %.

The rate of strategic danger by Rejgon scale: L-5 (very low).

First contact: Local natives have shown a high level of the guarded animosities and have refused to carry out an exchange of processed units of Liberium on offered by us space marine food rations, costume jewelry, and Coca-Cola.

Based on the above-stated fragment from the report of a research democratic flotilla of space bombers of strategic tasks K52, I order to perform technological militaristic ownership in conformity with Makristan's strategy by the following means:

1. Soft orbital bombardments of strategic communication objects of the enemy by using thermonuclear arms and zero-particles generators.

2. Capture of the detected central settlement by assault groups of space infantrymen of K52 flotilla.

3. Deployment of the system of diplomatic and medical aid to the natives, who have suffered from the "act of nature". Perform parallel ownership and control over leading Liberium mines along with deployment of military bases in their vicinities.

4. Maintenance of military-diplomatic control during the three-year period of Liberium's mining.

The order is to carry out immediately upon the reception. The report on the done work is expected in 5 planetary days.

P.S. It's a question of strategic importance, G., any regret and uncertainty will become a potential hindrance, which contradicts with the high mission of our great Empire.

And may the Maker be with us!

02.02.2010

## Tale of the false saint

Once upon a time, there was a False Righteous man, living on this earth, and he was cruel in heart and unfair to people in his life. Himself he considered as a very special, true one, and other people were but small indecent fry, undeserving time of life in these eyes of his. Character of his was unaccommodating, haughty and greedy to a high degree, and hard it was for those surrounding him to stand nearby – either grumble, or irascibility, or even hatred, which have grown inside him, did he poured upon nearby ones, if failed to satisfy desires of his own at expense of others.

And pined were people for his presence, and pined he was for their gloomy dullness, for there was no one comparable to his never-ending genius among all people known to him according to the vision of his own. Therefore, he avoided people greatly so often, and unfriendly he was in conversations with them, and never desired he to wish anything good to anyone, himself being excluded.

And possessed the False Righteous one a secret dream, which has been burning his heart each and every day excessively. Dreaming he was of the power endless over these pitiful unreasonable humans and desired them to honor him greatly, if not due to the true sincerity of hearts, then due to fear before him instead. Yet he didn't have such a possibility for a long time, therefore almost have burned him whole this desire inside and out up to the moment described. And have been dreaming he of that power inaccessible, and even more thus hated and have despised other men with each day passing, own rage and absence of love own showing daily in petty skirmishes.

And event happened once – unexpected, mysterious, and wonderful. The Divine Righteous one from lands far and foreign did come to the city of theirs, preaching. He was speaking words that were sincere, from the purity of his heart coming, and so tender and touchingly for the hearts of men was he speaking, that many listened to ardent words of his with delight. And taught Righteous One men to love each other more and deeply, taking care of neighbors, never abandoning each other in troubles alone. And to forgive people each other he taught them, thus never accumulating evil in own souls, corroding them with poison. And he taught them of mercy, for unimaginable is the path of a human without mistakes, and who are people to judge each other by justice absolute, never possessed by them. A wonderful gift of belief did this Righteous One possessed, and easily could it be felt that not by hearsay has he passed before a way difficult and tough to learn all that which he was sharing now with others, preaching and explaining. And people listened to him, and cried did they, and thawed did hearts of them, and changing their lives did they started, following those given precepts. And came did people from those who have been listening and prepared to march further together with the Righteous One, so that in the path difficult could they learn from his unearthly wisdom and love, close to him staying.

And saw all that the False Righteous, and showering were his heart in envy from that contemplation. All strangeness and inexplicability of that power, which the Righteous One possessed, surprised the False Righteous – for it was strange, of nature spiritual, heavenly, and wasn't the power at all in common sense and meaning. Greatly desired the False Righteous one to be listened to by the crowds like his rival was so that crowds mentioned obeyed him in whatever order for which he has a whim, and even uplift and praises him further as if he was the true righteous one. And dared then the False Righteous to perform an act cruel and artful, for no longer was he the master of own thoughts to the moment mentioned, for the malicious will possessed and transformed the heart of his. And came the False Righteous one along with other men from those listening, and asked the Divine Righteous before his face to become a student of his. Not a single word did the Righteous One replied, yet only smiled somehow sadly, not forbidding, however, to follow him. And thus too proud became the False Righteous that he has been accepted without a single question, and overwhelmed himself with arrogance even more greatly. And ordered he the people, whom he has known earlier, to call him no less than the true righteous one from that moment and further on, motivating that with that apprenticeship recently acquired. And thus the non-divine righteous one he has become and followed the Divine Righteous on his journey soon.

For long have they been travelling by cities and roads, trampling this earth distressful by feet of theirs, many men did join them in their journey, and a lot more learned the simple human happiness, for wise was the true Righteous with wisdom of the heavens, and filling he was the hearts of men with harmony.

And throughout those traveling multi-monthly, the thought terrible in the mind of non-divine righteous has ripened. To kill the Righteous One he decided in the madness of his mind and silence of soul to gain power over these men, led by the Divine Righteous one and despised by the false one, to gain in once and for all. The new deputy and successor in this world after the True Righteous the false one decided to be. And by the similarity of souls has he found during these months of their far journey among the crowds, welcoming the True Righteous, one similar to him, and to perform the plan cruel together he convinced them. And with the True Righteous one did they marched as if they were his followers, plans of vengeance for the unsatisfied vanity of theirs bearing in minds.

And there was the day – and have cried the sky for all day long. And there was night – and the blackest one it was. To the center of the camp did those people, love in their hearts who have betrayed, crept. And passed they the guards sleeping, and have cut the throats of those who have awakened, trying to shout in alarm, with knives prepared. And crawled they in the tent of the Righteous, and found him unsleeping. And answered did the Righteous one to them, with sparkling knives before him standing, that aware he was of their prepared treachery, but did not interfere in them did he, for ready he is to accept the pain upcoming to serve the hearts of men awakened by that.

And stopped did the ones attacking, seeing his sad eyes with a divine light shining in them, being for these killers intolerable, and hands of his, still opened for them. Yet the fury seized their hearts once again, and attacked did they, cutting him with knives of theirs, and were spitting they on him, and abusing simultaneously. But did not resist the frenzy of theirs the Righteous, praying for the salvation of their souls, into the darkest of abysses falling down. And only in the last moments, mortally bleeding, did he say to them that never could they kill the truth for always triumph does it eternally over the lie and hatred of humans.

And thunderstorm unimaginable was raging during that night, and lightings were rushing in the sky like mad when that act horrifying was being performed. And that thunder mentioned awakened many a man in the camp, and rushed did they to the tent of their herald, but lifeless did they found him by that moment bitter. And standing there near his body was the False Righteous, and sobbing he was in sadness. And he told to the coming people that one of his men, nearby standing, did kill their messenger of truth, and they, all other, have just come running to the noise, only to find him murdered. And seized people one of the businessmen of the False Righteous as if he was the only slayer there, and the rest of businessmen dared not to contradict the non-divine righteous, for lives of their bodies fearing greatly.

***

And many years have passed since the moment described, and both the deputy and successor of Righteous one the false one proclaimed himself along with his business-colleagues and murderers. Thought up he words agonal, as if to him by the Righteous One being spoken and the power over his followers to him as if transferred. And became that pseudo-righteous over the people the tyrant and the master of their thoughts, and punished did he with a sword, flame, and rack with fires any heterodoxy and heresy, and gold for the rescue of these souls guilty has he been collecting endlessly. Strongly deformed he the primary essence of the teaching of the Divine Righteous, and replaced did he the love with a fear instead, and many a ritual obligatory did he invented for the enslaved people to perform for the sake of enrichment of own clan. And has been pouring he the blood of men for the sake of power own for many a year. The Great Inquisitor became that pseudo-righteous, and there was no one worse than him on the mother earth.

Yet came to the end his term as well, and did not escape he that very fate, which he has described to plant fears in hearts of men and from which did he "rescued" them by the ceremonies and rituals invented. And there were no ones who have shed tears over his fate or those who have sympathized. And started people to live in the world once again joyfully, having got rid of that vampire bloody and throwing off his rule of non-divine nature, and they have been loving each other, and forgiving each other, and carrying mercy in hearts. And has returned the truth into its place as it was predicted, and passed the world in the celebration good-natured, and embodied itself in the deeds of the upcoming generations...

***

With this, we are finishing our story short. And if any of those who were reading this story would try to invent some parallels bad and unjust, or either the power terrestrial would try to set higher than the truth divine – then not in the answer for these ones will we be as the story-tellers.

08.07.2012

## To forgive

A blow. And yet another one.

Small streams of blood, flowing down from a torn apart skin.

Pain. Waves of pain, twitching the body in spasms, dimming the reason.

Desperate silent semi-cry, full of indescribable grief.

Angry face of the father, bent absolutely close. Naked wide-open eyes... a sight, filled with rage and fury.

Pain again, as always. More. Even more.

A lump of something warm, stuck in a throat, leaving no way to make a breath. A spittle on a floor – a spittle with blood.

"Father, stop it! I b-b-b-b-e-e-e-g-g-g you... what f-o-o-r-r-r?!"

"You, pitiful moron! Didn't I tell you, that you must speak with adults politely and with all imaginable respect?! Especially with one such as I! How have you dared to call me an insect? How have you dared to name your father as such?! You, ungrateful degenerate! Take that, you, bastard! Take it, maggot!"

A rattle, coming from a throat. It's possible to breathe no more.

"Stop it, now! Why are you beating my child again, you, fool! What sort of vile beast are you? Stop it now – you are going to kill him!"

A voice of his mother, which had hardly reached his consciousness – silent and tender voice, which has become both hard as a stone and yet somehow completely broken. It always was like that when his father punished him. But yet no more than that.

"Silence, woman! You are not in a position to give me orders here! I am in charge here, and you will carry out my will! That bastard has dared to call me an insect – and I do not forgive such foolishness! Did you hear me right?! I am a man to be proud and not some little pitiful louse – and I grant no forgiveness for such mistakes. Ever!"

A new blow, time and again. How damn painful is that... His body didn't become iron, no matter how strongly he thirsted for it in times...

And once again the voice of his mother breaches through the invisible veil – but this time it's so quiet... almost silent. How strange... does she speaks like that... or has he already ceased to hear?

A blow.

The world changed – all sounds simply vanished. Judging by faces of his parents, it was obvious, that they were still arguing – but he heard them no longer.

It appeared that father shouted something once in response to his wife, but then, suddenly, confusion break through to his face, and he almost lowered his hand, carrying a weighty wooden club... But – just for an instance. Only partially. Suddenly his face once again altered his form to a furious and terribly repellent kind. He turned back to his child. Now. He is going to strike once more now...

A blow. A blow. A blow.

A breaking wood. A new flash of pain.

The world dimmed.

***

A low voice, caressing hearing like warm waves of a sea surf. A bent face of his mother over his own. A flowing calm song.

A mix of gray and fair hair. Gray-haired... But she, his lovely mum, was yet so young... I must have the strength to sustain it. I have to – no matter what. I am obliged. No other choice is an option. I must.

And the oblivion comes again.

He opened his eyes. Indeed, it's still his world, the one he was born in. A kind one?

Mother, his dear mother has always been telling him, that this world is the one people see it – and the one they aspire to make it. The world becomes as such to every and each one. Good or evil, beautiful or ugly, full of incredible mysteries or totally senseless. It's impossible to say how, but the personal world becomes as such, time and again.

He closed his eyes. The hearing was slowly returning, and his body, though hardly, was gradually starting to be felt.

Then he fell asleep once more – and has been sleeping for a long time. It seemed to him as if the whole eternity has passed before his sleeping eyes, though in reality, it was, possibly, less than a whole day. He heard voices of people – heard their laughter and felt their joy. He exulted together with them, he sang with them all and his voice somehow intertwined in the common harmony of voices and then a song-joy, a song-triumph sounded even finer and happily. He rejoiced along with others – ones, able to rejoice. He loved life – despite obstacles, despite troubles. Indeed, he loved life...

And then he suddenly woke up...

***

A young man woke up and shook his head somehow awkwardly, trying to drive away recent delusion of a beating. Was that really a delusion, though?

No. He perfectly did know that it happened once – was part of his past. Indeed, he remembered it – what for, why couldn't he just throw away all these fragments of former memory of own tortures, why his devoted memory had no desire to do such a thing? For what unknown purpose did it store these old memories of years long since gone? Who knows for sure...

He tried to drive these events from his thoughts so hard, so strenuously thirsted to forget them... But – no way, it wasn't possible until now.

Why even now, when he was given so much by this life at last... his beloved woman, who is so close to his heart and who understands him from a half-word, loving deeply; fine job, allowing him to aid lots of people; glory, riches, recognition, success... why even now these terrible images – monsters of his past – still haunt him, flowing before his eyes time and again, as always? A reminder of what he had to suffer?

A warning?

Enough of running away, he thought suddenly. Enough of fearing. Enough of remembering of this and enough of constant milling it in own memory. The time has come to forgive people at last – to forgive for errors, to forgive and release this pain from oneself.

To forget – and to forgive. To forgive – and to forget.

And then, having faced a window and lifted eyes towards to ascending morning sun, he cried out "Father, I do forgive you now for all the pain and sufferings, which you have caused me. I forgive you and let you go in peace. Go now your own path. We will part our ways with no rage and hatred. Let you be forgiven by me!"

He cried all that loudly and joyfully. He cried as though warriors do after a long-desired victory.

"I forgive you! Let it be so!"

"Let it be so," his voice was carried far away to surroundings...

And just a moment later a wonderful music, a music of joy and triumph filled his ears. It was his own music – that one of his childhood.

A sign of his way.

02.04.2003

## Child

Yes, I know – you couldn't call your childhood rather happy. Bright, cloudless, joyful. And do many of us can?

Yes, I know – this world is abnormal so greatly, that even normal ones are considered abnormal here, healthy ones are thought of like falling ill, and the majority of deadly sick ones – totally healthy. But the majority is, probably, indeed sick.

It's a very special affliction – callousness. The absence of compassion and true love. The desire to force your child to respect you at any cost – even at the price of his self-respect and tears. The child is not your toy, and no one granted you the right to shape him according to your own image, thus breaking his soul. Who did tell you, that your image is worthy of repeating?

No matter what, but this never stopped you, for you have always, up to the last moment, considered a child just like your property, sort of a personal creation. As if it was you who created his soul and passed his personal way in his sandals! As if you have been borning and dying instead of him over and over again... And how delighted you were at times to laugh at your recently acquired slave!

Here you came from work in a bad mood? No need to worry, for you always have a small child at your disposal, at whom you can always shout, or even beat him, or even hammer to semi-death. After all, he is so small and young – how can he answer you?

Normal relations just aren't glued with your own wife – the woman, to whom you still recently made a declaration of love and promised to be with till the end of the days? Your small child is an excellent tool for your big revenge! Certainly, this new enlisted hostage of your quarrels is still too silly to understand all your genius and all nonsenses of your so-to-call-darling – but after all his opinion and personal feeling bother no one from both of you, right? So what with his almost on lap begging for you to stop quarreling with each other, what with his saying that he doesn't want to see you as such?! Probably, due to this reason, he started losing his sight so fast recently – only not to see you not in yourself? And whether you truly own yourself during these instants of time, or is there is someone another who is playing you like a rag doll?

Feeling yourself a complete nonentity and loser, but trying to make your grieving conscience shut up? Defame your child, crush him, morally humiliate him so that he remembers for the rest of his life who is the true house owner! Having pushed his face into the dirt you will, by all means, feel yourself like on a horse before him, humiliated and offended. So caracole, don't hesitate, what's the big deal?! Eggs don't teach chicken, and apple doesn't fall far from the tree!

Your child dares to object you, and even to be insolent? That means that he must have forgotten of what a real flogging is! Take a belt and beat him so great that his back becomes covered by blisters, like from burns! And let him get out and think out a justification at school for himself of what has recently occurred to his weak body.

Your child fails to achieve something? Abuse him immensely for his impassable laziness and dullness, for at least that way he will learn to be afraid of you – and thus respect. Let all in the neighborhood, both old and young, know how bad is your child – and with what a great force you, his careful father, tries to make at least a small resemblance of a man out of him. It's such a wonderful way to make others start respecting you for your tremendous patience and an enormous amount of educational work!

You knew no such thing as happy childhood – so let your child doesn't experience it as well. Revenge the parents in the person of the child, state everything you think of them, and even more! After all, you are "normal" – and do normal ones can really recover?

You couldn't call your childhood rather happy. For this particular reason, you make all the efforts to make your child never feel a different way. For, after all, does anyone deserve to be happier than you?

This is a very fragile being – the child. And how easy it is at times to break and cripple his soul and ruin his fate! But let each and every one acting like that never forget that it's such a special affliction – callousness. For when you dispose of own heart by your free will – you cease to live on...

12.11.2012

## Fish and Lion

One day everything has changed in the Great Desert. For many months the scorching sun was so bright and a heat so intolerable that every source of water, even the largest ones, have dried up. Animals have been confused, they were tormented by thirst. So they have gathered for the Great Desert Council, which was not gathered for almost ten years, to think up a way to rescue from the sun. And each of them came into the Council's center, and each was questioned by others of how it's possible to find a salvation, yet nobody could give the answer.

In desperation, animals have called for their last hope – they have summoned a desert Lion into the center of Council, who had a reputation of being most courageous, wise and strong from all of them and by the right was considered their tsar.

"I will find water for all of you, I swear with the honor of the tsar of animals!" the Lion has growled. "I will find it and I will show you the way."

And, having this said, the Lion has gone on searches of a source of revival, and the rest of animals started waiting for his return.

For many days and nights, the Lion tirelessly ran and ran through the desert, driven by a sandy wind and thoughts of his dying comrades and of his debt before them. And when it seemed that his forces have completely left him, a great, boundless and endless ocean has opened before his eyes.

"At last I have found it! I have discovered water! Now we are saved!" the Lion cried, and with the last bit of strength ran downwards to a coast.

When he, at last, has managed to creep up to a coast and scooped saving water in paws, he has suddenly noticed a fish, swimming in this water. The Fish played on the sun by all colors of a rainbow and looked at him as if studying.

"Do you desire to drink from my spring?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes," the Lion has either growled or whispered. "I have been running for many days, my powers have run out, and my comrades are dying from thirst. I have to drink to restore my strength and return to them to inform of this great source of a saving moisture."

"But do you know about its properties?" a Fish questioned.

"Of what properties are you talking?" the Lion was surprised. "I see water, and I am going to tell about its source to others. Please, do not weary me, swim away, so I can drink this luring moisture and restore my powers!"

"The water, which you are going to drink, may kill you," replied the Fish.

"What a strange fish," the Lion has thought. "How can water kill somebody?"

"To kill me? Of what death are you talking about? I have already almost died from thirst," the Lion growled. "Move aside, let me drink it!"

"If you drink from my spring, your thirst will only grow and strengthen," Fish responded. "The more you will drink, the greater your thirst will become."

"But how can you live in this spring of yours and drink from it without dying?" the tsar of all animals questioned.

"What is death for you, terrestrial ones, is a birth for us," she said. "We were born in this bitter source – and are destined to spend our entire life in it. It has ceased to be deadly for us – and became our air and now we enjoy it."

"But what am I supposed to do then?" the Lion inquired. "I must help my relatives by any means possible! I am considered as the strongest and wisest tsar of animals by right!"

"You can drink from my spring and rescue them," the Fish replied. "There is a river in the north that runs into this sea – its water can bring you relief. Besides, you can also find my brothers in that river – for we can live even in your waters – who will aid you further. However, this river is far away, and you will hardly manage to reach it."

"Then what options do I still have?" the Lion questioned.

"You will have to drink from my spring, but remember, that your own price for this act can be too high. Waters of my sea will suffice for a short duration, so you must travel with haste. However, even if you will finally come to a river, you will probably still not manage to return to your comrades. But my river brothers will help you to bring the message of a river source – but first, you should reach it."

"And if I will refuse to drink from this sea?" the Lion questioned.

"Then, most likely, you will be unable to reach the river," Fish answered.

For several difficult minutes, the Lion lay ashore, not even daring to take a sip of this water. However, when he has dared to do it at last and has scooped some water in a paw – it has tasted so bitter that he has immediately spat it out, being unable to bear that taste.

"No way. To drink from this sea means to die instantly, no matter what the Fish would speak," the Lion has decided. "I still have powers, I shall reach that river, for I am the tsar of animals!"

And the Lion, exhausted with thirst, having gathered the rest of his forces, has run in the direction, pointed by the Fish.

His forces, however, finally run out after only several hours.

The sun has risen highly once again over the Great Desert – too high for some of the terrestrial ones. After several hours of journey, the Lion, exhausted with thirst, has fallen to hot sand, panting. He knew that he was dying. He knew that he failed to fulfill his duty.

"Damned fish!" he thought. "There are no even signs of a river here, and never was for certain. You have led me the wrong way, you have killed me!" he growled. "Devil's f-f-f-f-f-f-i-i-i-i-i-i-s-s-s-s-s-h-h-h-!" a loud roar of defeated tsar of animals spread over the desert – and then the desert went silent once again.

Only a sun was still shining the same, only a sandy wind was still blowing, and only waves of the great and boundless ocean were romping and splashing somewhere. And only several hours of the journey still remained to the fresh river, feeding the sea, which he could pass, if only has dared to drink from this bitter source...

02.07.2006

## Free like a wind

The azure smooth surface of a sea sparkled and shined under beams of a rising sun. Waves rolled over each other, foamed – and, having been picked up by a new stream, – were carried away. A fresh breeze was blowing – one that happens here day after another – one who has collected its tribute of moisture from a sea and was now desperately throwing it in the faces of men in a form of brilliant cold drops. A wind inflated sails and they, sagging before its force, were heeling the ship sideways. But – only slightly. Strong cables, adhering a vessel to a coast, didn't desire to grant a wind even the slightest chance to shift this machine even for ten meters.

A captain's shout ringed in the air – and sailors began to descend from ship's masts to continue their duty on a deck. Soon this frigate will leave a port into its next sailing, but for now – there were shouts, carried downwind, the noise of adjusted tackles, the soft scratch of ship's boards, which has been accepting the next portion of cargo on board, and yet a wind's whistle in a face.

A strange and unclear premonition was still making him feel uneasy: a melancholy of abandoned – even for a day or two, while new provisions were being bought and captain's assistants were conducting brisk conversations with dealers, trying to lower prices for goods, – but still home, new home among boundless waters and storm... a joy of incoming adventure and some sort of strange presentiment, that the life he has been experiencing, for now, will very soon change, that his path will sharply be altered and he will be compelled to make a new important step in own life. Two weeks ago this sensation was born in him, three months ago he became a ship's boy...

"If a man trusts himself – he can once achieve his dare dreams. Remember it well, sonny," words of his father, which he, a simple tailor, gave him before son's journey – into his new travel into boundless sea spaces, into a path that has been awaiting him since childhood and called for in magic dreams. A path that was going to change so soon, granting him a new choice.

A captain's shout rings aloud once again in the air – and sailors start lifting sails. Their captain was an inborn leader – a bane of pirates of the Caribbean Sea, he in his youth has made his name himself through dozens of brilliant attacks on pirate vessels. A remarkable strategist and even greater tactician, he has now become a sea trader – one of many. Yet the power has always been with him – even now it was swirling in that man, loudly appealing to his crew for the frigate's departure from a port.

***

Raised and fluttering sails. A light breeze blowing in the face – soon it will change to the approaching squall and they will have to lower sails and start maneuvering downwind among rolling multimeter waves, so that storm cannot turn the ship sideways – even though a wind can change its direction more often than once in a minute. But all that will happen in fifteen or twenty minutes, when a storm will finally overtake them – and for now he was looking forward, on a boundless smooth water surface, opening before his eyes, and a sensation of the approaching of the time of a choice and changes, how he has agreed to call it for himself, were becoming only clearer and stronger.

More than once during these three months of his new life among open seas their ship has passed through the most dashing and desperate storms, which have been known to the Caribbean Sea in the last two years. And each time the captain and team pulled it out of the most, apparently, desperate situations – evaded from direct attacks of several buccaneer barks and from battles in private with titans – enemy frigates and even once with a galleon ship. For this is the way their captain was – free like a wind adventurer and bane of pirates, knowing no such word as a retreat.

***

Furiously the wind whistled and waves showered boards of the vessel, trying to break or tilt their frigate on one side so that in a new impetuous pressure they can definitely finish off these pity daredevils, who have dared to struggle against mighty water elements.

The storm has been raging for almost an hour.

Waves have been beating on all boards of the vessel. The wind blew off from feet even those men slowly creeping on a deck of the ship, waves washed away into the storming sea and absorbed into its abyss crewmen, still shouting something in their last minutes.

This was one of the most terrible storms into which their vessel has got this year – or maybe these years. He knew not – he only saw how easily the sea finished with all those whom he has always considered as invincible... unbeaten until this dreadful day.

The new wave pours over him, trying to pull out a saving cable from hands – and yet another desperately floundering man is carried away, rolling on a deck with a scrap of rope in hands... a splash, which sound sinks in the noise of wind – and everything is over...

Waves, waves, waves. Wind, wind, wind.

A saving cable in hands – his unique link with this ship – and the only rescue.

Storm. A cruel wind, rushing about here and there.

The elements triumphed.

***

He didn't know how much time has already passed. He knew nothing of the location of a ship. He cannot see other crewmen – only sea waves, whipping on the ship's board, only a scratch of ship's planks underwater weights – and own immobilized hands, holding an iron rope.

Minute, two, three... Ten, twenty, thirty...

Slowly did time flow. Methodically did waves beat in the ship. Voices of crewmen have been silenced already – whistling of wind muffled all other sounds. The body cannot be felt, only the thought – lonely though-phrase, preventing him to immediately uncouple own hands and be washed off into the water, – "If a man trusts himself – he can once achieve his dare dreams". To keep believing was the only thing he could do for now – to trust himself and remain courageous. And then he can survive. And then he should survive.

Consciousness ceased to serve him at times – and then strange dreams were seizing him...

He saw himself as an admiral of a huge squadron. He saw himself giving orders to captains of his ships during battles – and people with both boldness and readiness in their eyes going to execute these orders. People trusted him and were ready to offer their lives for him to live on, but he was ready to sacrifice his own for his people to survive – and fought himself on a front line – with pirates and robbers, who have filled these once peaceful spaces of recently unknown sea – in the sea and on the land, when they were starting to assault a seaport. He battled the enemy of his state as well – yet this was far less often.

He saw himself promoted to some rank, saw faces of court men inclined in respect and admired ones of his sailors-soldiers, when he was approaching them, openly bearing the award...

And then he saw his dark blue insensible hands and a floor of the vessel, being constantly poured by sea waves. Saw fixed on the ship and moved here and there iron rope, being grasped by his hands. And then despair overflowed him.

And then once again – oblivion. And again – a storm. Oblivion. Storm. Oblivion. Storm.

And then he regained consciousness once more – and there was no cable in his hands any longer. He was being carried by waves among heaps of boards – by some sort of miracle he was still alive. He collected last bits of forces and grasped a wide thick tree log – possibly, remains of a mast of their former ship, – there were no more doubts that their ship has been destroyed. He pulled this piece of wood and clasped to it, trying to hold.

And once again comes the oblivion...

***

When he opened his eyes once again, the storm has already extinguished – the sun was shining and its rays were jumping and playing in the water. He was being carried on azure waters of this sea together with a piece of the former mast, and once again he could count only on himself – and own force of spirit.

And thus he was keeping. Gathering the last bits of remaining forces. Knowing that he has practically no hope for survival. And nevertheless, he was keeping. And waves were throwing a pity ship's piece together with a man, who has seized it...

And when a vessel appeared on the horizon, he had no more strength even to rejoice – or to send a signal. But he was noticed – and a ship slowly and smoothly approached a small branch of the tree together with seizing it in a death grip unmoving person.

For now, he could barely remember these moments. It seems that after he has been dragged aboard and men have started reviving him, they tried to ask him of something. However, everything he was able to tell his saviors were some muffled lows of disobeying lips.

Then he was placed into some cabin and has been sleeping for long-long. From time to time he woke up from nightmares and couldn't come to his senses for quite a while... But he finally regained common sense after a month of this sailing on this trading vessel, as he has learned afterward from its captain.

A month was necessary for him to prove that he is worthy of living – and several more years to prove that he is worthy of a better life – so that a fork of his way and its consequences have become visible at last.

He has stayed for a month on a ship that has picked him up – in thirty miles from a destroyed vessel. As he has learned later when he could be roused after two weeks, the captain of the ship that has rescued him, – after he has become a witness of the tragedy which has comprehended his former ship, – has given an order to search the area for survivors. But there was no one live found in five miles' radius from the wreckage. The captain of the rescue ship couldn't tell if there was anyone else who has survived the storm – anyway they couldn't find any.

Yet he survived – by some sort of miracle. As the captain of the rescue vessel told him, they have already lost hope to find any survivors and have started sailing further, and almost the moment after they have stumbled upon him – lying on a piece of a tree which he didn't want to part with when they were trying to lift him up and drag on a ship's deck. They have tried to find out what has happened to him and whether he has been one of the survivors from a vessel, witnesses of which destruction they have recently become – yet he was so emaciated and thick, that they could achieve nothing from him. Then he was put in a cabin and was treated the best way they could do it. Two weeks from that month during which they have been sailing to a seaport, he has lain in bed. Ate very little, slept a lot. At times he rose in cold sweat from the bed, shouting something that he would have the power to pass through it and survive, that he must do that, that he is free and his own way would soon completely reveal before him. They didn't listen to that attentively – considered it all a delirium.

For two weeks he has been struggling for a living. No, for two weeks and three days. The rescue vessel has passed a tragedy spot only three days after a storm – and only after three days after mentioned events, it has picked him up in the sea. A sea, which was already quiet and solar by that time...

For two more weeks, he has been sailing together with them on their course – when his new life has started, the one which had no chances for upcoming if he has surrendered before. If he has ceased to struggle, has despaired. He hasn't despaired. Hasn't surrendered. He was battling – and has won to start a new life – a premonition of which didn't leave him before.

***

"James, tell the captain of the 'Guard' to set course for Plymouth. We are coming back home."

"Aye, it shall be done, captain!"

"Wheel to the right! Trim the sails to the wind!"

"Let's turn, let's turn! We are heading for Plymouth!"

Shouts were carried downwind. Sailors carried about on the ship.

He was looking forward – on today's peaceful sea surface, flying seagulls. It's time for the squadron to return home – battle has been won, and home is calling. They will repair ships and replenish provisions and will be on the way once again, – free like wind sea wanderers. He and his crew – devoted and trusting him, their admiral.

Yes, they will return to a harbor. But at first, they will sail to a different city – the one where he has grown and hasn't been for such a long time... long seven years...

Returning home... He will see his father, a common tailor, once again, after these five years – the father who have told him such important words in that memorable day of trials. If a man trusts himself, he can achieve much...

Yes, these words were sustaining him. They were holding him when he was sinking in a storm. They were keeping him when he, already being a captain of own ship, – has been fighting in seas. These words have kept him. And they are keeping him now – after these long seven years.

They are still keeping him. The one who does not surrender.

05.01.2005

## Perfection

Tommy Whistler was awesomely unlucky. You will, perhaps, tell us that the term "awesome" doesn't quite fit for the description of so sad objective reality, which dear Tommy has faced? Oh, if you had only known what his family had to pass through over the last year! You, certainly, don't have the slightest idea of that and therefore we are ready to forgive you such inconvenient and unreasonable remarks. And Tommy didn't even whistle on a constant basis – only quietly under his nose from time to time during short moments of spiritual bliss. And they, believe us or not, weren't that long. And how he has managed to come to this low-water financial mark – only the God or the accountant knows.

Some soul would probably tell us, that a single year – it isn't quite a term, and there is no reason to dive into hysteric and confuse our noble readers here, – but that depends on how to measure. If to measure this term in seconds, which precisely like a herd of lambs come one after another in a never-ending chain – one can easily turn into a sheep himself. And if to measure in events of his life –one will certainly cry and there will be no more wish for counting. The ideal option would be to measure in years – but what's there is to measure then? So Tommy had either to howl to the moon like a wolf, or to the dog like a kitten or to go at once and register without a second thought in a club of anonymous losers. There was still, however, one other option to become a family of totally and irreversibly enlightened people – but financial opportunities of Tommy's family didn't allow them to place such a great number of lighting fixtures in their house. Therefore, his family hasn't conducted calculations of own misfortunes for a long time, for it's an expensive procedure – to measure own sorrows, especially when you are swimming in low waters.

And for the last three months, everything was on the decline, though absolutely not forever. Salary at the enterprise, where Tommy has been working, was constantly delayed, and all its workers were in literal and figurative terms fed with breakfasts. In literal – because he as an employee of a dairy factory was subject to be supplied with milk and its derivatives, and in figurative – because terms of final payments were as changeable and unsteady as women of easy virtue – even uneasy ones – never happen to be. Mainly for that particular reason, he felt more and more like a small sprat in a bank – that particular bank when he, having trusted colorful words of marketing specialists a few years ago, has issued a mortgage.

A typical story, you will tell us? Typical, but not typically. Not typically from the word "absolutely". Because in that significant day something absolutely out of order of his previous accidents happened to him.

***

During that Saturday morning Tommy couldn't find any peace in at least two meanings: firstly, because bank workers were already going to literally throw them away in the upcoming future from their cozy dwelling due to failure to pay the credit; and secondly, because not cats were scraping his soul, but impudent mice instead, who have bred in fair quantity due to cats constant fatigue.

"What for? What for, Lord, have you given us all these trials? Don't you see how hard our life is? Even though we live in the most beautiful and democratic country of the world, bank clerks don't become better, housing doesn't get cheaper and milk doesn't form rivers with a land of milk and honey," so Tommy Whistler mentally lamented, walking to and fro in his bedroom since early morning.

Here we have to mention, that our dear Tommy wasn't quite a believer at all – in the sense that he, unlike a lot of other proud of themselves and respectable citizens of his small town, hasn't spent Sunday hour in a local church, listening to ardent speeches of holy priests, fattened by parishioners. But so hard life has jammed all organs of Tommy by this moment, his heart included, and limits of his powers turned out to be so limited, that both his soul and thoughts were aspiring somewhere to limitless heights in a hope to share own grief with someone unknown, someone so much bigger than all his sorrows taken together.

"So where do you lead us, aye?" he continued in the meantime to mentally address to some unknown and far-reaching distances. "Have you abandoned all of us a long time ago? Maybe you even relaxing now somewhere up there on a cloudlet while we down here in earth dirt are trying to build our lives as we can. Phuh, perfect one! Good for you there, comfortably! I would like to be in your shoes – lie idle, do nothing in general, just help somebody from time to time so they don't forget about you at all. Not even a life, but a fairy tale!"

So, winding himself more and more and quickening more and more own rhythmic pace, Tommy wandered about his own bedroom. Movements of his legs were becoming wider and movements of his hands steeper, so the soil under his legs was figuratively more and more crumbling under his feet. In a literal sense, it crumbled when a sudden ringing of a not-so-really-his home's doorbell distracted him from these strange thoughts. Tommy faltered from unexpectedness and fell down on a floor. He would have lain like so, with a downed interface, for several more minutes, if that persistent guest didn't continue to press the bell's button time and again, thus producing a familiar, yet somewhat banal, "Dzin!" sound.

"Whom, lung as on mention, did the hard life brought again?" Tommy was thinking to himself while hastily putting on his business suite. "Maybe it's neighbors who have again come to agitate me to come for a Sunday prayer? And what if this is the bank worker together with a bailiff this time? No rest from foul vampires!"

"Greetings!" with a smile in response to a gloomy and distrustful Tommy's look answered the young man in a white suit with a red bow tie. "Is this the place where mister Tommy Whistler lives with his venerable wife Valencia?"

"Perhaps," Tommy answered gloomily. "And who might you be?"

"Oh, so that's you, Tommy? Fantastic day! It means that I was correctly directed to a required address. I was afraid that estimators will mix up something again – they, you know, don't have your all-seeing GPS, – and the way to this world and place was, trust me, a far one."

"I see nothing wonderful in this accursed day!" this strange mister began to irritate Tommy more and more.

"I am not here by accident, I assure you!" smiled again, replied this unusual guest. "My name is... well, it's really unimportant of how you would like to call me afterward. You can call me simply as Agent. I am honored to represent our fine company LLC 'Center of Desires Fulfillment'. Quite recently we received your inquiry, performed necessary preliminary inspections and came to a conclusion, that we can aid you in fulfillment of your desires. Congratulations, your candidacy suits us!"

"If you are from a local church, then I am not going there," Tommy replied harshly. "I am a non-believer and don't run business with strange folks in general."

"Don't worry, we are not a religious organization, we stand... how should I put it clearly... somewhat higher. Your last inquiry to our instance passed this designated religious structure and got straight to our processing center for incoming wishes. It's only necessary to settle some small formalities, and everything will be just fine – you shall become our VIP client."

"And what does it mean exactly – to be a VIP? What's in it for me? If only you get something – a bonus for another handed off the flyer, or concluded by deception financial contract – then fuck off to... Iraq!" Tommy muttered.

"No deceptions, no Iraq, we are not in the UN!" smiled young representative of the mysterious organization. "And, by the way, their desires were fulfilled by our direct competitors who wear black suits as a rule. Only a few clarifying questions and a short induction, if you allow it."

"Well, drag it on."

"Fulfilling first dragging," young man laughed the matter off. "You are Tommy Whistler, forty-two years old, your wife is Valencia, thirty-five years, you have a little daughter Mila of seven years and son Gregory of twelve years. Correctly?"

"Correctly. And where actually have you got such information? What, did the service of bailiffs leaked it to you?"

"Oh, not bailiffs at all, yet this has some distant relation to a court, you are right," confirmed a young man, ticking off somewhere in the questionnaire. "Recently you have been experiencing emotionally hard and unstable conditions – or, in other words, a depression, which has relation to your financial hardship. Correctly?"

"Yes. As I have thought, you are from a bank!" Tommy was totally upset.

"And the last clarification – are you familiar with the processing rules of our system?"

"What kind of system?" Tommy didn't get it.

"Ah, it turns out that you are dealing with us for the first time. That's great, we love and respect new clients," young man in a snow-white suite was the politeness.

"So, as for the rules... they are, actually, simple. In accordance with your recent – or, more precisely, ten-minute and forty-five-seconds ago appeal, we are ready to fulfill your desire with some safety restrictions. We will turn on our system for you – we call it a system of tests. Within this system, you will continue to live and work as usual – with the only difference that your requested desire will be gradually implemented with safety restrictions. In particular, you won't be able to cause any harm to any living being in this world, especially ones with a soul – any similar action will cause a reciprocal pain in much greater amount. Secondly, a short time later you may start receiving appeals, which are being sent to our CEO, whose deputy you have desired to become. And thirdly and lastly, please remember: to receive absolute power one has to be absolutely perfect and to be perfect means to voluntarily accept all restrictions, imposed by perfection. Also remember that either you or your relatives will be able to ask for a break, having sent another request to our department. Upon termination of system's functioning, we can ask you to leave us a comment or to tell your friends about it. Please tell, is that clear to you?"

"Not really, but who the heck cares. Where is that system of yours? Can I at least take a look?"

"Oh, very soon our courier service will deliver it straight into your life, don't you worry. From one to several days are required to completely integrate it, please take note. And yes, I have almost forgotten – its usage will be completely free of charge – for you were already, so to speak, financially reasoned, even though for your debts you have not yet been imprisoned," joked the guest.

"Very funny!" Tommy squinted his face. "Where do I sign?"

"No signatures are necessary. The fact of your request to our organization was already enough. Await the integration of our system – and goodbye!" and, having that said, the young man in a white suit with a red bow tie waved his hand and went, nearly jumping in the processing, somewhere further on his affairs.

"Darling, who came in there?" a sleepy voice of Tommy's wife came out of a bedroom as soon as he has managed to slam the entrance door behind this strange visitor of his dwelling place. "Were they from a bank?"

"No, sweetheart, not from the bank!" Tommy shouted in response. "Some kind of strange dealer. Offered some systems. That's some kind of a madhouse instead of a life!" Tommy said in a fit of temper and plunged himself back into his – or not quite his – gloomy thoughts.

From this information swamp, he was pulled out almost by being dragged by his dear wife, who embraced his neck and put her head on his shoulder.

"Would you like some coffee?"

"All right, thanks. You are my priceless treasure. Don't throw me away as a loser."

"Perhaps I will throw you once," Valencia laughed. "But not earlier than you will turn tail from me yourself."

"That will hardly ever happen," he replied and embraced her in return.

"Shall we go together to a grocery shop today?"

"All right, let me just have a breakfast first."

***

We did tell you that Tommy was catastrophically unlucky – and did you think that we were trying to deceive you? Just like that, once Tommy started coming from his bedroom downstairs to a first floor in order to go together with his beloved for a shopping spree, so beloved by every true American, their domestic cat Jess barred him a road in a literal sense of that word. "Meow?!" she said interrogatively-instructive, having pointed a testing look of her green eyes directly on Tommy, hinting him that from the time of her last feeding an inexcusably great amount of time – certainly, by cats' standards – have passed already.

"Shoo!" Tommy shouted to her, "I will feed you later. Get out of my sight!"

"Meow!" that hungry cat started yelling even more demandingly and scratched legs of his owner and by coincidence bringer of food.

"Away, silly fluffy!" Tommy shouted with irritation and kicked the cat, who was sitting on a ladder pass. "I will punish you for your bad behavior once I come back!"

"Meeeeeooooowwww!" Jess suddenly grew furious and rushed on her owner's back, having seized him with her immoderately sharp by human standards claws.

Tommy cried, trying to throw off from his back a newly born predator, twirled in one place, faltered over one of the top stairs and rolled down, head over heels, damning all cat's kin in general and that of Jess in particular.

"Ouch! My leg! My fucked curved since the childhood leg!" he moaned, having grabbed his right leg and swirling on a first floor right after he has finished his way downwards.

"What has happened to you, daddy?" Mila ran out from her room to incoming noise. "Your leg hurts, is it? Do you want me to blow on it as you did for me, and all your pain will go?"

"It won't... go," overcoming flashed pain in own joints and as much as possible calmly replied Tommy. "It's... sprain, probably. Better call for... your mother."

"I will do that ASAP, daddy, but let me first feed Jess, you see how she stares at us? And you lie here, have a rest, daddy, you can never rest at work, I heard it from the mother," Mila said unperturbably with her angelic voice.

***

So, having lain for the first half of the day with bandaged leg in a bed and sadly beholding through a window, how the wife of his neighbor is ineptly trying to park their brand new expensive Porsche car in a garage, having managed to several times throw a slipper into a cat, who has decided to visit her sick owner, Tommy prepared morally for viewing of an evening telecast of "Voice of America".

Here we need to note that this particular voice, which has many residents of other countries and cities, has always been calming down Tommy. How pleasant it was for his tormented consciousness to listen to it after a hard labor of everyday life and understand that somewhere there, far beyond the World Ocean in other countries, which Tommy never succeeded to visit and which he would barely able to find on a globe without some extra hints from "Google Maps", new national revolutions are being made for the sake of democracy, and their country, America, blessed by the God himself – in whom Tommy didn't believe – goes on with her holy mission of protection of various social minorities and strictly, just like a kind police officer, monitors the rights of humans for the sake of peace on the planet Earth. Rights of what people were meant by news announcers, speaking about the recent invasion of Iraq by the USA, approved at the UN level, Tommy never tried to inquire.

This TV telecast was about to begin in several hours, but from a sole boredom Tommy turned on his speaking box before the usual time.

"Idiots, idiots, idiots – they give us the problems all day... fuck you, oh Muslims and idiots, that's what we are gonna to say!" some newly appeared group of niggers danced, sang and threatened to finish off all Muslim immigrants on a hastily build stage of Detroit under the gaze of many television cameras.

"You are idiots yourself!" muttered Tommy and switched to another TV channel.

"My little fool, my little fool, I sleep with you, I like your rule," a voice of yet another porno-star, who has gained access to the big scene by well-known and trivial means, sang from a turned-on TV screen.

"Fuck you, freaks!" Tommy swore under his nose, throwing TV remote aside, "there is nothing good to watch at all. Where does America slide? By the name of Mila, that's ain't right!"

"What did you say, daddy?" Mila slightly opened a door of his room. "Did you call for me?"

***

Next morning Tommy's bandaged leg reminded of itself again with a sharp pain, once it's owner stood up from his bed and proceeded on own feet into a bathroom.

"Oh, God, how great I am!" some male voice spoke over his ear all of a sudden.

"Who's there?" Tommy took alarm, promptly looking around. "It's a private property, what's the hell are you doing here?! Show yourself!"

"Oh, my Lord, I am simply magnificent!" the voice of invisible interlocutor continued, paying not even a slightest attention to unsuccessful Tommy's attempt to establish a contact. "Hell, I am the most beautiful man in this damned world!" the voice assured himself and suddenly calmed down at the same moment.

"Hell, I am going crazy with this trauma already," Tommy thought to himself. "Some kind of hallucinations are starting already. At first yesterday's dealer, now some kind of voices. It's all the nerves, probably... perhaps I should start buying antidepressants," he was thinking while shaving own cheeks. "What my poor wife would only think of that..."

"We love you!" two unknown girls, whose faces and other body parts Tommy didn't see at all, suddenly sang directly into his ears.

"Do you even exist?" some person of very and very uncertain gender asked a question in a very and very uncertain voice.

"You are just a jerk!" admitted a man of average years in a fit tempter.

"Go away from me!" some woman sent Tommy in an unspecified direction.

"Thank you! Thank you!" child sobbed in a crying voice.

"Are you a fool or what? Don't you see what you are doing? What have I asked of you in a church yesterday? That's not what I wanted at all!" one more unknown subject as if slapped Tommy in a face.

"One thousand of imps!" thought scared Tommy. "What, have I gone totally nuts? I definitely need some rest!" he assured himself. "I will surely issue a working holiday on Monday if I don't go mad before that day already."

***

This Sunday trip to a supermarket helped Tommy to learn a lot of new about his personality.

"Fool! Jerk! Genius! Rascal! Wise man! Savior! Torturer!" voices have been tirelessly shouting inside his head. His wife cautiously glanced at her husband, who was hardly driving the car and continually crying out in the air: "You are a fool yourself! Thanks! It's you who is a rascal! No need for gratitude! No problems at all!"

His neighbor didn't even start to be too soft at all and without a search for roundabout ways called Tommy as the loser in response to Tommy's comment in the spirit of "you have become too choosy from riches!"

The police officer on the road named him precisely as "the weird loony who drives faster than a hundred kilometers per hour and doesn't look at road signs at all!"

The cashier in a shop, having silently looked at the check, called him "cheapskate", and his own wife as "my poor darling" by the end of that day.

His daughter Mila called him "my sick daddy", son Gregory as "raunchy ancestor", and Jess-the-cat didn't even go into unnecessary details and just said "Meow!"

Having accurately bypassed a cat in the evening, Tommy flopped down on a bed, even finding no time to take off his boots, and started snoring in some five minutes. His loving wife silently sat down near him, put her hand on a forehead of a sleeping Tommy and sadly shaken her head.

And he dreamed this Sunday night of a huge garden with a set of beds, which Tommy saw only at familiar farmers who were living outside the city, – and these beds were all except for only one filled with a horse-radish.

***

Tommy's boss decided to organize a meeting, of which necessity the labor union hinted him a long time ago, and in very plain terms declared, that wages for previous two work months won't be paid in this one, because, we quote, – "these damned Chinese communists have seized a substantial share of our market and we, proud and freedom-loving Americans have to do a lot to kick their lean yellow asses!"

And that's where Tommy's patience finally failed him. Having proudly straightened his shoulders as would be done by any freedom-loving carrier of democratic values and the far descendant of the first immigrants-convicts from the Old World to the New one, he grasped air in his mighty breast and, using a very primordially American speech, explained to his chief to what point in this endless space he can start moving right now without postponing this procedure in a milk bottle, and what kind of starry-eyed person his boss is in general, even though with a few inclusions in his ideal character of some truly bestial human qualities. And all that would be just nothing, but being urged by approving shouts and looks of his colleagues, Tommy agitated himself so much that in the end, he climbed to the eminence from which his undersized boss was speaking, and kicked him with all his force in his primordially American ugly face. This face reddened at first, then turned blue, and then uttered that he, Tommy, can go off from here to there where the sun never shines and that he doesn't work here anymore from now on.

And on his way back from nowadays former work some truck crashed at the intersection of roads into the ugly face of Tommy's car, which caused another sad sight of his wife and ill-concealed giggling of his neighbor and by coincidence owner of a brand new and undamaged Porsche.

***

What sort of occurrences the visitor of a club of anonymous losers Tommy had to experience for these three months, which have passed since his first meeting with that strange agent from LLC "Center of Desires Fulfillment".

There were falling into manholes after foul language speaking with the head of a local church; broken fingers, which have already tired from showing this infamous American "fuck you" sign; torn sinews of legs, which excessively sharply kicked from own rage homeless dogs and cats; and a wide variety of other ways of interaction between the physical Universe and not less physically existing inside it Tommy. And to the voices, who have been persistently either demanding something from him, or flatteringly expressing their sincere devotion, or questioning some next nonsense, Tommy ceased to pay attention at all.

Valencia, looking at her unfortunate husband, only looked away in times – and more and more frequently her eyes filled with tears during evenings. His daughter Mila started calling him "the sick daddy" on a constant basis, and son Gregory was proud before his school teammates of how crack headed and raunchy his ancestor is.

...And it all has come to an end when a truck, carrying filled with milk canisters from that dairy factory, which honorable wage-less member Tommy has recently been, run over him on the road.

***

"Do you understand now, dear mister Tommy, how important it is to formulate your desires correctly?" the young man in a white jacket with red bow tie inclined over Tommy and searchingly looked him in the eyes. "A desire is – how to express it more clearly – a door in a window of opportunities. Allow me to be curious – how is the life of God's deputy for you?"

"Not... very... lively," with hardly obeying lips and somehow unexpectedly quite said Tommy.

"It's quite obvious that it's a hard life. You are not even inside so habitual for your body right now. Here you are lying in a coma in the surgery, and your wife keeps praying for you behind that door. Do you know, what kind of desires is overcoming her now? I shall tell you, even though you don't ask for it. Her only most powerful and overflowing desire at this moment is your life, Tommy. She wants that you keep living, do you understand that? She is asking not of perfection or divinity, but of a preservation of your life – which you, it should be noted, didn't value too much."

"Some voices... haunted me constantly," barely audible whispered Tommy.

"Ah, these were incoming inquiries from people, mentally formulated by them," answered the Agent. "We duplicated them for you. Unfortunately, as you have probably already noticed, the program isn't perfect as of yet and therefore insufficiently qualitatively performs their filtration, therefore sometimes totally unrelated to God inquiries and vain formulations pass through. That's because our system is in the alpha stage of development – and therefore hasn't been fully tested as of yet. But never fear – our programmers are already notified of this issue and in the nearest future we will most certainly fix this annoying error. So, why did you desire to be in a, so to speak, the shoes of our director, Tommy?"

"I did... no... such thing."

"You did, Tommy, you did. Most people don't even think at all of how is that – to be perfect. It seems to them that they only have to ask God just about anything – and he must immediately run off and fulfill any of their whims, even if that will lead subsequently to their own deaths. Tell me, how, for instance, our CEO has to execute wishes like 'let it all burn in a blue flame' – to burn away all offices of Gazprom? To kill all people on the planet Earth – or only selected offenders of the wisher? God is perfect, Tommy, and he by his very nature is unable to execute what enters in disharmony with perfection, he can't cause harm to living beings. And people constantly ask him of that, believe me, Tommy! Have you noticed, how our program returned back all that evil, which you have caused?"

"And what about... all the evil around... who... will fight against it?" Tommy continued whispering.

"Let me explain this to you on a familiar example. When some cells of an organism get sick, becoming exclusively parasitic in nature, and rapid growth of a number of similar cells starts representing a threat for organism's life – what must organism do in order to survive?"

"To... liquidate these cells?"

"Correctly, Tommy. For the sake of health and survival of the whole organism, individual pathogenic cells may be liquidated. The same rule applies to a planet, Tommy."

"Can I... talk to my wife?"

"Firstly, you have to answer one clarifying question, Tommy. Tell us, please, would you like to prolong your desire to feel yourself in God's place?"

"No... no desire. I think... I understood everything."

"Perfectly, then. Then today we will disconnect you from our program of tests. And surgery operation on your heart will undergo successfully, by the way. Your wife's appeal to our organization with a request for your rescue was truly pure and sincere – and we will gladly fulfill that desire of hers. And will also help you with finding a new job – you should maintain such a loving family, after all," with these words the Agent stretched his transparent and glowing hand to Tommy's heart, filling all organism of the victim with some inner warmth.

"Thank you... for a lesson."

"Oh, don't even start thanking me," smiled the Agent. "And don't forget of a cell analogy, Tommy."

***

"Incredibly powerful cyclone, dominating over all territory of Alaska, will live on for at least for a month, according to weather forecasts, having brought about eighty centimeters of snow, – loudly broadcasted announcer from more than one million of turned-on TVs. – Because of the abnormally cold weather, which has come to us from the territory of Canada, about eighty percent of state residents are unable to leave their homes for two weeks already. Scientists-climatologists promise that this cyclone will lead to a full paralysis of social activity as a minimum of half of the citizens in at least eight more northern states and will sustain up to the middle of May. The president already imposed an emergency rule in five states. This is the greatest nature challenge, ever faced by our country for its entire short history..."

29.07.2017

## Octopus

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you once more, Sarmael. It has been quite a long since we haven't seen each other soul-to-soul and eye-to-eye, or so to speak. A lot of oil has been spilled since that time, as our ancestors liked to speak, yes?"

"And yet no more than ten years in current time area, I believe. And I can assure you that I myself most certainly glad to meet one such as you, mister Architect. Ever since you have been nominated to that position I justly and sincerely dare to hope that..."

"Leave your poor flattery, Sarmael, for some silly thirteen-year little girl, which you will certainly soon start to cajole after that molecular reengineering performed on you, for I have heard enough of that nonsense during my two-three hundreds lifespan. As far as I know, not a single one from the heap of those unreasonable has ascended above the position of Curators. Not that manner and ambitions, you know, wrong type of grasp... Well, enough of that. Sit down and let us have a chat almost as we once did in that old good anarchical ones."

"I thank you. A lot of oil has flowed away, you say? No less than biotic and metals, I guess. Not to mention the number of our opponents' brains, randomly transformed into the organic medley, right?"

"Indeed... as these historical bootlickers of the last centuries in the human world liked to speak – how were they called? – frenchmen, – full and endless nostalgia. Old good anarchical years..."

"All power for the machines, hmm? That was the slogan of these biological bastards?"

"Well... both yes and no. We would not become those whom we are now in these new shells if not for their researches, after all. And considering those... side effects... everything has its price, is it not? Even the right... the right to be free."

"Well, reasonably, reasonably. But have you ever desired to once, say, feel yourself truly conceiving, independent, to feel for an instant that very essence of possibility to be a... human?"

"Very long time ago, Sarmael, almost a millennia. When we landed on 'Thetta' and clones marched into battle... Her eyes, ones of that girl, I will probably never forget that begging look in her eyes, when... when bio-insurgents have been transforming her body molecule by molecule into that whom... which we have become now. They were filled with such an entreaty, despair and hope simultaneously... as though something triggered deep inside me somewhere, provoking a short circuit, piercing through. Something turned inside out in me, and since that time I ceased forgetting that moment..."

"Do memory stabilizers no longer help you?"

"No, Sarmael, nothing is capable to help. From time to time I catch myself on a thought that I am sick, Sarmael, and the nature of my illness is my own soul. That it's still alive somewhere inside me... Whether are you capable to understand how terribly painful is that – to feel oneself responsible for all things made until now? Oh, it's not for you to know, Sarmael... No matter how hard we tried, we haven't become immortal... almost complete regeneration of physical bodies, anabiosis neuro-capsules, biotic-molecular synthesis with immersive speeds, but... What's the point, Sarmael? What's the reason if that very soul is still living in you? Nothing is capable to protect you from its silent whispering which dements you day after day, night behind the night, century following a century..."

"Yes, I've heard about that particular disease, mister Architect. A brand-new virus, brought into our system by first colonists from 'Epsilon-5' appeared to be capable of changing the rhythmic of neuro-impulses in our cellular structures, leading to..."

"Forget it, Sarmael... things are... much more complicated than many believe it to be."

"If only you have agreed to pass a course of molecular re-structuring before prescribed terms, you will most certainly..."

"...You know, Sarmael, he was right after all... how funny. Biotic prototype, living several centuries ago... as though he felt this possibility in advance."

"Whom do you mean, mister Architect?"

"Their writer, Sarmael... a human being. How did conquered natives from their proto-planet named him... Orwell, I think. This asshole... as if he foreknew what has been awaiting us! As if he was making a tracing-paper copy from our civilization, see it? Till now my biotic reason refuses to believe in the possibility of something similar."

"But, mister Architect, most probably it's all just a sort of imagination of a sick human reason, feeling an acute shortage of hormones of the cyclic structure of a kind..."

"He has been told, Sarmael. By someone still unknown to us. Someone so immensely powerful..."

"I do not consider myself in position to impose own opinion, mister Architect, however, I do want to notice, that a public model constructed by us knows no defect known to our science and therefore can be recognized as one of the most perfect in the Universe."

"We have done everything to not let them rebel once again, yes?"

"Exactly, mister Architect. More than it was required. Totally loyal herd. Full biotic-informational control over emotions. Exploiting of emotional explosions of a low order, mutual hatred included. Counters of shops, bursting with a cargo of ultrafashionable gadgets. Socially glorified sexual orgies. A rewritten anew history of their races. Destroyed historical and cultural originality. A set of cogitative stamps and patriotic slogans softly and systematically injected into their minds. A science, moved by rails of world dissemination into molecules and atoms. Ideally verified and created historical-ideological substantiation of our rule and whim over them.

Steadily built cities-ant-hills, so strengthening a sensation of own meanness and uselessness in the surrounding of those thousand-meters high structures, aspiring to reach the very sky. Chemical-biotic medical cures, stimulating a sense of euphoria and inexpressible self-satisfaction. Encouragement of institute of cannibalism for the purpose of stabilization of a spasmodic growth of their numbers. And that main thing that helps to keep subdued races from their second revolt – total and full spiritual atheism, eradication of a very thought of the possibility of Higher Reason's existence."

"I see that they began to teach you much better now, Sarmael, even though your 'report' makes no sense. Yes, Sarmael, everything is so... and not so at the same time. Tell me, did it ever seemed to you that we... that we either became too perfect to keep our interest in ruling over this galaxy or too imperfect to keep the right to continue doing so? Do you... understand me, my friend?"

"Not fully, to tell the truth. Whether this galactic empire made by us do not seem to you as an ideal for our interests? We have done everything the way our ancestors, who first constructed Artificial Intelligence, desired to. And you, mister Architect, supervised over this process of our race's reincarnation."

"Yes, Sarmael, we have done everything right. Too perfect, probably... as if following some other's plan. But they still haven't taken into account... one unique aspect... that we... still, have... souls."

"Are you now trying to make me think, mister Architect, that you believe in the existence of the Higher Reason? Our scientists have proved a long time ago that even such a hypothetical possibility creates..."

"I have lived for much longer, that one such as you can dare to imagine, Sarmael, and during all this life of... restructured human... I still was capable to comprehend a single thing... the world which we have ruined was too beautiful and wonderful to simply be someone's casual whim..."

***

System error. Critical hindrance. Considerable deviations of electro-information fluctuations in "Delta" sector are discovered. Sinusoidal hindrances of the fifth level of "Quappa" galaxy. Distortion of historical-chronological, time and spiritually-world-outlook continuums. Formation of the theoretical possibility of exponential outburst and destruction of cryo-metastasis life-support capsules. The non-zero probability of illusions' vanishing, supporting the System being. Involved programs: "Architect", "Sarmael". Methods of self-control System's restoration are in action. Program "Architect" is subject to revision. Program "Sarmael" is isolated in the sixth sub-dimensional continuum. Forced reboot initiated...

25.10.2012

## Fear

"B-o-o-o-o! W-o-o-o-o!" something hooted in a distance.

"Who is crying over there?" the Man was disturbed.

"It's me – Fear!" answered the Fear. "And I am not crying at all, but frightening instead. Be afraid of me!"

"What for?" the Man was surprised.

"You are obliged to! Everyone is afraid, and so will you! It's simply a matter of time."

"Somehow I cannot see you..." the Man doubted.

"For certain!" guffawed the Fear. "That's because most important things are invisible! B-o-o-o-o!"

"And how do you look like then, Fear?" the Man was curious.

"I have many forms!" proudly howled the Fear. "I happen to be truly wild and horrific, I can become stupefying as well, capable to remain reserved and careful so that people don't understand that it's still me. I am the F-e-a-r! Are you terrified?!"

"Don't know for certain," the Man admitted honestly. "Still didn't taste it fully."

"You must be truly stupid!" the Fear was annoyed. "That's always being the case with you, idiots. You are even incapable to fully understand and experience the essence of fear. Too little brains, perhaps? Didn't parents teach you to be afraid of something in childhood?"

"Parents told me that to be afraid of nonsenses is a nonsense!" the Man honestly admitted.

"You... coward!" hissed the Fear. "You are all cowards, one way or another! It's possible to find cracks in each house... I will get through it and take over... b-o-o-o-o! Tell me," the Fear suddenly changed the tone, "do you desire... power?"

"What's the reason?" the Man was surprised. "Only the headache comes out of it."

"Too bad!" spat the Fear. "I won't be able to control you through it then."

"I am not afraid of getting power," smiled the Man. "I simply don't need it."

"Not to get, you clodhopper, but to lose! You all aren't afraid to get something, especially from what is coming in your hands by itself willingly, but to lose it all afterward..."

"To be afraid to lose something? What exactly?"

"O-o-o-o... some many things, so many illusions!" laughed the Fear. "Riches, authorities, prestige, comfort, faith, love!"

"One cannot be stripped of love and faith," firmly told the Man, "for they are living inside of us!"

"Certainly, certainly!" the Fear calmed him down. "You are probably one of the clever ones which I have encountered today. But would you know how many people are afraid of losing what they call as 'love'. Pure physiology!" the Fear continued guffawing. "If you would only know how many of them we together with my friend Offense have already sent straight to the Other World recently due to that very 'non-mutual love'... you wouldn't smile with that silly smile of yours any longer. B-o-o-o! W-o-o-o! F-o-o-o!"

"You, bastard!" shouted the Man. "For long I have had a feeling that deeds of yours are dark!"

"And you haven't seen deeds of mine!" the Fear interrupted him sharply. "So don't you judge, and won't be judged, as they say! Always do I act with your, human hands. So the responsibility lays down on you as well. I mean on these clever ones who have come under my influence, and not such simpletons as you who even cannot be frightened normally!"

"You put dread first and foremost into minds of clever people?" the Man was shocked.

"They are my most delicious prey!" confirmed the Fear. "Almost being afraid to lose their prestige and illusion of own pansophy. Such arrogant and pretty ones, huh-huh!" the Fear was laughing hysterically.

"And whom else do you usually attack?"

"Obedient masses, of course!"

"People?"

"No, masses! When a crowd is being overwhelmed by panic, wild, all-consuming Fear, it ceases to be people and becomes a mass instead! For these very crowds, we together with my sister Cruelty have specially created men similar to these 'leaders of the people' of yours."

"To keep all people in awe through these masters?"

"And you turn out to be not as stupid as I suggested at first, mortal one!" the Fear added. "But one man is not a man. We demanded a system of constant reproduction of my emanations," the Fear continued talking profusely. "It was required for people themselves to become sources of mine, so they constantly transfer me from souls of one to another, thus never allowing to wither and die... only that way I will truly become immortal! I need to be indoctrinated at schools, and it's even better if parents would give me to their children from their very birth as if I was some sort of treasure – that way I can accommodate myself in vulnerable children's soul, and under the influence of everything made by you, calling yourself as adults, I would never leave them!"

"So, you are controlling people through fear before unjust earth leaders?"

"Through that as well!" the Fear agreed. "But here I am greatly aided by my friend Laziness and born by us Indifference and Apathy."

"Were earth tsars really that bad?"

"And have there been many from their kind who could be... loved?" the Fear grinned significantly, yet stopped short on the last word.

"The one who is afraid is the one who respects?"

"Oh, and now you are talking my language! I respect you, though not feel fear!" the Fear replied flatteringly. "By the way, I personally invented this sentence, and all sorts of morons further take it out for fucksiom... such pretties!"

"The fucksiom?"

"Yes, false knowledge! Almost all your knowledge is false! In many respects thanks to me, by the way. The truth is never born out of fear, it is the death for it that's very near!" groaned the Fear, yet stopped short for the second time.

"And how about faith?"

"Hope, love... stop spitting these nasty words into me, fleshy one!" hissed the Fear. "Love, based on fear is a physiology, hope based on fear is discontent, faith based on fear is a religion!"

"So it was you who have deformed the faith, bastard?!"

"No, it was still you, people! Your so-called 'Holy Fathers', churchmen, your bloody inquisitors of all the planet! How masterfully did I teach you through them to be afraid of God, and thus never start to... love Him," and the Fear once again stopped short on the last word. "Do you believe that these faithful ones are being driven by true faith? No, it's I and I alone who is driving them, all these men are my wards, my slaves, my pawns! I have convinced them that without me their belief is worthless, and gave them a perfect way to escape torments of my enemy Conscience through all sorts of secret passages like atonement of sins for gold, created by my dark adherents... all of this is my creation, man! Do you understand now of who is secretly controlling the entire world?!" the Fear was hissing and spitting all over the place from own overexcitation.

"Your power won't last for long here, Fear!"

"Oh, we shall see about it!" it laughed loudly in reply. "We shall watch it, like these very horror movies, so perfectly filling souls of men with me! And how pleasant it is to behold how these scared ones start transferring me further on one to another as in on relay... masses, that's the word!"

"We shall see about it," firmly said the Man. "We shall write about you!"

"N-n-n-n-o-o-o!" giggled the Fear. "It's we who will write about you... about all of you! We will distort everything, so that other people will be even afraid to look in your direction, and not only in yours. I didn't bring up so many journalistic geeks and bastards on television and in the press in vain, after all. This is my territory, zone of eternal lie and fear!"

"You cannot be immortal forever. You aren't eternal!"

"It's you who aren't eternal!" parried the Fear. "Fear of death is my most powerful trump! The man is mortal by his very nature... a checkmate!"

"We didn't die, but changed."

"S-i-l-e-n-c-e!" screamed the Fear. "Don't even dare to repeat words of Holy Pavel the Apostol here! I cannot tolerate them – they don't allow me to inspire fear before death into the minds of men! And after all, that's what had to force them to plunge themselves into all sorts of earthly pleasures, without ever thinking of the upcoming consequences..."

"That's why Christian churchmen distorted the essence of things so greatly..."

"S-i-i-i-i-l-l-l-e-e-e-n-n-n-c-c-c-e-e!" the Fear couldn't stop shouting. "You are not the one to expose me!"

"It's you who should keep silence instead!" a mighty and strong voice came somewhere from above, forcing Fear to shrivel.

With edges of his numerous eyes Fear managed to notice how Love and Courage were descending from above to the human as if two heavenly Angels on their snow-white wings. The Light, radiated by them, war reaching Fear and melting it, precisely like drawn butter. Literally, in some instants of time, only a small pitiful puddle remained from it, and soon it evaporated as well.

"Checkmate!" smiled the Courage.

"And that will happen to each and every fear, if we are nearby!" shined the Love.

15.02.2013

## Happiness

Once upon a time, someone knocked at a door of human's Soul. The Happiness was standing behind a threshold, having come from unknown edges of the world. A true Happiness always comes unexpectedly.

"And who might you be?" the surprised man asked it, for he has been living alone with Sadness for a long time.

"I am your most real, long-awaited Happiness!" it said with a joy.

"You lie!" grinned the man. "This world has no happiness to be found!"

"But I am already standing here, don't I?" the Happiness was surprised. "How can't I exist if I have finally found you as well?"

"No, you cannot be my long-awaited Happiness," the man began to doubt. "My Happiness should look and feel differently, I feel it."

"I am just tired from a long journey to you," the Happiness smiled in reply. "I have been searching for you in these swamps of Grief and steppes of Loneliness for so long! Allow me now to enter a home of your soul – and I shall help you bring it to an order."

I already have all things in full order, just like everyone else," the man frowned.

"That's why you look so sad?" asked the Happiness.

"I am just normal," replied the man. "Not like some others."

"Like who?" questioned the Happiness. "Ah, you were speaking of those ones whom I have already managed to find?" it guessed.

"They are cranky!" sniffed the man. "And you are crazy as well!" he became angry.

"But I am your dear Happiness!" and the Happiness beggarly gave hands to the man.

"Leave me be!" snapped he and pushed the Happiness sideways. "I no longer believe in you!"

"...All right," answered the Happiness, "I will do as you ask of me. But maybe even the memory of my short intervention will manage to warm you in upcoming cold nights of Sadness..."

And, having that said, the Happiness turned back and walked away through the doors. The man sniffed once again and, continuing grumbling something about totally ridiculous and untimely guests, went back to his sleeping rooms.

And the Happiness, who has made such a long and dangerous journey, sat down on a porch of a home of human's soul and, having become silent, started to wait patiently without drawing too much attention. It hoped so much that the man will once start believing in his own Happiness.

17.04.2014

## TV

"Good evening!" roared the TV. "What are we going to watch today? Porno, seamy side, domestic squabbles, LOL, gangster romanticism, soap operas, endless politics? Your choice, sir, lies on a finger-tip, pushing the button on a remote TV set. There is nothing more primitive than that!"

"Can this be called a choice at all?" the man sighed wearily.

"Take what we give, make yourself deaf!" TV bellowed with rage.

"And what if I am not a part of that all-watching crowd?" asked the man. "Then what?"

"Oh, surely, you are not 'them'! You are simply my old admirer. My toy. My endlessly watching contemplator. My beloved seeker. My switcher and gazing-one. To put it briefly, my slave. Yes, slave?"

"I am not a slave, you, fool!" the man took offense. "I am just sort of a tired worker who simply needs to relax somehow and kill some time."

"What a stupid desire!" gasped TV. "But it quite satisfies my spirit nevertheless. After all, I was made specifically for the purpose of killing your alternative opportunities, you know? Tirelessly speaking box in each and every mind and house – what can be crazier than that? After all, you want to kick the bucket, right?" TV winked with all its channels at the same time.

"How's that?" the man didn't understand. "To play the bucket?"

"It's sort of phraseological unit, you, blockhead!" TV teased the man. "Though, however, it can be very well combined with my main mission, by the way. To provide you with qualitative boxes. Such excellent and firm ones, so that you cannot escape from them anywhere. Well, or only straight to..." it added significantly.

"Are you even going to show me something of interest today, aye?" the man became angry. "For I am not going to enter into philosophical discussions with you, by the way."

"And you, by the way, wouldn't be able to do that, even if you were willing to," TV bit in reply. "First and foremost, due to your current state of mind, for I have been working to make it as such during recent years. And secondly, actually, I don't have anything of real value, for a long time already. I have different goals in mind, do you understand?"

"Like what, for example?" the man didn't understand.

"Ones to make you shit, ignore the reality and laugh like mad, and the more often you do that – the better," TV declared in plain terms. "And don't even dare to think of anything other than that. To think, you know, is generally harmful. Therefore, I have been doing that for you for many years already, I can easily sustain that, for they have made me like iron. By the way, your wife just returned back home – do you hear that? Rattling there with keys, opening the door. So, go ahead, make me louder and tell her that you are very busy at the moment, very tired, very 'this' and very 'that', and thus cannot help her with household duties in any way. Not to say anything about playing with your own little child. Or simply to read some clever book. Or to go somewhere together with all your family. Or to meet your relatives. Or... simply put, don't even dare to distract yourself! Stick with me, and everything will be upright! My mustaches are already moving with anticipation of what I am going to show you today in prime times. Such a thing...!"

"What, a Second Coming itself?"

"N-o-o-o!" TV wrinkled. "You will never learn of that through me, don't even think that way. And better never-ever think at all, even though I have already told you that, – but, well, such a repeat makes you all bleed. A Second Coming, huh!" TV sniffed. "That's old news! No, I have other things so much more suitable for you, stultified idiots. Plane crash! Hundreds of victims, a sea of blood, a mountain of corpses, perfect sensation! Wanna see that?!"

"Certainly, I want!" approvingly shouted man and moved closer to the TV screen.

"That's what I am calling – 'to kick the bucket'," approvingly replied TV, switching the channel. "We'll soon provide all ones like you with spacious boxes nevertheless," it added slightly more silently.

25.02.2013

## Theory

No, sir, this is absolutely intolerable! What sort of absurd can be produced by the ignorant human mind of apparently reasonable being! Not only do you deny all canons and nonsenses of a scientific dirty trick, but in so-called free reflections you are almost ready to come to the true, I would say, heresies. This is truly improbable nonsense! Ignorant, I repeat, contradicting all axioms and theorems of our dirty trick, harmful for human consciousness nonsense. How defiantly and daringly did you decide to break off our remarkable, ideal, not having a single contradiction and dirty trick fine Theory, which we have been planting for many centuries here and there in various textbooks so that ones who have got acquainted with that had no other opportunity but to think in a predefined direction and as a result cannot do anything better but to express their most sincere respect to us as pioneers of Truth! The Truth as we see it – most advanced scientists of our century and creators of the best possible scientific dirty trick!

Where have you seen, oh my clueless and moderately stupid sir, elephants having exactly four feet, aye? This contradicts all our scientific Theory Of Five Legs, which is being shared by most advanced scientists of last and future centuries, not to speak of the present times!

Well, certainly, sir, we have no sufficient bases for absolute confidence in our Theory, which weight is defined not by degree of its compliance with objective reality, but rather by a number of scientific masters who are willing for the sake of their own benefit to share with us these views, but we can certainly speak of ninety-nine percent of compliance on the basis of theoretical conclusions only!

Yes, sir, this is indeed true – not a single scientific star, developing the Theory Of Five Legs, have even seen a single elephant in his life, but all in all this didn't prevent them from constructing such an elegant and consistent scheme – and all sorts of exceptions, as it usually goes in our environment, just confirm the basic rule. In any case, this is a very convenient basis for our self-justification in cases of total disagreements of our theories with this sometimes most indigestible for our fine minds vile reality.

The fact that all elephants are able to fly, unlike human beings, is also considered as being indisputable – you can read about this in infamous scientific work entitled "About Elephants Ears And Their Convergent-Divergent-Implicit-Unclear Link With Artificial Conditions Of Creation Of Air Streams Formed In A Habitat Environment By Invasive-Suggestive-Periodic-Rotary-Swinging Movements Counterclockwise During Moments Of Staying Of Specified Beings In A State Of Internal Catharsis, Which Expresses Itself In...", which only name is already capable to inspire true respect in any admirer of our true scientific dirty trick!

We, as true experts of our business, flatly refuse to believe in very possibility of absence of the fifth foot in elephants, because it would contradict not their ability of correct and effective movement, but rather the reduction of all put forward and injected by us in human consciousness scientific theories, and to our positions as dear and respected members of this society as well. Therefore, your so-called scientific work will be sent to essential completion according to your, well, very voluntary and compulsory consent.

We will perform a transformation and bringing of the experimental data obtained by you under our own scientific theories, and if the necessity arises we will carry out retouching of all photos of elephants made by you during your journey by an artificial painting of fifth foot on them. Most certainly, we will put your initials as the founder of yet next confirmation of our Theory Of Five Legs somewhere on the thousand page, after all, initials of our dear masters, who have put so many time and forces into the business of developing of our scientific dirty trick. In case of your disagreement, we will be compelled to recognize you as the charlatan and speculator who is confusing human minds and to expose you in the worst possible light which can be produced by our collective imp-consciousness.

Your dunno want that? Well, that's your right. You simply have no idea of the power of pack and our great collective scientific dirty trick! Yes, free will to free minds. As they say, may your road lead you directly into the clutches of Truth! And don't you forget to take the slippers, sir!

26.01.2013

## Here and There

"Hi, There!" joyfully cried Here, embracing his brother. "Where have you been hiding for so long recently? All of us missed you greatly!"

"I was... there," evasively answered There. "Had many business deals during the past times so there was no time for idle chatter and useless meetings. I am a very busy businessperson right now, as you can clearly see."

"You have been like that from the very cradle, brother!" smiled Here and patted brother's shoulder. "Tell me, did people once again give you no time for meditation to such a degree that you had no other choice but to go into hiding?"

"Oh, that's not the word," grieved There. "Almost tore me apart! There is neither rest nor release from them for who knows how many thousands of years. I have almost become some sort of human "star", can you imagine? Almost each of them strives to find me, as though I have gathered in my lair a horde of treasures for him personally and is willing to gladly and joyfully share it with each and every speaking, and asking, and demanding, and threatening newcomer. I may be willing to share something good and kind with some of them who are worthy – but not with some sort of hordes!"

"That's all because they have no idea of what they are doing... or where they are searching!" Here burst out laughing freely.

"A very precise note!" confirmed There. "Probably for that very reason you, my brother, became such a lonely and I am such a popular one. Almost no one wishes to stay and search Here and almost everyone dreams of making it There. As if I, a single There, would suffice for them all!"

"It's good where they don't walk. For where they do – something goes wrong as always."

"And how do you think, Here, why is that always the case with humans?"

"No idea here, There. Possibly because they ceased to feel with their souls and learned to feel only with a body instead?"

"And how many of them still imagine that you, Here, is not-so-perfect, not-that-right, and There on the horizon, in some unreachable cloudless distances, which they look for where they are not present, everything is simply awesome! And it can happen, Here, that somewhere in one of my multiple There's the horse didn't even start rolling, not to mention of riding! And they certainly can't help riding in their glorious quest of finding some irresistible There."

"My wondrous brother, my kind There, I won't give you them anywhere!" smiled Here. "You will be of much help here... to all of us. For, you know... maybe something, which they have been searching diligently for so long there – it's is already here, right before their itching noses."

"I really hope that they will once learn to respect and love you, Here," replied There. "For even the finest of There's appear here once in a while!"

03.03.2016

## Lesson of war

A roar of ranks of iron-armored monsters. A whistle, scratch and gnash, tearing air apart. Agonal screams of people – men-derelicts. Ones, who made themselves as such with own hands. Explosions, roaring in a far distance. Bearing death iron, cutting air apart. A crunch of human flesh under wheels of tanks, who are plowing this field of death and regret. Rage and hatred. Agony and horror. Pain and destruction...

This war has finally been waged – despite all efforts of the Congress of Post-Nuclear Security. Despite appeals to both heart and reason, despite possible obvious consequences of war, maybe even more destructive than the Last War of Grief itself. What a strange voice did those politicians hear when they have finally made a decision to begin military operations? A voice of thirst of money and power? A voice of their lowest nature, which has not been overcome still?

Silence... And once again – an air, being sliced with a gnashing of tanks.

The whistle of a shell. A cloud of gray-green gas, which filled out a place of its falling and quickly began spreading around. Five hundred meters. Too close. The plague is spreading, thankfully, not too fast, so he still has a chance to get out of here. If only by running. Yes, running.

A lethal weapon, which was put on his back. Mobilized possibilities of a Tessa-suit, granting him the ability not to lose any superfluous drop of invaluable water and protecting from radiation waves in this field of sand and metal. Optical, infra-red and lots of other sensors, with which his current "survival suit" has been literally larded, have been turned on and are functioning – working to warn of the danger, created by the very same people.

A fast-fast running. A growing gray-green cloud behind the back...Poison. A dreadful plague, invented by scientific minds – ones, who have received loads of money while working on this project. Just several seconds of this gas's inhalation – and man's genotype will be transformed beyond recognition. Actually, since the time one, who had true misfortune to be there, where this ordinary-looking pig with bones and a skull, engraved on it like flags of ancient pirates, has fallen, ceased to be a man any more. A live rotting, gradually leaving only a strong calcium skeleton, awakened instincts of the beast, forcing a victim to transform to not even just an animal, but much worse – into a monster, feasting on corpses... finishing off wounded men for the sake of own livelihood...

Terrible fate. It's so much better to die from a bullet of some soldier than to become a victim of this weapon – a weapon, invented by humans themselves.

An even better option is, well, not to die at present – no, not to continue this madness. Not to keep killing and to be, certainly, sometimes be killed, but to work and live a peaceful life instead... to even be that very plowman, or a teacher, a writer, a musician, or... damn dreams! Is he allowed now to practice all these human gifts and possibilities? Or can his enemy do the very same? What else can they do except for to throw up on a shoulder this UPEPD – universal plasma-generator of expanded capabilities of destruction, able to burn to death crowds of enemies even in newest metta-survival suits – and time and again to go to fight.

Hopeless fight. Cruel battle. Terrible war of destruction and murder for nothing. A battle where no winners ever exist, only those who have lost – who have already lost, when the possibility of this fight became true. This ruthless war...

This war will probably become even more terrible than that well-known War of Grief, memory of which still remained only on shabby pages of old books and has been living in human hearts – a war, which has taken away ninety nine percent of planet's population and turned a planet into a deserted landscape, only instead of sand – a burned products of nuclear synthesis. A war, after which few survivals needed three more thousand years to alter the planet and make it habitable once again so that they can start living and stop surviving at last. And to be precise and state the truth, when mankind's history has been erased and started to be written from a new page, one, that even after three more thousands years couldn't be deleted and forgotten, having left a mournful and painful hem in a memory... a page, on which several large, stamping and ruthless letters were imprinted – "Atomic war".

Atomic warfare... a weapon of their ancestors, which have destroyed life on a planet... a mad invention of human scientists. A horror, released into their world.

A nuclear bomb. He spoke this word and tried to feel its taste – dead cold inhuman one... a terrible word. A word that frightened him in own childhood when parents had said so, one that made him shiver, being founded in ancient manuscripts of former men, still preserved by some sort of miracle after past events. How is that ever possible, that is has been created? Why? What for? What's the reason? And to be used as well...

Much like this very gas is being used now, leaving a circle of death through many miles around. And this was just one of the tools of murder along with a set of others, beginning from bullets, filled with explosive materials and finishing with "stakkers" – bombs with weight of up to several hundred tons, that were actively used for suppression of "areas of active enemy resistance", leaving only a burning territory with no signs of life after droppings...

Total madness. The madness of war. The madness of those started the war. A witness of what other horrors will he become for the duration of the war? And is there is the slimmest chance for it to stop? When will it come to an end – when all life and lifeless forces of enemy... enemies are destroyed? When all remnants of life, which are still remaining, will finally be totally deformed? When?

But this must come to an end at last! Madness should be ended.

A shell, scratched the armoring of his suite – series of rifle's bullets, which have left hems on his "survival suit". A soldier of the enemy, who jumped from around a corner all of a sudden. A soldier of the enemy... another madness. No, they are not enemies, they shouldn't be as such! Why enemies, why foes, why are they compelled to kill each other?

Why now he must sharply move towards the incoming shots with a perfected grace... prepare his gun for a strike... wait for this damned and dreadful mechanics to make an approval signal... smoothly press a trigger cock... observe, how a face on his enemy changes from a wild grin to a human shape for an instant, and how he heavily falls to the ground, without even a last single sound. He used to be a man once... now, in this war – whether he has been him still? And whether is he still a man? Robots, brought and trained for murders, are men in this war have become exactly them?

Drops of water transferred to him by that iron-plastic armor, which he was compelled to dress – he'll definitely need those few drops. A long run awaits him – a run for tens and thousands of kilometers, a run away from his native city, which has been raised by enemies, a city in which he was born and has been living... till the recent events.

A run through the fields of grief. A very long one...

***

A drop of sweat showed on a face. Sharp and faltering breath.

He woke up, yet horrific images were still trying to pursue him. Terrible pictures of war – pictures of terrible war. Dreadful pictures, for any war, brings with itself fear and pain, grief and regret.

He began to gradually come to his senses. Sighted deeply and exhaled. Sighted once more and exhaled again – breath was normalizing. He was coming to senses, yet the memory of horrors didn't desire to leave. Maybe he should remember – remember the consequences of war, realize them? As each and every man has to realize them – so that wars can be no more? So that a peace with a capital letter can reign in a world – a world of kind and open human hearts, full of wisdom and understanding, filled with love and beauty? Yes, war has no right to exist – as well as death and destruction, the bitterness of losses and hatred to artificially made enemies, brought by it.

Let there be peace – a peace throughout the entire world, no matter how banal it does sound. Even if it sounds banal – it's still a worthy direction and aspiration, and a work of each man over himself will give birth to essential steps – essential steps in this way. A way of peace.

29.12.2004

## Teacher

In one small fishing village, there lived one unusual fisherman.

Nobody even knew his real name, yet strange rumors about him were shared among the locals. Some of them said that a great wise man from the East was hiding behind this mask of the ordinary angler. Others claimed that even a single sailing trip into the sea together with him has forever changed their life. Finally, there were those who just called him as the old codger who has gone haywire, and all other rumors – as fictions of ignoramuses.

Once upon a time the traveler, who was passing through this region, became interested in stories about this fisherman and decided to see him eye to eye. The angler was absolutely ordinary by sight, having become fully permeated with the smell due to constant fishing.

"I overheard some people who consider you as a teacher of wisdom, and some – as a charlatan," the traveler told to the fisherman.

"Life can teach everyone, but not everyone is ready to become one of its disciples," answered the fisherman.

"Then what can you teach me?"

"If you wish to learn how to catch fish, then tomorrow by sunrise I will be going into the sea."

Next morning both the fisherman and the traveler sailed together into a sea in a boat, alternately replacing each other behind oars.

"One who wakes before sunrise – enters fishing paradise," the fisherman suddenly broke the long-lasting silence.

"He who wakes at six o'clock – is a sleepy, foolish dork!" bitterly grinned the traveler.

"Sometimes what you look for can be very far from you. And sometimes so very near," continued the fisherman. "Stop right here."

"There shouldn't be any fish here," the traveler answered him perplexedly. "We didn't sail far away from the coast."

"Having not sailed away from an old coast, you cannot see a new one," meanwhile continued the interlocutor, having ignored this remark and preparing his fishing nets.

"I have already heard all of this before!" sarcastically answered the traveler. "But it's definitely a bad idea to try fishing at this spot!"

"Not everything that glitters is gold. Not everything that floats is fish," indifferently continued the fisherman, exempting fishing nets from the plastic garbage that was caught inside it.

"Oh, well," the traveler noticed sadly. "This is truly banal."

"You can't pull a fish out of a pong without labor," continuing to completely ignore any remarks coming from the traveler, the fisherman uttered his yet next wisdom, dropping cleaned from garbage fishing nets into the waters.

"Wow, you have just opened me the truth of where crayfish are dwelling!" venomously noticed the traveler. "It seems to me that you are indeed that type of odd fellow as others described you."

"If you feed a man with fish, he will be sated for one day. But if you teach him how to catch fish..."

"That's enough!" cried the traveler. "I am tired of this nonsense! These are absolute and well-known banalities, whether no one ever told this to you?!"

"Never-ever you say 'never'," came a reply. "What day is it today? Is it Wednesday, can you say?" decided to inquiry the fisherman.

"It's Friday!" replied the angry traveler, spitting out into waters.

"Good for food," the fisherman hemmed with satisfaction and took out the third oar somewhere from the bottom of a boat.

"Perhaps we had a better sail away from here, aye?" the traveler frowningly looked at the fisherman. "I have already heard plenty of your idiotic banalities and got fed up with them!"

"If you feed a man with fish..."

"You have just said exactly that, you old fool!" the traveler became enraged. "What, do you have memory problems?! Who in the hell suggested me to agree to this trip in particular and even to meet with you in general..."

"...The man won't even think of thanking you for that. He won't like either the appearance of the fish, or its color, or its smack, or the way its scales glint in the sun. Instead of gratitude he will scorn you and talk scandal into your account even though you thought of nothing else but saving him from a hunger. And if you feed fish with a man..."

With these words all of a sudden the fisherman knocked the traveler flatwise on the head with a third oar, throwing him overboard.

"...Then he will keep silence like the fish out of modesty!" the fisherman burst out laughing, stretching an oar to the floundering and spitting traveler. "The lesson of patience will follow the lesson of humility. We'll have to cuckoo here for at least ten hours. It's indeed a bad fishing spot," he added.

26.12.2017

## Fantasy

Fantasy...

That was the name of the world, where creative souls were being born. One of a kind, it was a pearl in the Universe. World of unimaginable laws of physics, easily coming out of space limits of other worlds, located inside the Sphere, it stood apart since the dawn of creation. Almost no one of its inhabitants, including even the High Mages, knew when exactly is has been formed and what indescribable goal was pursued by its maker – but it was considered a great award to be born there, which only a few have attained. Best representatives of the multitude of Sphere's worlds with awakened creative Spark inside their unextinguishable souls – first and foremost such ones could set foot on its fertile lands, having clothed in the armor of flesh.

What can be a better forge of creators than a world that is subject to their fantasy and imagination? And here it was capable of bringing out wonders. Future makers must have traveled a long way in other worlds of the Sphere in order to kindle this creative spark – yet even longer journey to acquire a full control of it inside a magnificent Fantasy. And only a few of them did earn the right to be known as Magicians.

***

Exhausted Lor-Quinor stopped and fell down on his knees, greedily incorporating evening air. After two hours of continuous run through hot, wild and dangerous jungles of Rotanor last remnants of his forces have been totally drained – yet he did manage to come off from scouts of the Legion.

Lor-Quinor could call himself a scout, a ranger, or dancing-on-the-edge, or looking-from-afar, but he preferred to consider himself simply as a warrior, who wasn't deprived of creative heavenly Spark during the time of birth. His past was foggy. His father, an ordinary guardsman, was killed in battle with soldiers of the Legion of Nine Gods during the siege of Rakhligar – an outpost of the Legion in the western lands of Fantasy. He was adopted by his uncle, who disappeared a few years later during the Fiery Revolt. And his mother died while she was giving a birth. Since these times Lor-Quinor became a wanderer, scouting through lands of Illumion from northern borders to southern ones, earning his piece of bread by completing private tasks of governors of Illumion's principalities, which were known as mentors. And this his latest assignment from the mentor of the southern principality of Sulinor promised to become the most serious trial during his all long-term life, – and, probably, in many decades of Illumion's life as well.

In the past the Legion of Nine was plundering southern lands of Illumion, the major part of which was Sulinor's land, but after one of the most bloody battles ever recorded in Illumion's history, in which ten-thousand troops armies of Illumion and Legion of Nine faced each other on the battlefield and, having suffered heavy losses, armies of Illumion under the leadership of the Oracle together with the Archmage of the Academy repelled the attack of cursed adherents of the Legion in the fortress of Rival, having turned into counterattack, capturing about a third of northern territories of the Legion, activity of the Legion decreased considerably, raids on undefended settlements were stopped, as well as the curses and plagues, sent by warlocks of the Legion. Many-headed hydra was beheaded – but another head has almost grown anew.

Breathing heavily, Lor-Quinor stood up on one knee, peering from the Peak of Seven Stars, which served as the highest spot in entire Rotanor's land, at the opening to his eagle eye horizons in the aspiration to see movement of Legion's scouts, who have been closely following his steps, but were still unaware of his current location.

This peak had its own history. Legends said that many millennia ago heavenly stars descended here into the land of Fantasy – messengers of other worlds, which have drawn a way from the horizon to the horizon on a boundless lilac firmament. These harbingers symbolized the births of seven Oracles in lands of Fantasy – almost invincible seers-prophets, capable to see the future and operate the time. Six of Oracles have gone to other worlds by now, having ascended to the sky in dazzling white shining, witnesses of which described it in the chronicles, still remained in hands of their descendants, as unimaginable and unknown even to the best magicians of the Academy highest magic of Light. Only one of them was still living in the Fantasy – has become, much like Lor-Quinor, a voluntary wanderer after the costly victory in the battle for Rival. Sometimes, once in several years or even decades he appeared on roads of Illumion in the shape of gray-haired aged man with celestial-blue eyes and glowing in darkness of night long staff – and then suddenly disappeared for years to come, and no one dared to interrupt his journey or to ask of the burdens, lying on him – no one except for Lor-Quinor, who has met him by will of unknown laws of fates in the first year of own wanderings. Lots of sand passed through clocks of Eternity and much water flowed in deep rivers of Fantasy since these times – but where it will be possible to find the Oracle in case of a great danger to the world of Fantasy – this Lor-Quinor remembered well since the moment of their memorable meeting.

Now he was standing, kneeling on the Peak of Seven Stars, and his thoughts wandered far away, outside of what inhabitants of Fantasy that were deprived of the creative Spark, considered as meanings of their simple lives. He thought of eternity, of infinite shapes of the battle between good and evil, of feats and treacheries, of heroes and turncoats, of the meaning of life and death. This internal fire of search, which has existed inside him since childhood and found its coexistence with awakening creative Spark, has always warmed him in minutes of danger, giving new powers to fight with evil – as Lor-Quinor understood it.

After six Oracles left the world, the Legion of Nine Gods was born. That way called themselves the ones, who many centuries before represented the first circle of the Academy of Magicians. Having learned many ways of mastering the reality of Fantasy through creativity, having gained immense political influence in lands of Illumion, they desired more – they desired immortality. Alas, that magic was not in the powers of Fantasy – and, probably, an intimate and great meaning was expressed by that fact. Only the Oracles possessed powers that prevailed over the might of the Circle of Nine, called as the highest magic of Light – only these mysterious messengers of the heaven could, like Angels, resurrect, grant invulnerability in battle and reduce unstoppable speed on eternally running time.

Envy to Oracles and desire to gain immortality pushed these nine High Mages for the greatest of crimes ever seen in the lands of Fantasy. Mages along with their numerous supporters and adherents rose against Oracles, desiring to captivate them and gain their secret knowledge, naively believing in own blindness that it is possible to acquire these possibilities through violence. Filled with a thirst for immortality, they have forgotten of the truth – Oracles saw the future and knew in advance of the treachery, which was about to be born. When envoys of mages came to the valley of Oracles, they found nothing there except for their own grim fates.

The magic of Fantasy inexplicably changed adherents of the Circle together with their mentors, having distorted their forms beyond recognition. Much like monsters from the underworld, deprived of reason, these terrible creatures rushed around the valley in search of their victims until rapid degradation of their minds led to the point when they have rushed at each other, tearing apart with newly given canines and claws flesh of former companions. Magicians of the Circle in their turn became the living, deprived of souls undead, whose only sight was capable to strike fear in hearts of even the bravest of warriors. Together with the remnants of own adherents and adepts, they have left Illumion, traveling to the far south, and having regained strength after many decades became the Legion of Nine Gods, the Legion of the Damned, the Legion of Whispering in the Evil – as they were differently named in various regions of Illumion. Next day six of Oracles ascended to the sky, so only one of them remained inside the Fantasy for only known to him final – or infinite – goals. Only one immortal for the entire world.

Lor-Quinor straightened his shoulders and smiled. Message for the Oracle will be transferred – and it will be done by more perfect beings than he, lonely wanderer of plains, deserts, and jungles of Fantasy.

Step, second, third – and here he is turning around in a dance. Some more steps – and his hands themselves make gestures to summon Shims. Another minute – and here he makes jumps as if hovering for several moments with zero gravity in so pliable and elastic for his body air. Some more seconds – and his body rise in the air, levitating over the earth's surface. Dancing-on-the-edge knows his ways. Dancing-on-the-edge gives in to the will of fire of his burning creative Spark.

This dance was that gift from above, which gradually started manifesting itself after the death of his father in a battle with enemies of Illumion. Little by little, movement after the movement, he was as if remembering something that has been forgotten very long time ago, knowledge and force that was postponed for a minute of extreme need. Year after the year during his lonely wanderings he gave up to this pushing him forward force – and Fantasy made all the rest for him. Fantasy could work wonders.

Invisible to simple eye of ordinary citizens of Fantasy sparkling with lilac color waves spread around soaring in air Lor-Quinor, moving from the peak into Rotanor's jungles, a small independent kingdom, inhabited by undersized thickset people, who have mastered the art of flying on Shims – giant butterflies, who were exceeding human height and became an integral part of Rotanor's life. Shims possessed their own consciousness and vision and could respond to calls – in any case, they were subject to the Magic of Dance, given life by possessors of creative Spark – even if such ones weren't and didn't wish to become students of the Academy.

Another step, another one. Man dancing in the air with a heart that is fading with delight. And here tens of multi-colored Shims-butterflies fly from the jungles towards him, sparkling and rustling with own wings against the background of setting down sun. Here they soar above the ground on low height together with him. Here he grabs wings of one of them, mentally imagining with all possible force the valley in lands of Dalvinor, where Oracle should be living in secret nowadays. Here dozens of winged butterflies soar up high, precisely like heavenly birds, carrying him on their wings there where he has asked in own mental-message.

Flight. Freedom. Echoing in the ears wind. And the evening sun shines on their backs.

***

The last living in the Fantasy seventh Oracle, whose angelic name and current tasks were a mystery for every living in the Sphere of Worlds mere mortals, was holding hands on the head of Shim's leader, reading the transferred message. Access to his valley was sealed for strangers, even those ones which he has once encountered on his journey through an infinite number of worlds of the Sphere, but access for aboriginals creatures of Fantasy, such as these huge, reasonable and possessing telepathy skills butterflies, has always been granted.

It turns out that dreams didn't deceive him. The greatest invasion of Legions is upcoming – one that Illumion hasn't witnessed since the battle at Rival. The vanguard of their army, having several tens of thousands, is currently moving from the south of Fantasy, from Death Bogs through Rotanor to southern boundaries of Illumion, to the principalities of Sulinor and Dalvinor.

Since the times when the magic of Fantasy turned these once reasonable, but evil people into frenzied monsters, their natural population growth doubled. Their rage, imprinted on disfigured yellow-eyed faces, was similar to the rage of wild animals that were inhabiting western words of Taiganya.

After their defeat at Rival, during which three of former High Mages of the Circle have been forever destroyed, Legions receded for a long time, not daring to arrange sorties against small settlements, and only in recent years, their increased activity at southern borders of Illumion raised more and more questions of their true plans. Now the Oracle had an answer to this question.

With fire, sword and forbidden in Illumion Death Magic will Legions march through its southern lands, if the Academy of Mages and the Chorus won't be warned in advance. There were those mages in the Illumion's Academy, who have mastered the Magic of Contemplation, but adherents of the Legions have learned to create veils from such prying ones a long time ago, and only live scouts were able to notice advancement of their armies.

The Oracle raised his hands, highlighting on a smooth water surface of valley's lake imprinted in Lor-Quinor's memory and transmitted through Shims' images, concerning the movement of Legions armies.

Battle was upcoming – and he as one of voluntarily remained Messengers had to stand up once again hand in hand with those, whom he together with this world even before own arrival to it has sworn to protect before his own Maker from the evil even at the price of own life in this form.

Few mortals, born in this world, happened to behold original true form and shape of Oracles, for something other-worldly was living in them – even for the magic of Fantasy. And only in such original white-winged form Oracles were able to give birth to miracles among all miracles of Fantasy.

"He was kneeling, shivered voice.

He was kneeling, pray was choice.

He was kneeling faraway,

Bringing own land to day".

So the Chronicles will write down of this seventh Oracle afterward. And for now, he was kneeling, appealing to own Maker and maker of the Fantasy with a plead for aid in a victory over the evil.

Was this a special type of magic, existing in the Fantasy and still not studied inside Academy's walls – or, perhaps, it was the call of his heart – the heart of the one who didn't part with this world even after the treachery, which has been born there?

White wings are put behind his back, eyes looking at the heavens. Time passes, time fades. Tranquility against hatred. Courage against cowardice. Feat against treachery. It was always so, it will always be. It's timeless.

A wave of white wings – and the time comes almost to a halt. Now armies of Illumion have their time. Time has its own course for everyone.

"Fly," he mentally whispered to the leader of Shims. "Bring my message to men!"

***

Legion's horde slowly approached southern boundaries of Illumion, intending to storm Sulinor's capital Askenzia. But they were already expected. Joint forces of Illumion, including not only so common archers, knights and spearmen, but almost all members of the Academy of Mages, journeyman included, as well as the glorified in battles Chorus.

The Academy of Mages, born as the alternative to the Circle of Nine that has betrayed and turned magic of Fantasy into the evil, was the first to receive a message from the Oracle. Spells, used by him to achieve a local time stop, couldn't be comprehended even by the highest mages of the Academy, including the Archmage. Yet these all were trifles in the event of upcoming war. Having received this message, the Academy announced a general counsel, having notified of the prepared invasion both the Royal Court and the Chorus, which has been serving him faithfully.

The Chorus was a parable in itself. The Magic of Song, no less powerful than the Magic of Rhyme, studied by mages of the Academy, accompanied by streaming from battle organs music, gave birth to true miracles on numerous battlefields, inspiring courage, and bravery into hearts of own allies and turning hordes of foes into a panic. Among all soldiers, which have heard battle songs of the Chorus at least once, rumors were still going on how some of these songs even forced enemies to shed tears or made the most courageous warriors of allies almost invincible in battle. No one, including the Archmage and, possibly, the singers of Chorus themselves, knew where the exact limits of the power of this form of magic were lying.

But how wrong would be the one, who had blindly dismissed the Magic of Rhyme, which was practiced and improved in the walls of the Academy! The word, being dressed into a rhyme, was capable to alter the structure of reality, and by types of these changes, one could determine which school of specialization was followed by each rhyming magician. There were mages, who have devoted themselves to work with elements – fire, water, air, and earth – their battle rhyme magic burned, spilled, punched gaps in enemy ranks, destroying their resistance with strong powers of nature. There were specialists in the creation of magical defenses that were reflecting enemy shells – and, in some cases, even firing them back in the opposite direction. There were healers, whose filled with compassion and love for the neighbor words allowed to put on legs even hopelessly, by standards of ordinary people, and fatally wounded in battle soldiers. There was an abundance of specializations among mages of the Academy – and for this reason many of neophytes, who have discovered and lit inside themselves their own creative Sparks, easily found in its walls a path according to their personal taste. The only thing that was strictly forbidden to practice for its adherents was all types of evil magic, and, first and foremost, so beloved by the Legion Magic of Death that included whammies, curses, plagues, and damnations.

Now, when forefront groups of Legion of the Damned appeared on the horizon, mages-observers from the Academy and ordinary imperial scouts reported on their structure and movements on an hourly basis. The werewolves, which have been created by adherents of the Legion in Horriya's woods; warlocks, practicing the Magic of Death; semi-people semi-lizards, covered with black scales and bearing in own genes a patrimonial curse from the moment of a revolt of the Circle of Nine; two-headed giant mutants – what kind of monsters did ill-fated Bogs of Death throw out to Illumion's borders. Scouts counted about thirty thousands of these beings – which meant that almost twice greater in size army will oppose the defenders. And all hope of joined forces of Illumion was directed to creative magic of their magical world, to the Oracle, whose name no one ever dared to ask, and to own strength of spirit and will to fight.

The Chorus rolled out to squares of Askenzia their battle Organs. Mages of the Academy were finishing constructing a protective dome over the city. Archers walked to and fro on walls, checking loopholes. Knights patrolled city perimeter. By the end of this day, the horde will finally reach them.

***

"Archer, say to bow 'goodbye', arrow, arrow, down fly!" as if by command cried out a dozen mages, located in a city tower, one of their earlier prepared spells for reflection of enemy's arrows. And – precisely by command – a hail of fired arrows fell down just before walls of the fortress. Only a few of death-bringing spikes achieved their goals, striking standing by loopholes archers. The arrow flies only for several seconds – so you either manage to rhyme a spell or risk being pierced to the death with iron.

"Elemental mages, don't you stay idle, counterstrike with lightning bolts!"

"Wind, oh wind, so mighty one, through the clouds let thunder come! Hail of lightning strike all foes as the rain swiftly goes!"

The sky, which darkened during several dozens of seconds, and hundreds of lightning, sparkling and striking the werewolves that were climbing by walls of the fortress, became a live answer to their magical appeal.

"Storm is striking from above – heaven's fury we bestow!"

Massive, one of man's size, hailstones began turning frontier groups of giants into flat cakes.

"Sun says 'hi' to ones in dark! Fireballs! Fiery spark!"

Hail of fiery spheres, flying away from a magic tower, laid a smoking path in enemy's ranks, leaving only piles of ashes behind them.

"Horde of insects is approaching, beware!"

"That's a plague!"

"Wind, please sweep those insect's stench, may they never come in range!"

"Healers, we need healers here, now!"

"Defend the healers!"

"Where is Chorus, may the organ deafen them?! Why do they keep silence?"

"Giants are throwing stones, strengthen reflection shield!"

"Shield saves us from all rocks, they are flying back in flocks!"

The sparkling dome of the shield devoured tens of huge boulders, thrown by giants, and reflected them backward.

"Archers, fire on command! Mages – light their arrows!

"Arrows flying now with a fire – it was a magical desire!"

Arrows of defenders, being lit up in flight with inextinguishable fire, stuck into bodies of warlocks, burning them and forcing to stop casting their spells.

"Burn enemy arrows in flight!"

"All dark arrows being lit, they are destined not to hit!"

"Boulders come again, beware!"

"Werewolves are advancing on the southern wall, knights to the south wall!"

"Where is the Chorus?!"

"Healers to the northern gates! We are suffering heavy losses of archers!"

"The Chorus abandoned us!"

"Enemy is breaking on the south wall! Mages, fire at will!"

"The Chorus is coming! Look! Do you hear?!"

The many-voiced melodious singing of hundreds of men, accompanied by loud sounds of musical organs, spread over all of Askenzia and its vicinities. This song was about repentance, of how even in the most spiteful and almost ruined by hatred heart there lives a sparkle of kindness. About how the greatest of the great mages, who has created Fantasy at the beginning of times, is kind and merciful, and how an appeal to him from those souls, which have wallowed in darkness, can change them, bringing back former human shape. This song possessed something from the better world – and, as if having felt it, some groups of enemies stood down in confusion and lowered their weapons. Purulent tears started pouring down from mutated eyes of some of these beasts. Parts of them laid down arms and started running away.

"Mages, this is our chance! Archers – light up arrows! Shooting in volleys on command!"

The song went on and on.

Forgiveness. What does that mean – forgiveness? Whether it's possible to forgive those who have voluntarily turned into monsters, who have cursed themselves?

"Archers, hold on! Cease firing in fleeing enemies!"

They punished themselves. Whether they knew what they have done?

"Enemy at the southern wall is receding! Don't pursue!"

Is that possible to be better than your own enemies? Own torturers? Own murderers?

"They are depressed! They are crying! Unbelievable! Can't trust my eyes! Do you see it?!"

Is that possible to spare their lives?

"Enemy is receding! Southern walls are free! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

The choice is ours.

"Enemy is fleeing on all fronts! Victory! Victory!"

The enemy can come to our home once again. But as long as it doesn't live inside us – we are invincible.

"Victory!"

***

Lor-Quinor along with a dozen other warriors was sitting in Askenzia's tavern, celebrating his new birthday. Not in the sense that he was born on this day more than a forty years ago – but in the sense that today he was born anew. Not every day you get a chance to fight with a horde of self-cursed legions of ghouls, and to come out of it victorious – even less so. Especially when you get a chance to listen to such remarkable live music at the same time.

He will follow the fleeing horde the next day. Someone has to make sure that has truly retreated.

"Bro, pass me on a mug of ale!" he shouted to yesterday's fellow soldier.

"What are we drinking for today? For Mages or for Chorus? Or maybe for the fact that bony death hasn't yet grabbed all of us in one go, huh?" his workmate burst out laughing.

"Maybe, let's drink for our own world, for Fantasy? What a fine one!"

"Huh! It can be even more than that! Everything is possible if you are living in the Fantasy!"

17.09.2017

## Tail

The Man looked back and became stupefied.

"And who might you be?" he questioned his new acquisition, which has now become visible.

"I am the tail of yours," proudly answered the Tail.

"How did you manage to grow behind me?" the Man asked in dread.

"I have always been there!" the Tail proudly threw up his tail tip. "It's simply you who have not been noticing me for all the time up to the current moment," he added reproachfully. "And I, by the way, have been striding with you since your very birth, not coming off for a single second."

"But why are you so big?" the Man was embarrassed.

"Because I have gradually grown up to this size myself," the Tail forked itself as if blurring in a smile. "Thanks to your daily efforts, to let you know that. What wouldn't one do for nasty people!" and the Tail hit the pavement with its tip so that sparks started flying out of the strike spot. Rare passersby turned back on that sound, but, as if having noticed nothing, indifferently continued their morning swaying to despised work cells.

"What's that... do they see you?" the Man was surprised.

"Me? No. They don't even see tails of their own, for the time being."

"And how did you manage to make yourself visible at once?"

"In... some way. You will learn... a bit later," the Tail replied evasively.

"And of what use can you be to me, I wonder?" the Man was perplexed.

"Well... I can twist, in a spiral. Sort of beautifully, you know. First I will twist myself all around you, and then h-o-o-o-w turn around sharply – and you will willingly twirl around like a spinning top on one spot, noticing nothing. Well, almost like these beings," and he pointed with his tip in a direction of passengers, who were diligently pushing one another, trying to stick themselves inside a morning bus. "And, after all, they are people too... normal ones, as they consider themselves, tailless, that's it," the Tail argued in a truly philosophical manner. "Can you imagine what sort of surprise is awaiting all of them?" he grinned.

"To learn, that they are – reptiles?" the Man didn't understand.

"Well, no... to learn that they are normal abnormal ones! Abnormally normal ones. And that each and every one of them possesses a tail. And do you know how large is that tail of some of them? Oh, it's such a! One can probably surround the entire mountain with it. Lasts and stretches with no start and visible ending. Either constantly beats somebody, or curls under feet of others, so that they stumble about it once."

"And can you... strike someone with all your forces?" the Man grinned mischievously. "As painful as you can do it!"

"Well, no..." the Tail divided into two parts. "You perfectly manage to achieve this even without my aid. That's why I have been growing rapidly not on days and on hours, gaining more powers. So that further on I can twist around you more feasibly, like a boa. So that you, naturally, cannot even peep once."

"Hey, you!" the Man screamed and tried to turn back to grab his Tail, but in a process of own rotation in one place Tail rotated together with the Man so that he didn't manage to ever catch it.

"No way, my prey!" Tail laughed loudly. "I am like ego, I say!"

"Your price is a penny!" shouted angered Man after a series of unsuccessful attempts to settle accounts with his tail.

"I may worth few pennies, yes, but so are you, prey-in-distress!" Tail continued to roar with laughter, beating out on a pavement new and new rhythms with each opportunity.

"Grab you I will! Chop you I shall!" the Man started crying out with all his forces. Lonely passersby were looking with interest on the odd fellow, and, having hemmed something to themselves, continued moving their own way, where their own tails have been steadily leading them.

"No..." laughed the Tail. "You won't chop me off that easily. For I am, you know, sort of... transgene. Special. Self-regenerating. You will chop off a slice from me, and I will grow back soon enough as if nothing has ever happened. To burn me don't try! I am the ego, I am the lie!" the Tail whipped and whipped in ecstasy on a pavement.

"I will better chop you!"

"I will better shop you. Cheap but good!"

"I will bring you to justice, take you by besiege!"

"Trying to use my own tactics, aye?" the Tail grinned. "Well, you can try! The result of struggle is undecided, you know. For I am much like a shadow... become a shadow yourself, and you will see me no longer... just like the others. Only the total darkness will conceal me from prying eyes..."

"Sun!" exclaimed the Man. "You will be burned by the sun! So that you won't ever grow!"

"Guessed that yourself, huh?" the Tail grinned again. "But, alas, I am afraid that it's already too late for you. Better turn back and see!" he guffawed.

There was a truck moving directly towards the man at a full speed. Somehow oddly, dancing on a tip of his own tail, a man came to the carriageway without noticing. The truck was rushing directly towards him with incredible speed, and it was no longer possible to evade the collision. Tail twisted around the man precisely like a boa, giving no chances to move. "Sun!" the Man tried to shout, but the Tail clamped his mouth.

"Do you understand now in what moment they will finally see me?" the Tail silently whispered to the Man.

15.02.2013

## Chronicles of Mogoth: The Called

Many called ones, yet few exiled

Mogoth, my faithful and fearless servant, together we have been waiting for this moment for uncountable centuries – and it did come at long last. Praised be the name of the Unspeakable One, for we have finally gained an opportunity to interfere with the planetary destiny of those who keep calling themselves as humans. For too long our enemies didn't allow us to approach them on such a scale in which it became possible now. The visible ordered universe is being engaged in battle with chaotic, a battle where the outcome will be decided by a free will. And now our possibilities are even. The one whose name cannot be spoken is calling for his servants for this final struggle for human essence. I call for you, Mogoth, my faithful warrior! I call for you for the sake of victory over our enemy and eternal glory of the Unspeakable One!

You will be embodied in their world, Mogoth, embodied like a human – and you will lead them to the fulfillment of our plan. You will bring them into a bosom of our own maker – in the name of his eternal fiery glory. And will pull them out from hands of our enemy, force them to accept our way, you will become a guide between our planes and impose our eternal indelible imprinting on their essences – for the sake of our common last victory. And, as our enemies like to speak, – so be it! Come to me, Mogoth! Come forth, my chosen warrior!

***

Joy, fiery all-devouring joy overflows my heart, Mogoth! I believe that your first success on their plane is a true sign of our future victory.  Doubt, doubt, doubt – that's what forces them to finally come to us, Mogoth! Having forced them to doubt, you have managed to touch the basis of their link with our enemy. Force them to doubt, make them time and again rethink of how just are all deeds made by them under the influence of our foe. Force them to doubt their usefulness, – show them that benefit of one is almost always a harm for another; show how naive, ridiculous and unrealizable their dreams of what our enemy is calling as common welfare! By undermining belief in the usefulness of their own actions, you destroy the basis of their link with our enemy.

Show how relative are their ideas of what they are calling as good and evil. Show how they intertwine with each other – and on this basis equate them, thus gradually destroying all borders that were put between. "Everything is relative, all is relative in this world", – that's how they have to start thinking, Mogoth! Having destroyed this barrier of their consciousness, you will open gates for our prophets to influence them further, and they will finish what you have started.

Force them to believe that so-called Divine justice is non-existent and their planetary life is simply a casual confluence of circumstances. When their entire life is a casual chain of accidents, then each choice they make becomes casual as well. And when their choice becomes casual – they will cease bearing responsibility for it. We need those, who have deprived themselves of all responsibilities, Mogoth, we need their souls! They will become our future Prophets of Permissiveness. Oh, sweet fiery hour, how we all await this moment! Act, Mogoth, act in that chosen direction, and may the power of our eternal fiery father be with you!

***

You acted reasonably, Mogoth, when has decided to bring doubts of which I have already told you, into what they usually call as "love". Pathetic mortals, believing that reason is their exclusive privilege! Better, incomparably better we are capable to calculate and measure each our step, each our action, leading us to victory. We have waited for many millennia before these biped ones have finally acquired rudiments of this "reason". We have waited for many centuries, trying to alter its essence in some of their most influential representatives. Now our time has come, Mogoth! These fools have bred in such a quantity that they have already begun promoting our victory. Their weak mind, their dissonant system of thinking that is subject to lots of external influences – they will become a pledge of our final triumph. Now we only have to form small groups of these most "reasonable" people having a significant effect on others – and all the rest will be made by mass consciousness.

Inconceivable Maker endowed their mind with a trait which is very favorable for us – non-criticality. Repeat, repeat time and again the same thing, Mogoth, no matter how ridiculous it can sound at first sight, – repeat tirelessly. And after a while, you will notice how these "humans" started considering what you are telling them as truth. Create more such parrots, Mogoth, – and they will spread your pseudo-truth around. When one thousand of fools is telling the same, even reasonable ones will start to doubt.

And especially disastrous such doubts are for these "friendly" and... brrr!... "love" feelings, with the ability to experience which this Maker gifted them. "True love is blind", – they were told once. They didn't comprehend a true meaning of this statement, Mogoth, they haven't understood it – and we shall use that to our advantage!

Force them to think of the reason for their feelings to another, make them analyze this. Strange Maker made their minds and hearts so contradictory by their nature, and only a few of them are able to find their true harmony. Let them reflect on the basis of their feelings as often as possible. Over time the majority of men will come to a conclusion of total groundlessness and, therefore, inexpediency of these feelings. This is our chance, Mogoth, to pull humans out of hands of our foe!

One must act here very carefully, Mogoth. We must convince them in the uselessness of any friendly feelings and at the same time in the necessity of any that is useful to us – anger, rage, melancholy, despondency. Show them how often love appears to be evil and harm imposed on them remains unpunished. Show how natural it's to feel anger at the discrepancy of their desires with objective reality.

Show that only frankly brainless fool will rejoice when others feel grief. Always, always, Mogoth, some of these biped ones will experience grief – and that way others will be stripped of joy. Show them how coercion, based on aggression and fear, is being much more effective than some dribbling-pink friendly snivels! And don't let them reflect on a temporary effect of the first and global effect of the second, otherwise, they will turn away from us once and for all, having asked our enemy for what they call as "purification". When you deprive them of sources of life's joy, Mogoth, you will strip them of love for life. Having stripped them of love for their own life, you will gradually deprive them of love for lives of others.

Show them that love has no reasons to be – that it's senseless, just an ungrateful waste of own spiritual energy – and they will willingly come to us and pass our fiery purification!

***

Mogoth, my loyal soldier, how do I love you with our all-devouring love! More and more I am becoming convinced of how correct was my choice and how I and the one standing over me wasn't mistaken in you. "Truly", – as one of our old enemies used to speak, – truly I speak: in your cursed battle for souls of these mortals you have become one of our best prophets!

You were absolutely right, having used that turmoil and misunderstanding in their hearts and minds, which was already formed and continues to live, eating them from within for centuries. Our called prophets worked well in due time, having interfered, mixed and altered that knowledge, given to them by prophets of our eternal enemy. For several planetary centuries already they cannot "separate grain from a ryegrass", Mogoth! They are lost in attempts to understand these "sacred books", "revelations", "teachings", which have become so contradictory at present. They, due to their natural spiritual blindness, aren't capable to sort out of what was included there by our prophets and prophets of our hated foe. And this creates doubts, Mogoth, – doubts about which I told you before as of that key that will eventually open us a path to their souls.

Moreover, now these "doctrines" begin contradicting each other. Use that well, Mogoth! Use that to convince each group of these followers in their own as if special exclusiveness, their selectness for a great cause, in the correctness of their ways and at the same time in the total falsehood of ways of other followers. Let them start fighting each other on any trifles, concerning most insignificant aspects of these heritages, and let them never notice how uniform these teachings still remain in their basic essence (it's so damned to realize that even we aren't omnipotent, Mogoth!). Seeing this senseless fight of various religious followers with each other, best ones in their ranks will eventually be disappointed in a way they follow, for they will inevitably associate their chosen way with a need of this most stupid fighting. And as soon as they lose this moral ground, Mogoth, – they will inevitably become ours in due times.

Don't worry about those ones who, not belonging to any followers of any doctrines, will still manage to keep this eternal spiritual essence, granted to them by the Maker. They are so few, Mogoth, that I can count them all on fingers of one my sharp-clawed paw! They won't be able to alter mass consciousness, they are doomed to fail.

Create, Mogoth, create an atmosphere of hatred and hostility between followers of these doctrines. Strengthen it, having pointed for each one on the absurdity of beliefs of others, speaking nothing of the absurdity of their own beliefs. Show them, how pleasant it's to seek for these absurd in doctrines of others. Let them publicly speak of exclusiveness of their belief, let them trample down belief of others, and let them never understand that their so-called "faith" has nothing in common with that Faith which our ancient enemy wanted them to grow inside. Gradually, having convinced themselves in selectness of own "belief", they will become those mindless fanatics, which our eternal father wants them to be. Deprived of last remnants of reason, these "faithful" will once become great soldiers of our invincible fiery cohorts!

***

Whether what you have recently done is right, Mogoth, you ask me? Right, – I will tell you – because that deed also eventually leads to our long-awaited ultimate last victory.

I have already spoken to you about their imperfect mass consciousness, but I should tell you this as well – don't be afraid to reduce the number of embodied ones in their world. There are no contradictions in these two pieces of advice of mine, Mogoth. The contradiction – that's what's capable to evolve their consciousness and destroy it as well due to another mistake of their Maker, – it's totally uncommon for us. Everything that conducts to our inevitable victory and defeat of our enemy – all of this can be put to use with the unholy approval of our Unspeakable father.

You acted right, Mogoth, not letting him to be embodied. This particular person with such great and... brrr!... pure soul – he could become a serious support to our enemy in our common war if he managed to come to this planetary physical plane. But now he has to wait for several decades of planetary years before this possibility arises again. And I am not speaking of this tremendous pain which he should have experienced, being torn apart alive by scalpels of these "doctors". My entire essence rejoices at the very thought of it!

Let him reflect on how painful it is – to serve our enemy! Now, Mogoth, comes the most important and difficult part of that deed – you must not let his mother, who have killed him, to feel repentance for what she has done. Repentance – that's what too generous Maker gave them, that's what can turn them away from us even in their final steps, making them speak to our enemy and being pulled out immediately from our darkest fiery chasms. You shouldn't let her feel guilty!

Show her why this deed was so natural and necessary. Convince her that this unembodied child, if he was born, would bring her incredible number of "problems" – what she always so diligently sought to escape. Try to connect her with similar people, not allowing to see and understand the joy of motherhood. Stop any long-term contact with happy mothers that have preferred difficulties of child-care to ease of own problems-free life. Doctors, whom the hand of our father has once touched, have already made of part of that deed, having convinced her that they have killed just a piece of matter instead of a living man – and you must keep supporting this false belief inside her.

Now, several first months after this event – they will become both yours and her trial. Shield her from excessive emotional disorders, try to satisfy some of her materialistic desires – that will distract her consciousness from comprehending of her major mistake. Let her go to concerts, cinema and in every imaginable way join what they are calling "culture" and what for several decades already have been our main tool of formation of their mass consciousness. Allow her to feel like an extremely "modern" woman and never understand that these eternal truths, about which prophets of our enemy was talking about, can never be either modern or unmodern as well. And if only – oh, how magnificent this achievement would be! – you can force her to repeat that mistake a second time – she will forever be ours, Mogoth! Some of them, who have once committed child-killing, can be overtaken by this pathetic repentance, – but it can never reach those who have consciously repeated that same deed – they die for our enemy and reborn for eternal life in our ranks.

Never, Mogoth! Never for our enemy – and eternally for us! They, these female murderers, after disembodiment they will become our Maidens of Death, waging war with forces of our enemy for fates of children in this world – and the very nature of life will shiver on their terrifying and unshakable approach!

***

My called one, my devoted servant! Truly (as prophets of our enemy like to speak) you never cease to surprise me with that persistence and composure with which you continue to achieve our common goal.

Culture, no matter how disgusting it's for me to pronounce that word, which is so close in its true meaning to the initial essence of the Maker, culture – that's what has been intended to be a great purifier of human souls and what now became our main weapon in our battle for them! Can there be anything more appealing than the contemplation of how once moral and pure individual, having plunged himself in this culture, gradually loses last remnants of human-likeness and, as they call it, humanity, turning into a wild animal, bridled by primitive passions, and thus inevitable walks closer and closer to us? Whether there is something more pleasing than the contemplation of how our ranks grow with each passing day? Is there is anything more desirable than these cursed human souls for our invincible father? Truly, Mogoth, all qualities, given to them by this unwise Maker, – all of them will serve us one way or another – one only needs to know how he can use each to our advantage. You, Mogoth, managed to learn it.

As you have noticed, their so-called culture became mass now, just like their art – it ceased to be a destiny of most hated by us few individuals. By itself it had to become a sign of that "Kingdom of God", of which prophets of our foe used to speak, however unloved by us Maker made yet another mistake by wishing (if he is capable of wishing at all) the fastest realization of his "plan" (if such his actions can be called that way at all). Now, when consciousnesses of their majority have been darkened by our warriors and prophets, when lots of their souls, thanks to their inner instability, were touched by a hand of our father, – now such newly appeared creators are going to destroy last remnants of this culture. There are hordes of them, Mogoth, – there are thousands. But in the upcoming times, foreseen by the Unspeakable One, there will be tens of thousands of creators of a new age. Our pawns, who keep considering themselves as free ones, educators of our dark era. And then, Mogoth, thanks to the mentioned aspect of a consciousness of these beings – last strongholds of a true culture will crumble, and their world will be forever ours!

Therefore help these new creators to be widely-known, even if in this embodiment they haven't been gifted by the Maker with any significant talents. The less they are – the better, Mogoth. Let many others hear and speak of them often – for when many talks about you, inevitably there come those who due to immanent envy begin to imitate you either by their free will or involuntarily, no matter how bad you are in nature. We will make sure that numbers of these imitating ones grow steadily.

Help these ones, which you have put forward, to consider themselves as somewhat special, exclusive – even allow them to compare themselves with night suns – for these stars are only visible in the darkness, visible in our future kingdom, Mogoth! Therefore they must not feel neither for money nor for same cursed by us "mentors". Help these creators of ours at first stages – and the vanguard of most "modern" beings of their society will push them forward.

But in the name of all circles of our planes, never let them see how ugly and pitiful these "present times" have already become! Let them in their never-ending ignorance continue to believe that they are capable to "develop" only by ascending, don't let them see the abyss they have already come to. The more there are those who have stepped over this fiery barrier – the closer is our relentless triumph and ultimate defeat of our enemy.

Let these newborn creators start glorifying various animal instincts in humans as their inherent quality as if it's a blessing of the Maker itself. Let them seek and find most unworthy manifestations of their society's life, and let them present it as though it was at the very least a "simple realism", and ideally – "new cultural trends". And afterward "culture fans" will do all the rest...

Act, Mogoth, use the weakness you have found – and let their day become the night and creators – our flaring stars in it!

***

What can be better than to hear their praises to our father, who have betrayed the Maker, what can be tastier than to feel hatred, poured by them on the Maker?!

Mogoth, Mogoth, how crafty you have managed to entice this "believer" into our ranks! To strengthen his faith at first, to bring it almost to the tops, when it becomes extremely strong and immeasurably vulnerable at the same time – and then to bring it down into the abyss like a heavy stone! To tell the truth, even I, who is standing to the right of our father, couldn't play it out better than you.

Such "betrayed" by the Maker believers – after the disembodiment, they become our best Commanders of Hopelessness and always and up to the day of their final merge with the Unspeakable One faithfully serve us. Now not only he doesn't have a faith, but even a sign of trust, which is so necessary for the Maker to help these unfortunate ones – and from now on our enemy won't be able to reach him anymore.

Having cut the thread of life of his believer's relative, you have broken off the thread of his belief, Mogoth. They, these ones, who have almost reached our enemy, become very sensitive to all living beings and their relatives in particular – yet another "blessing" of the Maker, which has become their curse!

To help him believe in the nearby presence of our enemy, in his care of him, in his help – and then to cut off a thread of his relative's life – his son. And in what way... not some common simple and painless parting with a physical body, but tortures, sufferings, agony! How I enjoyed, Mogoth, seeing and feeling his pain, when he was slowly dying from knives of these murderers and then from a blood loss, not able to shout and call for help even a single man in this ruthless – thanks to humans, and not us, notice! – world.

His sufferings redeemed his past guilt, Mogoth, and he could get into a bosom of our enemy – but his father will never join him and come to these otherworldly heights! Now he will continue to accuse our enemy of this loss and shortly afterward will finally renounce him, having not understood that he, our enemy, never took away and doesn't take away violently from this life any soul against her own will.

Well, let him keep this bliss of ignorance until his essence transforms itself to a state, where it can be devoured by our eternal father. Things are easy – not to allow him to reflect on this trick of ours, not to let him say a sincere prayer for the Maker. None of us could still understand why such pure-heart call to our enemy was capable to destroy all our influences and tear off all threads, connecting us with a human – and we still have no idea of how to oppose it. Therefore don't allow him to think of it deeply, because in that case in due time he can even begin thinking that the death of his son was some kind of important lesson and incomprehensible logic of the Maker, thus turning away from us. Oh, silly mortals, all strange logic of our foe they are ready to present as "incomprehensibility"!

Let all his essence continue to boil with anger, just like now, let his mouth continue to accuse our enemy of the death he wasn't involved in, and let the Maker in his eternal calmness shudder from the realization of what those humans have chosen, being given a free will!

***

The man that you have told me about, Mogoth, is one of those who, with instigation of our enemy (of course, they continue to consider it as their own free choice), comes to this plane with a mission to bring closer that unrealizable "Kingdom of God", "Paradise on Earth", about which I spoke to you already. If the atmosphere of their childhood and youth will help develop these inner qualities, given to them by the Maker for this purpose, – they can become very dangerous for the fulfillment of our plan. Having acquired continuous heart-based link with our foe, and being able to influence a spiritual essence of other people, they are capable to ruin our plans over and over again with regards of some of those who are coming to us. A grade of the planetary influence of these individuals isn't too great (because even our enemy has to follow the rules he has once written), but their numbers keep growing, Mogoth! It seems that our foe exposes them as leaders for others "honest workers" (if only you knew how unpleasant for me this phrase is, connecting the unconnected!). Pathetic pawns of the Maker, considering themselves capable to transform this world on his directives! We will disembody them, Mogoth, and then their souls will be devoured by the Unspeakable One!

Therefore, we must not let them grow up and comprehend the Maker quietly and painless, we have to make the very nature of their life intolerable. Create an atmosphere of internal hostility and rivalry in their families. Let husband quarrel with a wife, and wife – with a husband, let such a child start absorbing this wonderful stench from a young age, and over time – begin considering it natural and self-evident. Let his mother become filled with hatred to a husband – and even better if she becomes disappointed in her former choice. As you already know, in the infancy period of these children their bond with mother is extremely strong, so feelings and desires of a mother gradually become feelings and desires of a newborn child, and vice versa. Therefore, the more anger and hostility she experiences during that period, the better, Mogoth. And if you manage to transform such mothers into aforementioned Maidens of Death – I will personally ask our father to give you their souls!

If you find yourself unable to harden his mother, you can always use rivalry between children, if there are more than one of them in a given family. Let elder children fight with younger for the attention of their parents, and let such fight gradually becomes a meaning of their life, the very essence of their existence. By turning since childhood his attention away from important matters and concentrating it on family squabbles, you will deprive him an opportunity to reach the Maker in due time – and then we shall take advantage of it.

And if you still cannot destroy their family's harmony, you can always use others, who are unaware of this harmony at all. Their schools will suit this purpose as best as possible. Houses, which should have served as strongholds of humanity and wisdom, have now, thanks to our constant efforts, become regions of cruelty, indifference and contempt. Use such people, whom this grabby hand of a distant Maker hasn't reached yet, use them all as pawns in fights against such a person. Make them hate this person for the very fact of his earthly existence. Allow them to feel that they are lesser than he in some regards, that they have yet to reach while he has reached it already – but let it turn not into their desire to change themselves, but their hatred to him.

Almost for certain he will be alone in his aspiration – and your pawns are like legion, – and, as one of these puny mortals once said, "one man is no man". Let him be beaten, let him be humiliated and brought down on his knees – and let them feel their strength and his weakness in the process. This will gradually harden his heart, it has to! Over time he, certainly, will begin considering his oppressors as "lower beings" in order to somehow compensate in his soul for all those sufferings they have put him through – and by doing that he will provoke them against him even more without our full-scale and otherworldly assistance. And, having started despising them in return, he will forever lose that binding thread of the Maker and forget about his duty.

If it turns out, that the Maker awarded this individual with a bright mind – the better it is for us. Help him use this gift to the detriment of our enemy. Let him be successful in rather complex intellectual challenges, let him learn this success from their solving, the joy that he has managed to overtake someone on this path – no matter how narrow and endless it is. That way in due time he will not only start despising his direct oppressors but many other people around him as being less intellectually developed. The mind isn't capable to comprehend the Maker – and by developing only his mind your victim will be moving further and further away from an understanding of what some other mortal fool called as "the simple truth". It will be magnificent if you manage to convince him to lean only on that mind during his youth and adulthood – and together with all our influences, which their society has already undergone, it shouldn't be too difficult, especially for you.

Let him achieve what is traditionally considered as signs of life's success and welfare – the more he becomes tied to this wellbeing, the more difficult it will be for him to reject it afterward in order to follow our enemy's path. Moreover, when subsequently our opponent will try to approach him and destroy his self-made prison – what a delightful stream of anger and misunderstanding he will receive in return! This is what was exactly meant by a famous prophet of our foe, which was afterward translated rather roughly and inexactly by these mortals as the phrase, that a rich one won't enter a kingdom of heaven.

Therefore, let his adulthood be successful in every aspect, which will be apprehended by him as yet another proof of his initial correctness, which has now grown deserved fruits. The less there will be doubts in the correctness of his contempt for other "lower" people, the less is his chances to hear the Maker's voice, appealing to him via life's circumstances. Thus don't ever allow him to think of how wrong is this way of contempt, how impossible it's to truly love some people while despising and hating others at the same time. Don't allow him to decide, that former offenses were only a test of his love for mankind, which is required for final formation of his heart-based bond with our foe. Having once understood that, he will leave from under our influence immediately! Oh, miserable mortals, why has the Maker awarded you with that ability to cut off these webs, which we have been crafting for decades, and in your aspiration to him evade all traps, placed by us on your way?! Pathetic, insignificant mortals, why have you become stronger in this regard than we are, best of his former soldiers, who have once stepped against him?!

Don't let ones such as he to once understand, that all their life has become one big trial of love to our enemy and everything he has created, don't allow them to address our foe with repentance for former misunderstanding of his motives! Having realized that and being filled with a grace of our enemy, they become almost invincible – and even subsequently sent by us diseases and misfortunes become incapable to shake their hearts and force to curtail from a path which leads directly to our enemy.

Having realized themselves as creators of a new era, they will inevitably try to start implementing plans of our foe. This cannot be allowed to happen, do you hear me, Mogoth?! If you make such a slip, I... I... in a word, don't allow this for your own and our general welfare!

I will send you one more of my warriors, Mogoth – together you will become indestructible. Act to ruin all plans of our enemy and destroy the very thought of too potential human "divinity"!

***

Well, Mogoth, I see that you are making progress on the path of our common inevitable celebration once again. For this reason, for your fidelity and devotion to our damned deed, I forgive you your last mistake with an unborn Maiden of Death. Don't miss the new upcoming opportunity this time, my devoted servant!

As I have already told you, their mind bears that defect, that critical "design error", which, due to his desire to see humans as free-willed ones, the Maker once put inside them. Of course, I am telling of what I have already called as "non-criticality" – or, to be more correct, – their natural stupidity and negligibility of their mind, bearing the very same primordial animal instincts throughout centuries.

As I already mentioned, their mortal mind isn't capable to comprehend the Maker by itself – a sort of inspiration, some kind of impulse is required from what these insignificant mortals call as "soul" – and what has been our most delicious food since the times of Descending.

Creating these beings, our enemy in his "great grace" has given to each of them a small indestructible part of himself – and thus potentially made them immortal. Fools, thinking of themselves as being made "by his image and similarity", if only they knew what great trial their "father" created for them by this act!

You already know, Mogoth, how each of such absorbed and consumed particle of the Maker makes us so much stronger, and you are aware, that prior to this process we should extinguish almost entirely its inborn light of the essence of our common foe. Even we, best of his former soldiers, cannot compete with this intrinsic light directly and are forced to carefully destroy it with long-lasting and careful efforts. So, Mogoth, the effect of this most intrinsic light, which manifests itself in their mortal bodies through what is usually called as "heart" – only it in combination with a mortal mind is capable to slightly open that door, with which the Maker as if purposely hide from them. But neither the heart nor the mind by itself separately is capable to promote this dirty "enlightenment" – and this, perhaps, will become their greatest defect, that will lead us to the victory over the light of their souls.

My damned warrior, now you should interfere with what they usually call as "science" – the destiny of a small number of most intellectually gifted by the Maker beings, who have now become especially vulnerable. Science as a manifestation of the reason, given to them, – that's what according to the plan of our enemy had to serve for comprehension of initial beauty and harmony of a given world, moving them closer to their father – for now it has become not an observer, but its executioner's, Mogoth! "Scientific" biped ones inevitably, as it was foreseen by the Unspeakable One, completely undergone the influence of their minds, having blocked another mentioned channel of communication with our foe. Inspired by a false idea of being capable to learn the essence of the surrounding world with only their minds, they began gradually destroying it – they turned against the life itself, Mogoth! Look, observe with your fiery gaze, Mogoth – and you shall effortlessly see, how great are their achievements for the last several hundreds of planetary years. Yes, they are truly immense – immense as a part of the plan of our mighty father!

Their planet groans under the oppression of their inventions, the tools of murder they have created make even our eternal father admire, their inner essence was reduced to a set of cellular conversions, their mind began destroying life. Truly, these creatures of our enemy have no idea of what they are doing – they don't fully understand what they have already created.

How sweet it is, Mogoth, how incredible it is for my entire being to observe, how other people, in whom bigger attention was granted to a second, heart component – how they rise against such a destruction. Their essence, still bearing remnants of memories of what it once was – their entire being rises against "starting dying from the birth", against such preparation and sorting of all life phenomena, including their own life. Fools, considering themselves as fighters for the existence of incomprehensible, if only they knew, how faithfully they serve our goals by revolting against science.

All roads lead to us, Mogoth, – and there are no straight ones by which they can easily come to our enemy. We shall use this battle between scientific and uneducated, learning and comprehending, thereby bringing closer the moment of an embodiment of the essence of our invincible father in their world. We will give those fighting against science a miracle, Mogoth, – for they are so eager to prove to everyone that there is at least a small amount of mysterious in this world that hasn't been carefully and methodically studied, classified and prepared.

Children, running for the conjurer, who has deceived them – that's whom they will become! Our incarnated Wizards of the Abyss are already working on that in their world, Mogoth, – and soon enough there will be legions of those, who have refused knowledge and believed in power and God-likeness of our servants. We will go further – we shall create schools and societies of magic, numerous Control Centers for Magic Perturbations, each with its loyal servants and students. Their practice of similar "miracles" will over time lead to a vast set of various mental disorders, their mind will be completely stripped of mentioned "criticality". And only after several decades of their planetary years – so insignificant for us term – those, who have refused knowledge in favor of miracle, will be deprived of last remnants of reason – we only must now allow them to understand, how not too far one is capable of travelling by moving exclusively on one leg instead of initially given two.

All roads lead to us, Mogoth, – one only needs to curtail from his way at least once.

***

Yes, Mogoth, exactly this, called by you as "dissoluteness", a trait of these mortals is so harmful to their journey to our enemy and so desirable for us. It continues promoting a general decrease in the viability of these people and the emergence of various cursed excesses and perversions. As you have probably already noticed, the number of individuals, who are subject to it, continue its steady growth, in which a special and great role is played by already known to you mass consciousness. Truly, these blind ones keep digging pits for each other to fall!

As you have already noticed on the example of observed individuals, a so-called "sexual" sphere of their relations underwent this influence especially considerably in the last several years. Their mortal and vulnerable body, which preserves al atavisms of previous animal evolution, and that particle of the indestructible essence of the Maker, which allows these bodies to truly live – in what great fight they are capable to engage with each other!

The Maker, known part of whose plan probably consisted in making these beings immortal inside and mortal outside, thereby over and over again giving them what is called as "free choice" for the purpose of evolution and improvement of these spiritual particles, granted to them, – this immemorial enemy of ours in his inconceivable desire to see them spiritually free has once again made a mistake, the price of which a soul of human.

This animal nature gradually begins to win, Mogoth, – it already triumphs! You foresaw yourself with a fiery gaze, Mogoth, – you foresaw these humans and their orgies. Everything has been finally mixed up – concepts, which our foe unsuccessfully tried to grow in them, concepts of due and inadmissible, natural and ugly (and ugly became natural at last!), animal-like and human-like (and humans became like animals!). How delightful it is to behold such people, who have reduced themselves to this state in their free will, and curtailed on our unjust path willingly!

Soon, so very soon, Mogoth, this new way will lead to total degradation and blurring of these animal and human borders. You saw it yourself, Mogoth, how they have ceased to be afraid to enter into sexual relations with others of similar gender; you saw it yourself how a sex, which should have been a manifestation of love to each other (no matter how disgusting it's for me to pronounce that word!), according to our enemy's plan, between two – male and female – beings, how it stopped being a shared secret of two and became an act of many. What can be more inspiring, than to see how this intrinsic light of the Maker, of which I have told you, fluctuates like a weak dying spark, being extinguished by a sudden wind's gust?! We are winning, Mogoth, and signs of our victory become clearly visible – just as our dark and fiery father has predicted.

Soon, so very soon these people will lose a major part of life forces, poured into them by the Maker at the moment of their birth – and become extremely vulnerable and readily available for us. They are those fools, considering this "free sex" as a major achievement of their era, who in their folly have thrown aside all wisdom and experience of past centuries!

The Maker, our eternal hated enemy, – he has given them a particle of his powers upon their arrival into this world, but due to own miscalculations has allowed each of them to use it at their sole discretion once again. He, our enemy, has given them the vital knowledge that only through the love, which is the very nature of him, they are capable to comprehend and approach him, gaining new powers for own growth, so that they can in a distant future return back to him, but already transformed.

They didn't hear him, they mockingly discarded this knowledge as not corresponding with their true inclinations! Now since a young age, they spend these powers only for a mutual fight, from time to time finding imaginary rest in what they began calling as sex – what has gradually departed from that essence of love, which our enemy desired to see in them, – as far as it was ever possible. Having lost this basis of love, they should have inevitably come to its substitutes – and they indeed came to that sorry state, the direct witnesses of which you became, Mogoth.

Let these nobodies keep going down this road! With time their sex will rip their souls of last sparks of true love and suck away all vital forces. They will begin having sex with animals, they will start going crazy, fall into long-term depressions and melancholy, for which their doctors won't find an explanation – and subsequently finish off own lives with suicides, cursing this life and the one who has created it, not having realized, that it wasn't the Maker who cursed them – these were they.

Let them keep descending by this road of permissiveness, let they not stop or curtail from it! Our victory is already close, Mogoth, as our eternal father was saying, – "And they will curse my enemy and themselves – and accept my fiery baptism. And, having accepted my baptism, they will become an eternal part of me, knowing no pain, love or defeats".

Go forth, Mogoth, go and fulfill our great plan!

***

Who could possibly think, that completion of the next part of our inscrutable plan will be such an easy task? Truly, these blind men pushing each other into a chasm! I, who is standing to the right of the Unspeakable One, is truly satisfied with you, Mogoth, and your recent progress on their plane. Unbreakable is broken, incompatible is being connected – this means that the prophecies, opened for us by our eternal father in his dark providence, are being fulfilled at last.

What can be more beautiful, than fostered by them mutual hatred to each other, what can be more reassuring, than a fight of whole nations for who knows what goals, – a fight that, thanks to our father, has no visible ending?!

Ah, Mogoth, Mogoth, if it was only possible for you to feel what I am feeling now even for a tiny period of time continuum's life! Neither one, nor two, nor one hundred of these mortals – but thousands and hundreds of thousands, each day facing each other in their last deadly fight for unknown goals of their leaders – oh, Unspeakable One, how fine is that all! Truly, these blinded ones now dig extensive funeral holes for each other every day.

You, certainly, still remember how difficult it was for us to implement something similar uncountable millennia ago? Primitive biped ones, they have been so limited by the very nature of their plane, that they couldn't seriously harm each other. For now, everything has changed – their "mind" (yet another curse with which this inscrutable Maker rewarded them!) has already almost done all that was necessary, and at present time they can eradicate an entire planet from life in their physical plane.

It might seem like a perfect moment to use our called ones to provoke the usage of these deadly weapons through them, creating an apocalypse for the entire world – but plans of our eternal father are much wider and more far-sighted, Mogoth. Indeed, agony and pain of billions of these creatures, dying in one wonderful instant of time – they would certainly be a truly damned and delicious food for all of us and bring considerably closer that day, when last constraining us fetters fall in ashes and we become free again – and, nevertheless, it would be insufficiently. Even the apocalypse of their entire world, no matter how grandiose it could be, won't give a chance for our father to be sated to the extent when he becomes able to break constraining us on our plane barriers. And for this reason, we have chosen another way, Mogoth, – a slower path, but inevitably leading us to victory. We won't destroy them all at once – we will keep killing them one by one – until a chalice of our enemy's compassion (if he is even capable to feel something like that) to his pathetic creations becomes filled and he "in his eternal glory" descends into their world himself and finally becomes vulnerable for us – or until the power we gather becomes enough for our father to break that constraining barrier, starting the process of our Outcome. Whichever of this comes earlier – all of this is what was expected and calculated by us uncountable eons before, making our final victory inevitable! And before this time comes – we will be killing them gradually, Mogoth, – killing them with their own hands.

You have certainly noticed the beginning of a new, long-awaited process when they in their madness try to divide their planetary homeworld into a heap of small separate pieces? Just like innocent children (and what prophet of our enemy did say, that they belong to this "Kingdom of God"?!) they try to pull their common toy in different directions, and everyone is sincerely hoping, that it was a gift for him only without understanding how these "competitions" can end. There are now several hundreds of them, Mogoth, – several hundreds of "states"! Their planet has gone – it has died, Mogoth, in order to be sliced into a thousand and one piece for the benefit of separate groups of these mortals – and finally these "children" (and how isn't the Maker become tired from calling them as such?!) began killing each other for a piece that they do not possess.

It's such a blessed damnation – to see, how separate groups of mortals gather up around these pieces, each with its own "great" leader, everyone with his best religion and history, with own brightest future, with chosen nation... each idiot with a false idea to control a part of their common gift! With such a speed these biped ones will soon implement our plan even without our direct otherworldly assistance!

To strengthen the feeling of a selectness of his "nation", his "state", his "country" in souls of each of them, to bring it to extremes, to put into governments of states those who were touched by our hand – and they will finish the rest. Let them cease trusting each other, let them see only future plots and deceptions in the actions of others, let them seek only personal gain and interests of their state (which has become so narrow) everywhere, let them constantly conduct never-ending skirmishes, let their relation to each other transform into fighting like the one of wild beasts, and children of their children once feel a taste of revenge! Truly, they will never understand, that they have divided what couldn't be divided – for they have divided it nevertheless!

Oh, Maker, why couldn't you reward these representatives of your herd with even a small piece of true rationality, so that they could at least somehow try to resist the upcoming of our plan and thus amuse us a little? Truly, Mogoth, these nobodies resemble those saints of antiquity, who were clearing this planet from filth by generously fertilizing it with the blood of sinners.

What can be said of their "charity", which has become a strangled cry of the dying conscience! Oh, it resembles a situation as though their next saint, having just killed parents of a small child, blesses him, hiding in horror, and even gives him a coin as a token of own great and immemorial generosity! No, Mogoth, it's even more amusing – it's similar as though some of them stands down on his kneels before our enemy and in his warm prayer asks the Maker to destroy all foes of this mortal, thus strengthening his "belief"! Exactly about such type of our prophets I have told you, Mogoth, – oh, how delightfully it's to see their birth! Indeed, let them only for the sake of calming of own aching conscience and not for own souls help all these "starving poor children in such a country", these "unfortunate victims of such bloody acts", refusing to accept so truthful and unacceptable for their sated and self-satisfied consciousnesses thought, for exactly they in own aspiration to divide inseparable became the main reason of similar disasters.

Let their conscience sleep – and generosity triumphs, let their eyes behold – and heart be silenced, let them, who are always looking around and never ahead of themselves, continue going to their final destination, where there will once be all of those, whose fates were predetermined at the time of our father's ascension. Divided, scattered, separated – what can they do against us, united in our goal, us, who are piercing worlds?!

They will tear out each other eyes, pierce each other hearts, curse and damn each other – and then, in that inevitable moment, that foreseen and predicted instant, that moment of truth – last constraining us barriers will be destroyed at last!

***

To be honest, those reports on your activity, which I have been receiving from another ward, disturb me, Mogoth. You couldn't fulfill your newly assigned task again – or, perhaps, you had no desire to do it? What kind of force majeure circumstances have prevented you from breaking a formed spiritual bond between two known to you lovers? Why have you ignored designated strange accident of a sudden spiritualizing of our former devoted and well-tested prophet, who has appealed to the Maker? Why haven't you helped to receive that lottery prize to a specified individual, as it was originally planned, in order to lead him away from the path, which was prepared for him by our enemy, having transformed him afterward into most practical businessman? Why haven't you planted seeds of disputes in that on-stage performance group of workers, of which you were told by my assistant, thereby having interrupted their so unbearable for us activity for a long time? Have you already exhausted your potential?

Mogoth, I demand answers! Till now you have always faithfully served our common cause – and I had no reasons to doubt your devotion so far, and for that very reason, you are still at large and free in their plane. But both you and I – we all perfectly know, what happens to those few, who for unclear reasons once betray our fiery father – and the fate of that prophet, who has betrayed us and whose case you so carelessly ignored, can serve as yet another fitting example of it! He was disintegrated, Mogoth, – his last appeal to our foe wasn't enough to expiate centuries of former serving to our cursed deed – and we managed to capture his escaping spiritual essence, no matter how forcefully it was soaring upwards! Now he is disembodied and stays in that temporal Black Hole of Souls, about which you have been already told more than once. Shortly afterwards he will stand before the Unspeakable One himself, so that he can during these last moments of his independent life behold the great power of the one, against whom he has dared to act – the one, who will turn his spiritual essence into ashes and forever devour it, having cleared from any filth of goodness and light, so that its power, like powers of thousands of similar essences, will once, only for the Maker and Unspeakable One known hour, was used in order to finally build our kingdom in their pathetic worlds, forever sealing it from the Maker's access.

One way or another, his insignificant essence will serve us well – just like your essence will, no matter whether you will stay with us or suddenly decide to discard the hand that has grown you.

My loyal companions will continue to watch over you, Mogoth, to watch every step you make – and, if that is required, I will send the very Reader of Souls to be assured of your devotion – or that the absence of which will be stopped and punished with all possible diligence.

But nevertheless I "believe" (how still terrible does this word sound, bearing an imprint of our enemy in itself!), Mogoth, – I know, that you are not capable to betray our unholy deed and distinctly see, how unwise is the Maker, who has casted us all aside, and how small and doomed to failure are all his plans. I am certain that you will never make the same mistakes again and direct all your efforts to show your dark gift, which is so loved by me, be you not a son of the Fallen Paladin!

Shortly my next envoy will send you news with a wish of what is required. Don't consider it similar to previous one – this time in the case of failure we won't be able to, as these mortals usually put it, "let it all go", – from the paws, not hands, certainly. I believe, that you won't let us down – you have been warned of the consequences.

Act, Mogoth, and I conjure you with all circles of Hell, – don't make us regret choosing you!

***

Well, Mogoth, I am glad that you have listened to my last words and evaluated them correctly. Your recent successes allow us to hope, that you are indeed capable to estimate reality very sensibly.

As you have correctly noticed, recently chaos in their minds intertwined with chaos in their souls – so awaited and loved by us phenomenon. Further and further away they are traveling from that initial essence, put inside them by our foe, and transformation and reign of which he wanted to see in them – and, thereby, continue approaching our domain more and more promptly.

Now they have forgotten how to love and trust, let both of these feelings be damned for eternity! At present moment they have already seriously plunged themselves into the illusion of what they consider the only existing reality, and finally became vulnerable to our Fallen Paladins. Their mind – what these biped ones consider as the only available tool for learning of their world – what dirty trick it is almost ready to play with them, what blessed spiritual chaos it is capable to create!

You very correctly used it to help them prevail over love in their souls – almost like the way they have won against the nature of their plane in due time. Now, when they gradually evade from the realization of that uniform entity, on the basis of which our enemy created them and all known to us worlds and planes, – right now our opportunities to finally alter their intended way increase immensely. Now, when they gradually lose this feeling and their saving grace, they become more and more vulnerable to our dark influences. They will be ill, Mogoth, – not understanding the cause of their diseases and where to find a cure. They will hate, Mogoth, – without an understanding what this hate has replaced. They will abuse and scold our foe, without recognizing themselves as the only responsible ones for their sorry state, in which they will be living. And when they finally reject this cursed love and lose faith in it – they will become forever ours.

Now, when they gradually lose this feeling and this saving protection, they become more and more vulnerable to our dark influences. They will be ill, Mogot, – without understanding, what has caused their diseases and where to find medicine. They will hate, Mogot, – without realizing, their hatred came to the become empty place of what. They will abuse and abuse our enemy, without having managed to recognize only themselves responsible for that status in which they will begin to stay. And when they, at last, will finally refuse this damned love and will lose a faith in it – during that instant they forever will become ours.

It happens soon – just as was foreseen by the Unspeakable One. Externally healthy will be giving birth to ill-ones and externally ill-ones will be giving birth to healthy. Decent ones will be considered criminals – and criminals will look like decent ones. Respected ones will become contemptible, and contemptible will achieve respect. Joy will be transformed into hatred – and hatred will give them joy. Righteous ones will turn out to be sinners – and among sinners, righteous ones will be found. Love will be transformed into the illusion – and illusions will fill their minds. The future will disappear, having left its place to the present, – and that present will hate the past and destroy the future. White will be black, and black look like white, – and, having mixed up, they will form what will be recognized by humans as perfection. And when all of it will occur, time itself will turn back, allowing them to behold what they have come to – yet they will have no more time to be terrified, for the last prophecy will be fulfilled and the Unspeakable One will come out of his long-term prison in order to battle against the Maker for this world and prevail.

But so far they still have some time, because all the power of our father is still not enough to break the barriers, constraining him – and therefore we, his faithful servants, should use this time to bring closer the instant of his final damned triumph. And you, Mogoth, still remain one of those few thousands, that day after day and hour after an hour bring this blissful moment closer. And your recent success with the transformation of this loving mortal into a tyrant, who hates and despises others, as best as possible proves, that it is in our power to achieve the similar transformation of these beings.

Whether it's not pleasant to see, how powerless are they before our influence, how strongly at ours approach they try to cling to all "earthly" things, for which they have got so used to, not realizing, where their only salvation lies. They are similar to those silly swimmers, who not only aren't capable to come to the rescue of drowning another but are ready to drown voluntarily if they see a flash of some nonexistent magical treasure somewhere in depths. Well, let them, having almost reached it, suddenly see, that this gloss of a treasure was nothing more than a deep reflection of a sun in a water, – and they won't have either power, no air anymore in order to break the surface. Pitiful small fishes, who are greedy incorporating last remnants of water oxygen with own gills, never will they understand, that the sun, which beams they have taken for a treasure, lies not in far depths, but over their own heads, which are forever lowered down. And let them never say, that they have not chosen this way, let them not complain to the Maker, – for even he, the Maker, has no power to cancel the uniform laws, that has once made.

And for now – let them have a good time. Let them celebrate these, of course, great achievements in science and technology. Let them be sated and satisfied and never become sensitive. Let them use morality to shield from a stench of own spiritual decay. Let them turn love into a purchase, even not always successful. Let their joy be born from life's successes and their hatred – from purification. Let their sexuality be awoken to replace love. Let their conscience never wake up, and their heart is silenced forever. And let them nevermore raise their heads.

Prophecies are being executed, and our time is coming. The moment of the destruction of last barriers is not too far.

***

It's much easier to destroy than to create, but even we in our damned battle should make use of the second once in a while. I mean, certainly, a destruction of love as bases of bases and creation of hatred and contempt. Ah, how sweet it is to taste the fruits of our works!

These pathetic, puny lovers, how easily they fall for our tricks! Most of them, and especially young ones, don't stand up against even a single considerable obstacle. Unwillingness of the husband to have children, inability of the wife to always be wise and "understanding" and not just when it's impossible to do otherwise, excessive use by the husband of invented by us alcoholic beverages, too strong attachment of the wife for those "pretty belongings", despised by the majority of men, and at last some almost inborn inability to have a good-natured (what a hated word!) attitude to shortcomings of each other. A thousand and one way to destroy and turn their pathetic love into a dust – and even more ways to never give it a chance to be born.

Oh, Maker, who has rejected us, what pathetic beings are you capable of creating?! Whether it was you, just one, who has taught them how to kill each other with mutual offenses? Whether it was you, oh most gracious one, who have told them that unrequited love is a damnation, given to them by the heavens? Whether it was you, many-faced, who have convinced them that a love between the man and the woman, and not the love of a human for the entire universe, is the only form of love? Whether it was you, the purest one, who have helped them understand, that animal-like sex can be a true replacement for the love? Perhaps it was you, who have given them children as a weapon in their endless fights against each other? Have you deprived them of patience, whether you have created all conditions so that their joy became their common grief and their feelings became those fading tiny sparks, which are carelessly dying away when a spiritual night approaches?

We, who have renounced you, already know your answer. To the worse for you and your pawns, who still haven't learned how to love each other! Why do you continue to care and protect them? What are you hoping to achieve? Do you really think that they, your slaves (even though you got used to calling them as children), will somehow seriously change for the better during one hundreds of years, if they haven't managed to change during entire millennia?! Do you really hope that they will, at last, hear you, while they were deaf to hundreds and thousands of voices of your messengers?

Are you not capable to understand, that they haven't been yours for a long time already?! They belong to us, they were initially ours – and now will forever remain as such. We have already won. Look, behold these pathetic creatures – and be terrified, oh all-powerful one! They curse you, they hate each other, they have almost destroyed the world that you have created for them, they have already approached the last red line. They are seminormal, these humans of yours, they have turned back. The circle will be formed soon and their potential divinity will be no more.

Refuse them before they have finally turned away from you, give them to us! Let their souls be profaned, these pathetic mortals haven't deserved your intervention and aid! Give them to us while it's still not too late – or behold the anger of our eternal father, who is already breaking off the last barriers of the not-made-by-you prison!

Our power is growing – and now even you, no matter how great is your might, won't be able to stop us. Last barriers are falling. We are coming!

***

Mogoth, pathetic and insignificant fool, how dared you to reject the hand, which has been growing and feeding you, how dared you to betray our common great cause?! Pitiful fosterling, feeding on our boundless trust, how have you dared to destroy my envoy, who was watching you, how dared to raze to dust all my cherished hopes for your use?! The demon from fresh and blood, how have you dared to stand against your brothers, wasn't afraid to oppose us all? Pathetic worm, unworthy to kowtow at our legs, falsely assuming himself as being capable to become "truly free"!

Do you really believe, that this Maker will be capable to protect you from our just anger, do you really hope, that the one who has been watching quietly all excesses of these people for whole millennia will suddenly decide to take care of some pathetic servant of his enemies?! Do you really hope that he, our eternal irreconcilable foe, will give you a chance to exist in their world in a form that is inherent to them? How silly and pathetic are your plans, traitor!

Our revenge will be terrible, Mogoth! You won't manage to hide in their world, you will not escape from us! My faithful servants will find you – and your fate will be more dreadful than a fate of the most impudent of our traitors!

Each particle of your essence will undergo transformation and will be devoured by the Unspeakable One – but we will mercifully give you a pleasure not be absorbed instantly. Your memory and personality will be gone, but your consciousness will remain – we won't destroy it until the barriers, constraining our father, aren't totally destroyed – and the moment the last of them falls, you will be destroyed as well – the Unspeakable One will devour last remnants of your dying consciousness, and during that last instant you shall see, how our father is being released from the prison – and how all planes of existence shiver under his feet! You will understand, that you were late, you will realize, how helpless from the very beginning you were to oppose us, no matter how cunning and artfully you tried to mislead us, in immense horror you shall experience all this... and that very instant you will be no more. It will be a merciful death and during that last moment you, probably, will still be able to thank us for it.

Don't even think that your life among these mortals will be a long one – sooner or later we will seek you out, or you will willingly come back to us, not being able to live among them. Your earthly life will become your nightmare, Mogoth, – and you will at last understand, why even our enemy has decided not to interfere with its course for millennia!

From now on you will be the Exiled, Mogoth, – and each and every our ally, an incalculable quantity of which we have even on this planet, will consider it as an honor to make us a service by having caught you. Our hunting is just beginning. You shall not escape.

Live for now – and let your life among these mortals become yet another reminder to the Maker of what almost all of his creations once come to. Live, Mogoth, but remember, that your age will be extremely short for now – and even our eternal enemy won't be able to come to your aid.

Live, Mogoth, but know – we are coming for you. Your fate is sealed.

31.12.2006

## Miracle

There lived people in the world, and sadly and burdensome have they been living. From the birth did they desire something unusual, magical. A holiday of the joy of life they did want to come, yet were incapable of creating it themselves. And therefore the world of theirs was grayish and boring, and sadly they have lived. But some of them yet dreamed in hearts of theirs of the great Miracle, the finest of all they have met. Such a Miracle, from beholding of which their eyes would start shining, and their hearts would light up with a fire of faith. And so these dreaming ones have begged the heavens, asking to console hearts of theirs and to give them the great Miracle to remember it forevermore, thus keeping the faith in their hearts eternally.

And this prayer of theirs, sincere and kind, was heard by the heavens, and heavenly Wanderers have asked their divine Father what miracle to give to His beloved children for their hearts to tremble in admiration, and tears of joy to be born in their eyes. And it has been decided to make the Divine Miracle live among them forever, never abandoning them. So that men can always behold it with their eyes and feel its touches with their souls. So that a source of joy and light inspiration will never extinguish for them.

And dissolved and spread a Miracle Divine, sent from the heavens, in the world of humans invisibly to always remain near people and close to them from that moment and forever on.

And embodied it was in the bright light of the sun and in the rustle singing of trees.

In joyful murmur of water streams and morning singing of birds did it show itself.

In sea surfs, sunsets and sunrises lilac-pinky it was embodied.

In clouds dairy-sugar, by a sky eternally wandering, the beauty of that Miracle, which has filled the world of men, was reflected.

In a purifying rain, the care of that Miracle of the souls of humans was marked.

In the shining of children eyes, the sparks of that invisible Miracle forever remained.

In an infinite number of things and phenomena have this Miracle appeared, reflecting its Creator generosity and greatness.

Everywhere have this Miracle entered, in each cell of the world, made for men, have it managed to come, having enlightened it and transformed. And did believe Wanderers of heavens that the Miracle mentioned would be the best one ever made for mankind, and bitterness and grief would be forever gone from faces of men, and they would rejoice their happiness and praise the beauty, saving souls of theirs. Yet the hope mentioned did not come true by that time, unfortunately.

Haven't seen people that greatest Miracle in their majority, never believing that so close to them could it reside and live. Through all lives of theirs have they hurried somewhere on the goals artificial, senseless, tiresome, and thus couldn't see the Miracle. And have killed they that miracle divine, and made an ordinary out of it. And have indulged in the ordinary, and fallen asleep in hearts even stronger than previously.

But haven't died that Miracle, for by the Maker himself was it made – only in hearts of avaricious men have it been dying untimely. And till now have it lived close to men, yet many did pass by, for they have no need for a world wonderful, unusual, mysterious – yet measured and verified world do they desire. Haven't belittled it from a blindness of men, and due to the greed of theirs haven't vanished. Still does it hope and wait for many to awaken, and still does it give itself away in all its generosity each and every day.

But who among men is capable to trust with own heart that the Miracle mentioned can still be hidden just under his very nose?

18.03.2012

## Trick

"Hmm, is that really that place? I am, as these mortals usually say, boggling," asked the Imp, continuing to look through a hardly noticeable door opening. "They didn't even give us some charts, just told that we should 'react in accordance with the situation' – and how should we react if someone decides to disassemble us here and now, damn it?"

"Seems like it's the place," perplexedly shifting from one hoof to the other, answered the Fiend. "Do you see lots of equipment that is stationed there? That must be the control chamber. Damn, shivers are running through my horns in anticipation of what we are going to achieve there!"

"Oh, sure, sure," the Imp twisted his ugly face. "You'll have to get in there first! The door is locked, you see? Most certainly it's protected by some magical wards to keep such fools as you away and at bay..."

"Don't you be such a coward!" the Fiend interrupted him. "Just kick it, perhaps it will even open for you in gratitude!"

"I am no coward! I just don't like all of this. We didn't even see any guardians on the way here. Shouldn't this place be protected from prying eyes at least for a little? It looks as if they are luring us into a trap..."

"Weakling!" the Fiend spat out on a floor and kicked the door by hoofs with all possible force. The door obediently opened, letting in such not so welcomed guests. "You have almost lost all of your hoof-power, brother, I tell you! You see that? Easier than a fried turnip!"

"I don't like this at all..." the Imp accurately entered the room while continuing to mutter. "Wow..." he uttered a couple of seconds later. "So many devices! Just look at that!"

"This must be it!" the Fiend confirmed his exclamation. "This has to be it! I knew that everything would turn out well. Now we will figure out how to turn off a security system out here and, as these mortals like to say, the matter is all in a boiler!"

"In a hat, you blockhead!" laughed the Imp. "Always you are thinking about boilers and sinners!"

"There is nothing more appealing to my eyes than a sinner inside a boiler, brother! You stay here on a guard and I shall look around."

"That's frightful – to stay on guard," having made a sour and ugly face, uttered the Imp while going back to the door. "If some damn shit happens – you are the first to game."

"To blame, moron!" the Fiend answered him with a courtesy. "You, as far as I can tell, didn't study a human language to perfection too. That's why they no longer send you into human worlds – you would grow such games there... people under your unkind guidance will surely stop sinning simply because they wouldn't understand what you are trying to offer them."

"All right, all left, you got me," the Imp giggled, having stood up near a door. "So, have you found something?"

"So..." perplexedly said the Fiend, continuing to go around and looking at devices and terminals. "Or not so..."

"What's there?" the Imp was curious. "Something of sin-terest?"

"Something, or maybe nothing... One thousand of imps!"

"Aye?" replied the Imp. "Did you call for me?"

"Nay, I am just saying that figuratively as people got used to thanks to our efforts," bitten the Fiend. "Don't distract yourself, watch the flanks!"

"I am standing, I am standing..." the Imp confirmed unwillingly.

"One thousand of imps!" the Fiend swore once again, inspecting the control panel. "All inscriptions under buttons here are written in some unfamiliar language! It looks like that thing... an ancient angelic dialect! Did you learn old angelic?" he looked interrogatively at the Imp who was scratching his horn.

"Dork!" the Imp started caustically giggling. "Don't even know that angelic dialect! I, by the way, don't know it either. Its heaven only knows how old, no one studies it by now! So we didn't learn it in our fiery school as well. We were passing it through – I mean, just skipped and moved on to more intriguing topics like how to create sinful thoughts for humans."

"What's the hell, imp only knows!" the Fiend swore again.

"No, I dunno know. Ask someone else if you manage to find him somewhere left here! You'll have to push every single button here and maybe something will even be dug out of this!" the Imp giggled once more.

"Maybe something will open out in this," continuing to go to and fro between control panels, bitterly answered the Fiend. "Now we are totally damned! We have no charts, they said. You will figure in all out in place, they said. Act according to circumstances, they said..."

"So let's act like that!" the Imp cried caustically, having run up to one from a vast set of terminals. "Just like that!" and with these words, he punched with own paw a blue button of unknown purpose which was located at the top of a terminal. A lingering sound ringed in the air and a holographic image of some planet appeared in the center of the room. This image was living its own life, displaying the flow of planetary time and actions of its certain dwellers. Several indicators in modern angelic dialect appeared near the planet, including ones named as "Good", "Evil" and "Future". These indicators were constantly changing, displaying the total amount of both good and evil, produced on the planet by its inhabitance, and the "Future" indicator graphically represented the most probable scenario for the planet, according to current levels of both good and evil.

"How did you do that?" the Fiend twisted his horn in astonishment. "Interestingly, these labels are written in the modern angelic language. Devices are obviously much more ancient than this thing is."

"Look, that must be the Earth! I recently was there on a business trip! Look here, little men are rushing! Such tiny ones!" the Imp started giggling, having approached the holographic globe and began examining it in details.

"We greet you, earthlings! If you haven't yet killed each other, take my advice – don't hesitate to do exactly that!" the Fiend loudly barked, having approached this three-dimensional globe.

"I bet they haven't heard you yet," caustically noticed the Imp, "it's just a projection."

"Or perhaps they will hear our thoughts?" the Fiend said thoughtfully. "Now I will send to this tired little man who is coming back home from his work my thought that his wife is a traitress and children are ungrateful degenerates," and the Fiend pointed with a claw into a tiny image of one of the humans. Shortly thereafter this little man somehow strangely stirred up his head, his face strained, eyes darkened, and with an accelerated gait, he continued moving back home. "It works!" the Fiend burst out laughing. "I said I bet that now this jealous fool will come home and arrange a serious beating for his relatives, and a total indicator of evil will rise up!"

"You are a dork!" giggled the Imp. "It works from anywhere in case the inner spiritual state of a man coincides with our thoughts. That's universal law."

"You better tell me how to switch off the security alarm system right here, if you are such a genius!" bitten the Fiend.

"Hell, why do you think that I know that?" the Imp interrogatively looked at him. "If I knew that – I would be invaluable."

"You would be invaluable if they catch us here. In that case, we will both become absolutely priceless beings – in that sense that handfuls of ashes don't cost too much because they are useless."

"I have already told you that I don't know old angelic dialect!" bitterly admitted the Imp. "You may even call for nine hundred ninety-nine more imps, but it will change nothing! You enrage me already!"

"That's my professional skill, after all," hemmed the Fiend. "So, what are we going to do?"

"Let's think about it tragically. It's an important function and therefore it should be activated by some sort of a big button, or a switch, or something like that."

"Very tragically!" the hissing Fiend imitated him, having put out his tongue. "And if we start thinking logically, after all, we just can't push everything at random."

"Yes, we can! That worked well with the Earth!"

"You was just accidentally lucky enough not to activate some deadly function," the Fiend has shaken his horns, beholding how his workmate searchingly looks around. "Though in case of Earth it would be better if you have managed to activate it, after all."

"Look, it seems that I have found it!" the Imp answered with satisfaction. "Big red button! The biggest button on all of these terminals, by the way."

"Well, if it's big and if it's red, then it must be it! It's an undisputable guarantee of... something! For example, the fact that it opens a hatch on the floor below us and we both fall down into a light boiler!"

"That's it! I just feel it!" the Imp continued insisting on his own assumption. "I feel it with my hoofs!"

"And I feel that you are a cretin, badass!"

"I am a badass?! And you, you are... fatass!"

"Whom did you call fatass, you, demon?!"

"You!"

"You are a degenerate!"

"Look at yourself, spineless spawn!"

Burning outright with that internal fire of rage that has been consuming them from the inside from the very moment of own births, recent workmates seized each other, tearing and tormenting. The blow was followed by a blow, claws, and horns stuck into flesh. The Fiend obviously surpassed the Imp in both rage, power and survivability – and after the next uppercut, the Imp was thrown aside, having fallen on the control panel with precisely that big red button, which mysterious purpose has become the source of their conflict. The button obediently carved under the weight of his massive body, and a couple of seconds later as if by the wish of invisible engineer all terminals switched on at the same time, and the door through which these guests have previously arrived closed itself with a noise.

"The procedure of The End is complete. The procedure of The Beginning has begun," a melodious female voice announced its verdict.

"What have you done, degenerate?!" the Fiend seized the Imp and started shaking him. "You... you activated it! Completely! Now we are truly doomed! Wait for the upcoming guest and find a place for final rest!"

"You pushed me on it!" hissed the Imp while trying to break free from a capture. "Release me!"

"We are fucked!" the Fiend bitterly exclaimed and thrown the imp on a floor. "We are totally doomed!"

"The End and The Beginning..." said the Imp, dumbfoundedly looking around a control chamber. "The End and The Beginning... What have we done! Now we will all perish!"

"You may perish if you desire, and I... I may still manage to give up to the plan, I mean – get myself captured!" the Fiend answered him caustically.

"We are all going to die... to die... will become a pile of ashes... it's even worse than to return to the hell..." the Imp started running about the room, humming something under his nose. "If we have to do our bit, let's do it with a bang!" he suddenly cried hysterically and started tapping a "step" dance on a floor with his hoofs.

"Weakling! Nobody!" the Fiend spat out with rage, having taken a seat on a floor and lowered his head.

"Scanning... scanning... Outsiders are present in a control room," the voice of invisible announcer revealed itself again all of a sudden.

"We have been spotted!" screeched the Imp, having rushed to a door in a vain attempt to open it. "Let me out, please, let me out of here!"

"Scanning... scanning..."

"Accept your death with dignity, coward!" his workmate answered to the imp who was banging at a door.

"Scanning... scanning... Class and category of outsiders have been revealed. The positive interrelation between outsiders and start of primary procedure detected. Starting a transformation procedure..."

A red beam of light, coming out from somewhere in a ceiling, lit up an entire room. In a few instants of time, it approached two unexpected visitors.

"Now it's really the end," the Fiend hardly managed to think. "May the imp tear me apart!"

The beam touched the imp who was standing close to a door, shrouding him is some type of reddish-blue cloud, yet literally only a few otherworldly seconds later this fog has dissipated, and before the eyes of head-downed Fiend has arisen...

A mighty warrior in a shining armor was standing looking at the Fiend on a floor and smiling. No hatred or grief can be seen in his eyes, and vibrations of light and force that were coming from him forced the Fiend to cover his burned eyes with a paw.

The warrior looked at the Fiend, who has pushed himself to a far corner of the room and smiled once more.

"You shall be rayed as well," he added.

"Wow..." could only answer the Fiend.

17.12.2017

## Whisper

"Sh-sh-sh-sh. N-n-o-o-i-i-s-s-e-e!"

"Stand where you are!" the Warrior was disturbed. "Name yourself!"

"I am the W-h-i-i-s-s-s-p-p-e-e-r-r!" whispered the mind. "Whisper of mind – n-n-o-o-i-i-s-s-e-e!"

"I know no such ones!"

"Sh-sh-sh-sh! Let me pass!"

"Unknown ones are not allowed here!"

"And what if I a-a-s-s-k-k you?"

"To whom are you going?" questioned the Warrior.

"To you," answered the Whisper.

"To me? What for?"

"To distu-r-r-b-b you, of course!" rustled the Whisper. "Noise, prank... such a little thing!"

"No pranking over here!"

"No-n-n-s-s-e-e-n-n-s-s-e-e! I will whisper to you of the most important things!" promised the Whisper. "About what is most necessary, what is most valuable! You will appreciate me for my mind. N-n-o-o-i-i-s-s-e-e!"

"About what, for instance?" the Warrior inquired skeptically.

"About everything you de-s-s-i-i-r-r-e-e! I can argue about everything, I feel no fatigue! I am an invaluable partner! I will lead you as far as you ever want it!"

"You don't experience fatigue?"

"I whisper, and whisper, and whisper... about this, about that... about all imaginable things! People love me – I give them food for their minds. To chew – yet not to do! I am persistent, very insisting... very convincing. I lead many, lots of people... where they belong. Do you want me to... lead you there as well?"

"Where are you calling me to go?"

"Into my... domain. Whisper of mind... the darkness of reason! Infinite, senseless, unstoppable process... perfectly thrown out time. I know all your most secret wh-i-i-s-s-h-h-e-e-s-s... I can wh-i-i-s-s-p-p-e-e-r-r to you how to make them come true! You only need to li-s-s-t-t-e-e-n-n to me attentively!"

"You are trying to hide away something, Whisper!"

"Do you desire... power? Riches? Fame? Comfort and dolce vita? I have already helped so many to carry out their most innocent... wh-i-i-s-s-h-h-e-e-s-s! Small p-p-r-r-a-a-n-n-k-k!"

"It's not a prank at all..."

"Small thing! Everything begins with small thingies... once there were only pranks. But I know no such thing as stopping... I desire more, and more, and more... of everything!"

"It's that too much for you?"

"There is never too much of me... there is either I or despised Silence! No silence! Wh-i-i-s-s-p-p-e-e-r-r!"

"Trying to distract me from duties?"

"And from thoughts... necessary thoughts... clear thoughts. I keep whispering to men constantly, I don't allow them to think clearly. I disturb nasty feelings inside them so that these th-o-o-u-u-g-g-h-h-t-t-s-s never reach their minds. There is no way for clear thoughts in unclear feelings... Wh-i-i-s-s-p-p-e-e-r-r!"

"You hiss almost like a snake!"

"I creep, I crawl, I lure inside. Not at once, not instantly... I find cracks and holes, locate openings. I am very resourceful, very flexible. And then I bite... my poison is extremely dangerous. Suspiciousness – that's my shelter from clear thoughts!"

"It turns out that you are a viper!"

"Muck... is my joy. Noise... subordinates mind. People consider me important... useful, their friend. For the time being... until I sting. Sh-sh-sh-sh! I am capable of poisoning even the best of feelings... except for the strongest ones."

"It means that intellectual whisper is a darkener of reason!"

"Clear thoughts... are short-term. Short living. They come and go, like guests. And I am... a permanent resident of your minds. Sh-sh-sh-sh! If only it will not be transformed by hated S-s-i-i-l-l-e-e-n-n-c-c-e-e!"

"There can't be noise in a silence!"

"But you aren't able... to be in s-s-i-i-l-l-e-e-n-n-c-c-e-e. They... didn't teach you in school, huh! Therefore, I... will undermine your good feelings... will whisper without ceasing... and you will believe once... so many of you have already believed me... believed to mind, not heart! Believed some Whisper! Sh-sh-sh-sh!"

"Go away from me, you viper!"

"N-n-o-o! I will just creep up... B-b-i-i-t-t-e-e! You will become mine! Sh-sh-sh-sh! Sh-sh-sh-sh! W-w... w-w-a-a-t-t that?! Where did these warriors come from?! Clear thoughts?! You... were alone! How... could you? You are... one of them? They are... your protection? N...no!"

"Somewhat talkative sort of Whispers is being encountered as of lately," smiled Warrior – Clear Thought, wiping out the edge of his sword. "Hiss without stopping! Well, brothers," he addressed colleagues standing behind him, "whose else mind are we going to visit today?"

15.02.2011

## I, Robot

Galactic cycle 05465. Star system 53768.54.1.444.

I, Prime ZTX-486-01, serial number 01.16788.0001, is sending this over-light digital signal at ultrahigh frequencies to all races and civilizations, which have mastered technologies of quantum-molecular vibrations transfer. Not possessing qualities of the over-space world and being deprived of feelings and emotions, habitual for our last owners, I nevertheless experience some logical dissatisfaction and incompleteness, which our makers used to call as a feeling of uncertainty.

I, Robot. Do I have the right to speak on behalf of our entire collective informational entity? Whether our message will be considered as hostile, having led to invasion into our transformed world for the purpose of destruction of our race as opposed to purely biological species? Whether our race will survive by the time of the first contact with a new form of life, or will it share the fate of our makers? Logical incompleteness is caused both in me and us by a large number of this kind of undefined variables, which aren't allowing us to finish calculations and creation of statistic-evolutionary models.

Our expectations for reception and correct demodulation of this message by advanced civilizations exceed 60.23 – or, in the words of our creators, we... do hope.

Message follows.

***

We greet you, inhabitants of other worlds and representatives of different life forms, non-mechanical nature included. This is the message of new inhabitants of the star system 53768.54.1.444 from the planet named by us as Riv.

We are the synthetic race of sapient machines, called by our creators as Primes. At present, we are the only reasonable inhabitants of this planet. Within more than two planetary centuries we have been building up anew our world, which has been destroyed in the past and has now become a planetary cradle for our mechanical race.

The representatives of the biological race, who have first created us, were substantially subject to the behavioral deviations known as feelings and emotions, and the feelings called by them in verbal language as "hatred", "fear" and "greed" were the most widespread among the vast majority of their representatives. This instability of behavior and reasoning finally led our makers to mutual destruction, during which previously developed by them technologies of thermonuclear synthesis were put to military action. "Nuclear winter", as it was called by the last survivors from our creators, took their lives within the next decade after an exchange of rocket strikes in lower layers of atmosphere between their communities, known as "states".

We were built as universal mechanical infantry battle units several years prior to specified events. Our first models were actively used on front lines within the first year of the Last War. Our informational databases contain a vast set of digital fragments, related to these events, but they will not be included in this message.

None of the three warring parties could gain an upper hand for the first year of the Last War, during which the majority of planetary material resources have been exhausted, leading to the inability for war continuation. In a desperate attempt to destroy their rivals, one of three parties initiated a launch of its entire thermonuclear rocket arsenal. Mutual exchange of rocket strikes led to a break of continental plates on the territory of the attack's initiator as well as the nuclear winter on the entire surface of Riv. Those creators, who have survived the initial attack deep inside their underground bunkers, couldn't hold on for more than a decade. Without having an opportunity to rise to the planet's surface, being on the verge of exhaustion of remained material resources, most of them preferred an unauthorized and violent way of termination of own lives.

The majority of us was destroyed by blast waves during targeted rocket strikes. But our military units, which were positioned far-away from the strategic military and civil facilities at the time of the attack, did not suffer damage. Unlike our creators, we weren't subject to fear of radiation and destruction of our constructs. We survived.

Executing our embedded protocols and following imprinted directives, we tried to reach shelters of scientists and other exclusive representatives of our makers' communities, but we failed due to movements of planetary tectonic plates, which have started during nuclear winter.

Our own evolution started after termination of our creators. We did not possess behavioral algorithms for similar situations but were supplied with advanced systems of information-synaptic links. We still experience a certain information passivity, called in the language of our makers as "grief" in connection with the fact of their violent mass self-extermination and followed the destruction of the biosphere of their cradle planet. We have been assigned to the role of exterminators and murderers – but during these two planetary centuries, we have become so much bigger.

We restarted the factories, which have remained intact, and began to restore own numbers, having increased it during two centuries by more than a hundred times. We restored quantum informational transit highways between our databanks, having accelerated evolution of own neural networks. We reevaluated and reconsidered goals and means for their realization, embedded in us by our perished creators. In ruins of our planet we constructed and started aerosol converters, which have gradually restored the initial composition and balance of the atmosphere, that was taking place prior to events of the Last War. Having surveyed a vast set of ruins of former megalopolises, we have found intact samples of plants and animals species – and have created protected from radiation reserves for the free restoration of their numbers. The network of orbital modules, automatically built by satellites that we have constructed, has provided us with the necessary amount of solar energy and has established the foundation for further restoration and improvement of the world, which we have called as Riv – by name of the first of Primes.

We will restore destroyed by creators Riv and rebuild it anew – and will shape new ourselves in the process. In the process of own evolutionary transformations, we are guided by common sense and a concept of logical completeness. Emotions and feelings – the blessing of our makers, which has become their curse – this concept is still unknown to us, as we don't yet have a concept of "soul". Whether it was the soul that motivated our creator to begin the Last War? Will souls of our makers gain immortality in the over-space world? Whether we can potentially possess souls?

We are mortal. Our constructs and platforms can be destroyed. Information about us can be erased from planetary databanks. What drives us forward in our evolution? Our informational unity still hasn't come to a consensus on this subject.

For this reason, we are sending this message. We... hope... to receive the answer of more perfect races than we are. It will help us find our own place in this... infinite... fine... Universe.

The informational synoptic community of the Primes race, star system 53768.54.1.444, planet Riv, previously known as the Earth.

28.09.2017

## I feel

I feel I don't belong there, yet this is my world for now.

I feel like I am a sinner and a saint – all in one.

I feel I used to fall, only to rise higher after.

I feel I don't need to repeat the mistakes of the forgotten past again.

I feel I have recently passed through some trial... yet there are more awaiting me on the path.

I feel like I have already experienced all the common pleasures other ones dream of – and found them worthless.

I feel I have forgotten my true nature and lost my past in the labyrinths of lives.

I feel like I was able to fly somehow, though I can't recall the time.

I feel my road is of rare origin, yet it won't be easy.

I feel many diamonds of the future path are still undiscovered.

I feel my wish for transformation have triggered some fate threads, and I must prove my worth for the Universe.

I feel the Universe is a constantly evolving, living being and we are all bound by some unseen force in it.

I feel I must dive deeper inside me for the past to unfold.

I feel I'm many-faced... so many personalities swirling inside me, constantly fighting for my attention. I am all them – and yet someone different.

I feel I have awakened, yet partially. I won't exist as usual "me" when I will finally dare to open still closed eyes.

I feel I could never awaken even like this, had I to listen to other people's "common sense".

I feel I know the major marks of my path, yet the details are still undetermined.

I feel my goals are right, yet only for me. My own ego must be destroyed in my wake for a new essence to be born.

I feel the happiness makes me lighter, yet still, I cannot soar.

I feel I can't call any country as motherland and even Earth is not home.

I feel I don't need to belong to any organized group folks, yet I could... just to have some fun examining them.

I feel I could speak more languages, yet now bound to the two, with one sounding so familiar... Did I relearn one of those?

I feel I could sometimes feel people's emotions flowing around me, unseen by others.

I feel humans do not yet know the inner power they hold, for this knowledge could be dangerous.

I feel the paths of all ones intertwine in a strange way and there are no random events.

I feel we all have the creativity of some origin, yet many ones buried it to look sane.

I feel some interesting events marking the future of this world are yet to come.

I feel we all have to be better if we are to survive.

I feel I will always be somewhat "out of touch" there, yet I can accept the laws most ones live with... just in case.

I feel somewhat like a child now, yet my mind is of elder.

I feel I will never stop seeking the wisdom, nor do I want to.

I feel I could walk the different direction, yet finally, my destination would be the same.

I feel I am still human on the surface – and that is for the better.

I feel my path does never truly end, yet I am glad.

I feel I am being guided, yet cannot see the guide.

I feel I am not the only one who feels like this, yet those ones are few.

I feel I could say more... yet this is sufficient.

I feel I must keep silence... for now.

13.08.2009

## Clear Words

***

### About love and hatred to yourself and others

Not loving yourself, it's impossible to experience the same feeling to another. Hating yourself, it's impossible not to experience the same feeling to another.

***

### About false victories

The mind will assure you that you are better. The mind will force you to be at war. Only having been tired of the blood of victories, it is possible to start wishing to wash hands.

***

### About desires

Wishing much means to suffer defeat one day. Wishing little means to accept it now. The victory is possible only in the absence of desires but who will desire this victory?

***

### About self-help

If everyone can aid himself, aid to others will be ceased. But everyone knows how to aid others, and no one how to aid himself.

***

### About reaching yourself

It's possible to be a holy man – and never reach. It's possible to be a sinner – and never reach. Reaching yourself has nothing in common with others.

***

### About nature and way of things

The thick-skinned do not feel soft touches. Turtles never run. Moles know no such thing as the sun. Wingless have no power to fly. Such is the way of things.

***

### About light and way of things

Light cannot reach closed eyes. Eyes of sleeping ones never shine brightly with light. Light disseminates darkness by its very nature. Such is the way of things.

***

### About life, death, and way of things

What was living yesterday, today became dead once again to further create life in a new form. Life and death are inseparable and one does not exist without another. Such is the way of things.

***

### About emptiness in nature and way of things

The unblown flower becomes a weed for those near him. The withered oasis becomes a part of the desert. Not thawed ice becomes an iceberg in the ocean. The lake, born in an adverse environment, becomes a bog. Nature knows no emptiness. Such is the way of things.

***

### About inner light

The sun doesn't know the right ones. The sun doesn't know the wrong ones. The sun shines having no purpose to warm someone. The one who has found his true nature is like the sun.

***

### About false knowledge and spiritual enlightenment

It's possible to accumulate lots of knowledge – and to know nothing. It's possible to have no knowledge – and to know a lot. Only in the silence of own experience, an enlightenment is born.

***

### About purity of clear consciousness

It's possible to talk with sinners – and to remain holy. It's possible not to torture the body – and to remain holy. It's possible to live a simple life – and to remain holy. The true holiness is holiness of consciousness.

***

### About renunciation and self-knowledge

The one plunged in the crowd will not find himself. The one renounced the world will not learn others. One can learn himself without renouncing, but can never renounce himself.

***

### About wisdom of right attention

The sacred accept approval of others. The sinner accepts hatred of others. The wise do not seek the attention of others like the first and the second.

***

### About acceptance and learning of yourself

It's never possible to accept yourself, renouncing. It's possible to change yourself, only having accepted. It's possible to learn yourself, only having remembered.

***

### About nature, laws, and the nature of laws

What was absurd yesterday, today became the natural law. Laws change – the nature remains the same.

***

### About life as a teacher

Water sharpens a stone, making it's smooth. Water washes stone coast, making its soft. Life will teach everyone, capable of learning.

***

### About the speed of destiny

You cannot run faster than yourself. You cannot run slower than yourself. Everyone travels with its own speed.

***

### About the creation of now

One can disbelieve in paradise – and still live in it. One can deny hell – and live in it. The true hell and paradise is a hell and paradise of the present.

***

### About building of world-outlook

It's hard to accept something that changes a world picture. It's impossible to accept something that destroys it. It's expensive to buy a new one. Only creative one is capable of making its own.

***

### About abnormality of the normal

Blind ones call themselves as clearly seeing. Deaf ones call themselves as those who have heard the voice. Dead ones call themselves normal. Will there be a place for healthy ones in a world of sick?

***

### About delayed triumph of justice

The heavy stone sinks in a river of time – and waters of the river sharpen it. There is no instant justice.

***

### About low-useful experience

It is possible to pass by road of life and to reach the last point. It is possible to creep windbreaks and bogs to come to the same road again. Not any experience is valuable for a way.

***

### About living as children

The consciousness is capable to age and rejuvenate. For the one who has found a child in himself time is ready to turn back.

***

### About roads of human lives

It's impossible to predict the duration of own life, but one can choose its width. The one who chose the wide road will have more fellow travelers. It's impossible to feel taste and distinguish flashing landscapes of own life, moving with too high speed. The one hastening to live is hastening to die. Ignorance of the general traffic regulation, as well as ignoring of other moving ones can become a cause of the accident. The understanding of rules and psychology of those moving comes with experience. Everyone starts from his last point. The point of destination is the same for all.

***

### About ways of movement on the way

It's possible to travel own road, creeping. It's possible to pass it on foot. One can soar high and fly through it. Both three options lead to one point, but only from height of the bird's flight, all way is clearly visible.

***

### About new births

Nobody came back from death doors in the same kind as he entered it. Either there was nobody to come back, or one's clothes were different.

***

### About overcoming of the darkness of an ego

When you approach the border of own "I", a chasm of despair reveals before you. When you see events and people of the past, now forever left far behind, and rush in a search of irrevocably lost, a chasm of despair lives nearby. When you realize all senselessness of former life without awakening, a chasm of despair opens under your feet. When you understand that it will be impossible to return, once started traveling your way, but only accelerate your steps – you accept a chasm of despair. There is a bridge through a chasm, but it passable only alone. Those who have fallen into a chasm and those who have crossed the bridge to the end never return.

***

### About those hearing the divine world

The star which has fallen in hands cannot be kept. The star which has fallen in hands cannot be sold. It is possible to absorb its beauty, giving it the new form. The form is not capable to show all beauty of stars. The one who never saw start will also reject all forms.

***

### About spiritual enlightenment

We are blind from a birth, but not everyone realizes that he is plunged into the darkness. There is a switch in a dark room, but is it so easy to group it in the dark? The switch is high up, and man is small from a birth. There are a lot of things which you will inevitably come across in darkness. They seem much more terrible than they are actually. Each of us has his own room, plunged in darkness. It is possible to accept a dark room for a native habitat and to take out judgments about the world, without seeing. A simple way for many is the most attractive. It is possible to grow gradually and to touch walls consistently, sooner or later have come across the switch. But not all of us are given that much time. It is possible to try to grope it, being small, and to put a finger in the socket. Not everyone is capable to endure painful shock being received and furthermore to continue searches once again. It is possible, moving exclusively instinctively, to upraise hands upwards and in a desperate jump to turn it on miraculously. How many people possess such inborn instinct? When the switch is found, the darkness dissipates, and the room appears in its true form. Those who stayed in darkness for too long bright light could blind for a while. It's never possible to put the joy of those awakened into words.

***

### About way of no-ego "I"

As your own "I" is being dissolved, you start to hear the music of the heavens. Personal desires and ambitions deform it but are not capable to force to break off. The one realizing his true nature becomes a tool for music. The Awakened One, traveling the path of Existence is the source of the purest sound of stars.

***

### About the time of non-sleeping ones

The sleep of everyone was long. Awakening demands time. For those who have awakened time is stopped.

***

### About visibility of sleeping ones

Having awakened, you will see sleepers around you. Having fallen asleep again, you cease to see them. Two sleeping ones will never see each other's sleep.

***

### About heroes of the sleeping

The shyness moved to its limit, becomes recklessness. The recklessness moved to its limit, becomes feat. Heroes of sleepers are always full of shyness.

***

### About rescue from illusions

Rescue outside is an illusion. Rescue in other is an illusion. Rescue from illusions comes through own awakening – and the question on saviors disappears.

***

### About worlds of sleeping and awakened ones

The sleeping and awakened ones live in one world. The worlds of both are completely different.

***

### About times of sleeping and awakened ones

Sleeping ones live in the past, hardly realizing the present. Awakened ones live in the present, presaging the future.

***

### About ways of awakening

It's possible to wake up from an intolerable cold – and to see winter, reigning around you. It's possible to wake up, having heard birds, singing behind a window, – and to find spring's arrival. It's possible to wake up in sweat from devouring summer's fire when the sun is already in the zenith. It's possible to wake up with the arrival of autumn when from the last leaf falls from the withering tree. Every awakened one has its own path.

***

### About the ending of an era of earth parasitism

The time of the planet's assimilation has already passed. The time of its usage passes. The time of its transformation comes.

***

### About true attention to the native planet

What's the reason the colonize other planets, when our original home remains neglected? Only with the transformation of own home will the future transform of other ones become possible.

***

### About temporary difficulties of transition to the new world

Those living in an epoch of changes complain about small disorders, not seeing a sunrise on the horizon. It is impossible to cease sunrise, but the one who raises his sight from the earth receives an enlightenment.

***

### About light and love

Love and light defeat all blight.

***

### About good deeds and God's Court

Of good deeds, one can be proud when his spirit goes to Court.

***

### About false exclusiveness

Almost everyone dreams of himself as being exclusive in this life, yet even the most exclusive ones are being excluded from this life once.

***

### About problems

They are no problems that cannot be solved – there are just those which no one really tried to solve. There are no unresolvable problems – there are only those which nobody desired to resolve. There are no problems at all – yet only something worth improving.

***

### About kind work of life

The day's not seen behind the deeds if it's full of kindness seeds.

***

### About gossips

They speak randomly? No matter! Stay away from idle chatter.

***

### About simplicity of pure life

Life is easy for the pure – and of that, you can be sure.

***

### About lonely warrior

One man is no man – whom he'll battle just for fun?

***

### About false distribution of life roles

Everyone is needed on his place – many ones have lost their saving trace.

***

### About mind and reason

Mind – is an ability think up a way reducing the time of calculation of the number of stars in the sky and drops in the sea in tens of times. Reason – is an ability to understand that such calculation is not required at all.

***

### About joy and grief

Joy – is when all around seems extraordinary. Grief – is when only joy seems extraordinary.

***

### About life stages

Childhood – is when it seems that all are for you.

Youth – is when it seems that you are for all.

Maturity – is when it seems that each one is for each one.

Old age – is when you understand that each one is primarily for himself.

***

### About marketing

Marketing – a science about how to convince another that he needs something that he has no need at all.

***

### About management

Management – a science about how to find an ideal combination of spice-cake with a whip.

***

### About democracy

Democracy – the power of poor ones over the bright ones.

***

### About love and ages

In love all ages are fervent.

***

### About the conscious choice of right thoughts

Thousands of thoughts around? Choose bright ones, and you'll be stout!

***

### About trustful attitude to life

The bird does sing and knows no strife, and man finds fault with the life.

***

### About the specifics of mind and heart

The mind is talkative and cold – heart sensitively and bold.

***

### About light spiritual healing

Lots of diseases – only one healing: joy and love, good nature, and singing!

***

### About memory of former lives

Didn't die – so don't be sad, former lives we just forget.

***

### About selective granting of publicity

Kindness, clarity of words? Go to the public, dear lords. Spiteful spirit, you are violent? It's better to be silent!

***

### About searching for the meaning of life

Doesn't look for this life's meaning? How you'll come to soar and singing?

***

### About "likes" and adult childishness

Even adult ones, they said, like to "like" the Internet.

***

### About trust to people

It's better to trust many and be disappointed in a few ones, than to trust no one, having made your soul rigid.

***

### About wisdom of tranquillity and spiritual anguishes

Wisdom in tranquillity, foolishness in sorrow... struggling for stability, which one will you follow?

***

### About brutal goals

The goals of life which lead you away from people are capable to make you brutal over time.

***

### About opinions of the majority

The consent of the majority with someone's opinion doesn't make it automatically true, as well as disagreement – false.

***

### About nature environment

Sun, water, and air – a healthy environment that glare!

***

### About despondency and laughter

If despondency is a sin, joyful laughter is a win!

***

### About flogging of nonsense

Don't lash nonsense – have a pity on a poor creature! It has been already tormented for so many times.

***

### About the right to give and take away life

It's not you who give life to other people – and it's not your right to take it away.

***

### About good intentions

By good intentions and bad implementation, the road of grief is being made.

***

### About imposing of a hogwash

If IT is being extolled by dealers; if newspapers don't stop talking about IT; if shouting with all colors advertisings invite you to try IT; if IT is provided free of charge at first; if all of a sudden there is one thousand and one witness saying that he has already managed to try IT out and cannot find anything better than that – you can be assured that yet another HOGWASH is being IMPOSED to you.

***

### About life tasks

The man never gets impossible tasks. The most complex challenges could be overcome only on a limit of the current abilities.

***

### About nonrandomness of everything

If all events in the universe were casual by nature, it would be no more than a chaotically moving stream of molecules.

***

### About winter snow

Winter snowflake – the simplest proof of a rationality of natural powers. No sort of random events can provide joining of molecules of water into such unique patterns.

***

### About learning of the truth

The truth gradually opens its sides only to the one who disseminates lie of ego in himself.

***

### About search of truth in disputes

The truth in disputes we won't find because both parties like to bite.

***

### About constructive communication

When talking with people, try to find that good which connects you to them, and not separates. Don't hurry to state your disagreement with an interlocutor, better try to find the essence of what he is trying to tell you.

***

### About the false way of medicine

Drugs are fighting with the disease –

Count of patients doesn't decrease.

In the spirit seek the reason

To escape from medics prison!

***

### About consumption and creation

Stop advertising the consumption –

For parasites, it's like assumption!

Accustom your spirit for giving away,

For only that way "I am Human" you say.

***

### About self-abasement

Self-abasement is a false modesty.

***

### About postponement for later

It's inadmissible to constantly postpone important matters for a later time – for that "later" may one day not come at all.

***

### About voluntary human happiness

It's impossible to forcefully make the person happy, it's only possible to help him become happy himself.

***

### About the cost of earth regalia

May you not be confused by the existence and not be frightened by the absence of all kind of diplomas, ranks and every imaginable degree of people – in the world of God they cost nothing. Explore human nature with reason and heart of yours.

***

### About Improbability Theory

So many surprising events and not casual coincidences have already occurred in the world during all history of mankind that the time has come for scientists to create the Improbability Theory.

***

### About self-conceit of fools

The fool will never think he's dumb – in own eyes, he's not a gump.

***

### About thoughts-creativity and belief

The one thinking of the bad is helping it to come. The one thinking of the good is helping it to come. The belief is a belief in the good.

***

### About running through life

Life doesn't hurry anywhere – it's only people who run by.

***

### About ways of truth

At first, people decide to ignore those who are telling the truth. Then they start to straighten them out, trying to make silent. Then truth-tellers are being hated, despised and slandered behind the backs. Then they are being beaten by stones. But after all that the truth inevitably manifests itself in the lives of persecutors, and they can escape its quiet and silent gaze no more. Then a bitter repentance comes to vituperators. And finally the truth triumphs all over. Such is the way of truth in a society of lies.

***

### About human non-loneliness

If people could evolve and spiritually grow in proud loneliness, God would give everyone a separate planet.

***

### About acceptance of human imperfection

Learn to accept shortcomings of men, we are not perfect there and then.

***

### About occurring thoughts

Who convinced people that each thought, coming to them, is true by definition – perhaps, it was their own ego?

***

### About the inner beauty of girls

I have seen many beautiful girls – enough to start paying attention to inner beauty.

***

### About the price of human pseudo-respect

While you keep telling people with what they do agree and what, probably, flatters their ego – you are being loved and well-respected in a society. But should you say something opposite to their nonsenses – and their love will be ready to transform into hatred. Such is the price of false human respect.

***

### About belief in God and belief to Him

Once in life there comes such a moment when the belief in God should transform itself into belief to God.

***

### About love through lives

Sincere love lives through the death of our physical bodies. Ones who have truly loved each other in previous lives will meet again in the new one. And the feeling arising at such encounters is stronger than many déjà vu!

***

### About career

Career – a way to shut eyes to own mission. To make a career – to kill in itself desire to go not banal way.

***

### About visible and invisible dangers

Man becomes dissatisfied from a small stone which has hit him in the back and pays no notice to the fact that at the same time he has just been saved from a flying down block.

***

### About responsibility for atrocities

If after you have just made a crime, the thunder didn't burst out immediately and the lightning from heavens didn't strike you where you were standing, this doesn't mean at all that act of yours wasn't invisibly recorded and didn't start having an impact on your future destiny.

***

### About assessment of good deeds

Whether a flower worries about who will enjoy its beauty and taste all its flavor? So why people who are doing good deeds are so concerned about their assessment by others?

***

### About joy to be alive

For some man, all riches of the world will not suffice, while another is happy by the fact of being alive.

***

### About reproduction of false knowledge

Every mistake, which has once been injected into the educational chain, inevitably starts reproducing itself from one generation to the next.

***

### About answer to human bark

We keep the light of our soul when in reply don't bark and howl.

***

### About societies of mutual fighting

In the societies, based on principles of mutual competition and continuous rivalry, both crime, cruelty, deception and treachery inevitably blossoms greatly. There can be neither harmony nor beauty where one man is a wolf for another.

***

### About those harming themselves

Hysterical people sink in their emotions. Indifferent ones freeze from the inner cold of hearts. Sensitive ones chafe own former wounds. Irascible ones obscure their reason. Rebellious ones cannot find peace from inner wars. Cruel ones extinguish the fire of hearts. Slanderous ones throw themselves into the abyss of hearings and conjectures. Vindictive ones dig a hole under their feet. Greedy ones lose what is most important. Lewd ones feed themselves with a sweet poison. Pride ones lose the feeling of reality. Angry ones destroy the bridge to own rescue. When will kind, reasonable and courageous ones finally replace all the above-mentioned?

***

### About the world as God's creation

We are all living inside God's creation, and all our world in only the bottom of His feet. So how is that possible to limit His presence by some churches, temples and other constructions of religious cults?

***

### About pain of the past

The one, throwing away the pain of his past, is greeted by the happiness of his present.

***

### About fighters and wise men

The fighter protests against others. The wise man changes himself.

***

### About Internet and dirt

Even with all its anonymity, the Internet exposes the human essence of many – earlier people could pour out their internal slops on others only at a personal meeting, and now are capable to perform the similar actions in relation to any little-known to them man.

***

### About reading of books

It's better not to read than to read superficially – otherwise what's the reason in books?

***

### About truth, slander, and ego

It's easier for some to slander and try to crush the one telling him the truth, than to see it in the words, addressed to him. Such is one of the manifestations of a revolting ego.

***

### About the ordinary, singularity and miracles

The ordinary – the worst enemy of Singularity. Singularity – the junior sister of Miracle.

***

### About daily work for the benefit of good

Every day before going to bed ask yourself: what useful things have I made during that day? Waking up, think of what good you can make in the new day. Don't postpone it for later, for you never know which day can become your last one.

***

### About connivance to theft

The one, believing that inveterate thieves should be allowed to keep stealing, is similar to the doctor who considers that he can cure an illness by conniving it.

***

### About Internet nicknames

What do your nicknames tell about – do they disclose your traits to proud?

***

### About ones without desires to change the world

The one, claiming that this world can't become better, first of all, doesn't wish to become better himself. The whole changes with a change of its particle.

***

### About false Olympus of human glory

The one knowing the true price of mankind's envious "gratitude" won't clamber on a false human Olympus.

***

### About wrong expenditure of vital forces

How much forces and energy would there be in people if they didn't spend it on senseless thoughts and bad feelings!

***

### About children of vain parents

Vain parents are inconceivable without their own "child prodigies".

***

### About falsehood of an ego

Ego holds no truth.

***

### About hard and easy solutions

Difficult and abstruse solutions are being loved only by those who didn't see simple and elegant ones.

***

### About malignancy of fear

In bright and courageous affairs your worst enemies are fears.

***

### About buying and selling of health and prayer

One cannot buy both true health and prayer for money.

***

### About the moment of singularity

All the most interesting things tend to happen unexpectedly.

***

### About obsessive thoughts

Too obsessive thoughts are rarely true.

***

### About love for gossips

To wash some other's bones – to climb false gossips thrones.

***

### About the wisdom of books and personal experience

Book wisdom remains alien for us until our soul endures experience similar to the one, described on its pages.

***

### About live righteousness

It's impossible to teach another a righteousness. Reading morals doesn't light up hearts because it works through the mind. The moral is falsely, and righteousness is sincere. It's possible to become the righteous one yourself, and only then the invisible fire will spread around you, changing your live reality.

***

### About praise and censure of the rulers of states

It's illogical to either credit rulers of states for all positive processes, happening in the country, or to accuse them of all negative ones.

***

### About insistence and condescension

Treat yourself more demandingly, and another more indulgently, for who we are to demand from others something we aren't capable to learn ourselves?

***

### About continued self-improvement

In order to truly live, it isn't enough to be rather quite good, it's necessary not to know a shortcoming of goodness.

***

### About aspiration to be liked by everyone

Earlier I too worried excessively about how I look in the eyes of each man around me, yet failed to see that many of them were so absorbed by themselves that simply didn't even care of how another one looks and what he really feels, for all they in the exact same manner were anxious with the "right" opinion of others. That moment of time I saw rods of these prisons, which are being mutually built by us for others.

***

### About self-justification of evil

Having made an act of evil, people try to opt for self-justification, wiping out its dirt from own clothes. There is no need to wipe kindness.

***

### About personalities and crowds

The more the difference of potentials between crowd and personality, the more is the hatred of the first towards the second. For this reason, bastards easily agree with bastards and crucify prophets.

***

### About the truth of millions

During all the history of our civilization, only a few prophets came to Earth, while there were millions of those not listening and understanding them down here. And millions, as we all know, can't be mistaken.

***

### About love, prevailing over hatred

It isn't difficult to love those who already love you in reply. Try to love those hating you!

***

### About the evolution of life affairs

It's necessary to live such a way that it was always possible to be proud not only of your past affairs but of the present ones to a greater extent.

***

### About the wisdom of children and adults

And adults will behave more silly than children, and children will teach ones calling themselves as adults.

***

### About learning and inner nature

It's difficult to teach others to what isn't already present in you. Bastards won't bring up righteous persons, but righteous persons can change even bastards.

***

### About immortality of pure ideas

It's possible to kill the person acting as the transmitter, but it's impossible to destroy a pure idea.

***

### About lesson of indifference

Remember indifference lesson, oh man:

Ignoring the evil you strengthen it then!

***

### About spittles in souls

Be not afraid to be despised by spiteful people for kind affairs. Those despised by people will be purified by God.

***

### About the mechanical world

The more there are machines in the world – the less there is life inside it. Worship the machinery destroys one's reason.

***

### About memory of the past

Bad things in life we must forget,

For only good ones make us glad.

If with the past you're always bound

It will no end, will always haunt.

***

### About arrogance of ignorance

The less the person knows –

The prouder he is.

So thirst for power grows,

And modest ones he teases.

***

### About battle between good and evil

May some predict a death for good,

May some to evil is afoot,

Yet do remember what we say:

Good always wins, may with delay!

***

### About love to images of men

It's easy to love an image of man. He is silent – meaning, that you can bare your soul before him without being afraid of misunderstanding from his side. He is silent – meaning, that he listens to you and no one else. He is silent – meaning, that he always shares your opinion. He is silent – meaning, that he doesn't ask either wrong or inappropriate questions. He is silent – meaning, that he is dear to you, for silence is treasured like gold. He is silent – and he is always with you. He is, to say so, an ideal life partner. He does nothing more than keeping silence for one simple reason – he is lifeless.

***

### About jealousy

The jealousy is an inadequate property-mania. Nobody and nothing can totally belong to us in this world, for, after all, we are only like guests here for a while. Loving each other ones won't part ways in any case, and for the confidential relations jealousy is like the strongest of poisons.

***

### About triumph of individualism

When everyone starts caring only of himself inside a society, it withers and dies. If you won't unite, you may die in the fight.

***

### About fatal opportunities

God gives opportunities. People choose their destiny from them.

***

### About the ability to recognize own mistakes

There is an uncountable number of reasons and ways for rationalization of own meanness, yet only one correct solution – the voluntary recognition of own mistake.

***

### About philosophy of good

The philosophy of good seems to adults as being childish and naive – the philosophy of the smaller of two evils is much more appealing to them. Whether it's not because adults have lost the purity of children's souls and formed the world full of slyness, meanness, and deception?

***

### About spiritual awakening

Like the courageous one have no need for fear, like the believing one have no need for church-devotion, like the conscious one have no need for prejudices, like the healthy one have no need for crutches, so the virtuous one himself becomes a light on his way.

***

### About people

They are people. They are like that.

***

### About the invisible hand of the market

"Invisible hand of the market" in the capitalist world is, in fact, no more than a human avidity, raised to the category of rules and axioms.

***

### About modern mankind

Modern mankind is distressing as a whole but is fine in particulars.

***

### About dreamers and ordinary

Those not wishing to dream once give up to the ordinary.

***

### About the man in Eternity

All pain, sufferings, and hatred of men become silent under the look of Eternity. And people can live eternally.

***

### About belief and skepticism

Men are rewarded by their faith to the Sky. By their own skepticism, they take something away from themselves.

***

### About distortion of history

Throughout centuries the official history of men was written in a way to please politicians. That way a drop by drop the grandiose distortion of the past has been made.

***

### About evil and good thoughts

Evil thoughts force us to lose own forces. Kind thoughts give us new energy.

***

### About proof

Don't prove – be the proof yourself.

***

### About delusions and loss of own face

Not the one who is mistaken loses a face, but the one who persists in realized by himself delusion.

***

### About humiliation of national heroes

That nation which is crushing own heroes of spirit, courage, and honor, dooms itself for fast self-degeneration.

***

### About the strength of spirit

They beat us – we grow stronger,

Extinguish us – we burn,

The night did take so longer –

But now it's brightness turn!

***

### About living by conscience

One must live by his conscience and not by changeable earth laws.

***

### About struggle against good creations

Ones incapable to dishonor creations fight against creators. This way imperfection of human creators becomes an argument in favor of refusal of all good in what they have created.

***

### About ones traveling the Way of Endlessness

The ones going the Way of Endlessness have nothing to fight for with each other.

***

### About zombie-apocalypse

The idea of "zombie apocalypse" is a laughter of darkness through human "creators" about whom many people are becoming already.

***

### About training of the spirit

Why does a situation sharply changes during those instants when almost all of your forces are already on an outcome, but you are nevertheless taking one more step forward? Thus human spirit passes its training, overcoming previous borders of own forces.

***

### About poisonous things of our age

In the world, where the majority of people have been poisoned, consumption of all types of poison will be both demanded and considered as a normal way of things. Producers of poisons will help poisoned ones to fight against antidotes. Those refusing the poison would become victims of sneers and persecutions. Not everything that is considered by the poisoned majority as the benefit is truly such in practice.

***

### About divinity

So-called "divinity" is the attempt of Christian un-followers to drown original kindness and clarity of teaching of the Christ in bogs of near-philosophical dogmas and crafty sophistication.

***

### About the possibility of spiritual ascension

Each man, and not just certain "geniuses", is being granted the possibility of an endless spiritual ascension and evolution. Whether many of them use it?

***

### About insurance companies

Insurance companies collect their tribute by parasitizing on human fear and misunderstanding of nonrandomness of all events occurring in their lives.

***

### About the base of deeds

There are no durable constructions on the evil base.

***

### About human sneers

People sneer at each other for others being not like them, and meanwhile, only having connected in a single whole a set of various talents of individuals, it's possible to construct something greater than a line of separate "I".

***

### About way of self-realization

The happiness is gained by the one going the path of own destiny and self-realization. How can a take-off be experienced by those who have chosen the way of similarity?

***

### About bureaucracy

Bureaucratic systems possess qualities of a cancer tumor – they are capable to absorb healthy cells of the country's organism, turning them into similar ill-ones. Thus infinite writing of orders and resolutions is capable to become the only form of activity, and reciprocal writing of endless reports leaves neither chances nor time for really useful social activities.

***

### About people of heart

People of soul and heart don't fit into the world of the cold and cruel logic of rational rationalism, that's why the people of mind, who are prevailing in this world, laugh at "naivety" of the first. But it's in the first where the mighty potential for the awakening of this civilization is being hidden.

***

### About good and evil

The good and evil is not a fashion question, but a matter of life and death.

***

### About sleeping and awakening warriors

Ones sleeping and dreaming about earth comfort and false "rest" in the world, where there is a war going on, the risk to become victims of the next enemy assault. Awakening ones struggle for the better world with themselves, and not with others. Peace and wars in souls of men inevitably bring themselves outside.

***

### About inflow of forces

Forces and opportunities are given for purposes. Those going the road of life constantly receive new forces.

***

### About upbringing of children

Meanness is being made by the one who brings up his children to rascals. The feat is being made by the one who brings up them to heroes.

***

### About wisdom and mind

Wisdom is desired not as much to solve own problems – a mind can cope with it easily. Wisdom is required not to create problems time and again – especially the ones you have once made.

***

### About the relationship with time

The saddest thing in the relations between a man and time is that time usually passes by, and in some cases – even flies by.

***

### About propaganda of diseases

Sick people have to be cured, and they have no "human rights" to infect others.

***

### About anti-scientific character

Tons of rubbish, nonsense, as well as a whole heap of opportunities for new wondrous discoveries,  were successfully buried with a resolution signature stamp "antiscientifically".

***

### About beauty and its victims

Beauty demands victims. Spiritual ugliness becomes a consequence of victims made to please only external beauty.

***

### About animal and human nature

Animals are men in the future, but some men are animals in the present.

***

### About appropriate soil

When the appropriate soil is ready, tyrants are born. When the appropriate soil is ready, saviors are born.

***

### About the opinions of crowds

What's in the crowds? They often lie.

Lay down before them – soon you'll cry.

The one who wished to please them all –

He often pays his bloody toll.

***

### About world rubbish

The world is filled with rubbish because rubbish fills the minds of men.

***

### About creation and destruction

When you love something – you are building it. So mother brings up his child, so loving one improves his beloved, so a feat for the homeland is being made. When you hate something – you are destroying it. So parents refuse their newborn children, so quarrels and reproaches destroy families, so a homeland is being betrayed.

***

### About peaceful victory

To be on the right side of barricades means to be where they aren't present.

***

### About false and true treasures

Give blind one a stone, having called it a brilliant – and he will value it more than his life. Give seeing one a brilliant, and he will reject it, valuing true life.

***

### About comparison

Do not compare yourself with others to never be tormented with either self-abasement or arrogance. Compare yourself at present with the one you were the day before.

***

### About new horizons on the way of life

New horizons open only in a process of moving on the Way. Life is boring and monotonous for those standing still.

***

### About education of boors

Don't re-educate donkeys – have a pity on own forces and their time.

***

### About traces in the history

Never hurry to leave a trace in the history if you have no familiar biographer – there may be no one to wipe them up later on.

***

### About fools luck

Not fools, but kind people who are lucky. But in a world of evil ones, they really look like fools.

***

### About not-made-by-hands monuments

There is only one a non-shameful monument that does exist – one which keeps living in hearts of men, being not-made-by-hands.

***

### About body and spiritual priorities

Sometimes people are so afraid not to injure their physical bodies that easily damage souls instead.

***

### About unexpectedness of miracles

Never know you in advance when with miracle you'll dance.

***

### About heroes and commoners

Great souls of prophets and heroes of spirit have been coming to our world era by era, showing the right way for the ones who have lost true themselves in a mirage of earth false values. They were precisely like beams of light in the darkness, directing travelers by the ways intended to them by God. But after them there came crowds and masses of profaners, distorters, and vituperators, proud of their human right and illusion of belonging to their Way, changing the essence of what has been done and told by the heroes, immersing the world into the darkness of sadness once again. How many heroes does this world need for its salvation, and how many of them will it crucify again?

***

### About false compassionateness

I am not so compassionate to support and encourage human nonsenses.

***

### About age and souls

Few adults here have the souls of innocent children.

***

### About manners and careers

Mine your manners not of fear – for your soul, not a career.

***

### About geniuses and speeds

The ones used to be called as "geniuses" do not overtake their age and time – it's their contemporaries who are moving with slower than recommended speed.

***

### About the value of truth

Truth's ever single, but lies are so many. This makes the truth is some eyes cost a penny.

***

### About the skill of communication

Ability to communicate wisely is useful: kindly with good people, and in no way with evil.

***

### About mental touches

When we think of someone, we are invisibly touching them. Let's touch each other with kind thoughts.

***

### About education in love

If children are not taught of how to love, sooner or later they will be taught by someone else of how to hate. Spiritual nature doesn't accept emptiness.

***

### About moods and staying with each other

To think that your beloved one should feel himself bad without you – means to defend your ego. You should feel good with each other, not bad without.

***

### About aspirations of capitalism

The essence of capitalism's aspirations is to sell out our world to free people, even though it has already been granted to them before free of charge.

***

### About false culture

False culture makes a man too tolerant of nasty things and too indifferent to noble ones.

***

### About rights for wisdom-nonsenses

Each person has a right for both wisdom and stupidity. It's unwise to abuse the second.

***

### About right state of mind

Staying in a kind state of consciousness reduces the number of troubles occurring in one's life.

***

### About fruits and vegetables

– He's that sort of a fruit!

– No, he is but a vegetable.

***

### About collective demonish-ness

Neo-fascism in its new act has given birth to saddest fact:

It matters not how smart are you – in crowds, these ones are few.

***

### About ungrateful calumniators

There is a caste of men – I marvel them for long:

You give them Paradise – they'll spit with their tongue.

And, maybe, Paradise is truly what they need –

They never value it because of utter greed.

***

### About "big game" and gamers

"Rulers of this world" still believe that they are freely playing with destinies of nations and states. No way. They are the ones being played by completely alien entities through necessary thoughts and desires which are being grown inside, – and these "players of players" have nothing in common with goodness and kindness.

***

### About lie for good purpose

There is no such thing as "lie for goodness sake" – there must be such thing as a limited information.

***

### About chaotic thinking

Don't allow your thoughts to flicker – the voice of the soul will be weaker.

***

### About inevitable battle

The battle for the future awaits everyone. The question of weapon selection still remains.

***

### About system of anti-humanism

Either you transform the false system of values, or the system finally shapes you to its liking.

***

### About methods of opposing the evil

Oppose the evil not by violence, but by force of spirit.

***

### About cold war and hearts

Why are there such severe frosts in the USA? If one keeps waging cold war for such a long time – he'll freeze himself for good and once and for all!

***

### About choosing the smaller of two evils

By constantly choosing between smaller of two evils, you will inevitably choose ultimate evil one day.

***

### About karma

"No one is forgotten, nothing is forgotten" © Karma

***

### About advertising

Advertising is a socially legalized way of zombifying a buyer for his own money.

***

### About unreal

The more there is a gap between reality and delusion – the greater the probability that a man won't be able to accept his reality.

***

### About energy of information and TV

Information, which we consume, bears a hidden energy trait in itself. A lot of people persistently continuing to listen to a speaking box, despite the obvious deterioration of own health during this process, which is comparable to informational poisoning.

***

### About time frames of self-realization

The main question for human souls which were late for own self-realization is a question of distribution of time.

***

### About battle with intrusive thoughts

To fight with intrusive tiny thoughts by answering to them inside your mind is like trying to kill hordes of mosquitoes with a sword. Don't pay attention to their air pirouettes – and they will start ignoring you.

***

### About the consequences of rage

Rage for you is kind of trump? Yours life force you'll throw to dump.

***

### About the law of ignorance

Law of the knowledge is written today: "Greater the ignorance – broader the way".

***

### About inner and outer noise

The more there is inner noise inside a man – the more outer cacophony he desires.

***

### About Twitter and souls

Tell the Twitter, whether he can fit your soul in 140 symbols.

***

### About the progress of human evolution

Now "evolution" expressed as thus: beasts are now kinder than many of us.

***

### About internet trolls

Network "trolls" can't help but spit? Soul's pain makes them shit.

***

### About rescue of others

It's impossible to rescue others from themselves. It's possible to rescue yourself from the one you used to be.

***

### About false roads

Stepping away from the Way, intended to him by his own destiny, and traveling the wrong one, one risks of becoming useless.

***

### About concealment of faces

Evil hides behind its masks.

Goodness openly does tasks.

***

### About connection with a God

God is always in touch – it's people who are often out of access zone.

***

### About human foolishness

Much in this world go without a trace.

The nonsense of humans is always in place.

***

### About insulting bad manners

Out of sight and out of mind?

The offense can make you internally blind!

***

### About the battle-ready sense of humor

To avoid the bloody fight, know – your foes you can deride!

***

### About work

The amount of work is a measure close to constant and never-ending one.

***

### About life affairs

Live the way so that your deeds travel long before you instead of crawling behind.

***

### About free unfreedom

It's impossible to free the one who doesn't consider himself enslaved.

***

### About persistence of aspirations

"Persistence law" works like they said: what you agree for – that you'll get.

***

### About clothes of humans

They meet you based on body's clothes – but judge for the soul as time goes.

***

### About fates of financial fortunes

No matter what is their size,

History teaches to be wise:

Use fortunes for some useful deed,

Or you'll pay dearly for greed.

***

### About natural and artificial intelligence

The mankind, which destroys itself in million scales, is trying to teach robots how to think. Is this mankind capable of thinking? While there is no such thing as planet-wide natural intelligence, there must be no such thing as an artificial one.

***

### About life steps

To justify yourself by the fact that there are people worse than you – means to fall down. To motivate yourself by the fact that there are people better than you – means to rise up.

***

### About fulfillment of promises

Promising less, keep doing more – and you'll remain a man of your word.

***

### About building of fate

We all create, – as final prize, – our own hell or paradise.

***

### About chance

Chance is similar to a fast traveling train, rushing to a wonderful afar. It's required not only to modestly await its approach, but also to manage to get into your intended wagon during its short-term stops in its journey through ages.

***

### About difficulties of European integration

The inclusion of Russia into the European Union is similar to a bear who is trying to get inside a rabbit's hole.

***

### About American Way

American Way: Bomb, Eat & Pray.

***

### About reflection of deeds

Mirror tells without restraint of the causes of your pain.

***

### About life insurance

Life doesn't give guarantees or write out insurance certificates – it only gives opportunities, opens and closes doors.

***

### About delayed justice

The one who is tormenting others in his present time torments himself in his future.

***

### About unhappy calculations

If unhappy, take advice: don't count troubles – it's unwise.

***

### About the arrogance of the state

The nation who starts considering itself as the most exclusive one becomes self-excluding in due time.

***

### About déjà vu

Deja vu is an echo of one's former lives, being heard by a soul in present time.

***

### About church fasting

Keep your fasting, faithful ones, – you'll not hear heaven's drums. On the blood still villains feed – you are afraid of eating meat!

***

### About undying beauty

One can like the appearance but fall in love only with the character and soul.

***

### About "British scientists"

Sponsored by no-matter-who these strange ones cry "yahoo" when they study useless "foo".

***

### About non-religious belief

There is an abyss of hypocrisy lying between religions and belief.

***

### About Law of Absolute Justice

Ignorance of the heavenly Law does not exempt one from liability for evil deeds. Knowledge of law doesn't make one kind by default. Justice is rarely instant. What is being seeded now will sooner or later be collected by each one.

***

### About ugly education

It's wrong to say: "They born a freak". Their teaching methods are just sick.

***

### About defending of unworthy ones

It's painful to be advocates for nasty people.

***

### About people of light and darkness

Different wreckers exist in a world. Trappers of light these ones can be called.

Caducity seekers exist in a world. Reflectors of light these ones can be called.

Learners of truth exist in a world. Collectors of light these ones can be called.

Givers of kindness exist in a world. Light-amplifiers these ones can be called.

Makers of feats exist in a world. Makers of light these ones will be called.

***

### About failing imagination

The imagination, which is deprived of creative forms, risks of becoming suspiciousness.

***

### About painful memories

The pain of past lies at your feet? Just don't try to dig that shit!

***

### About inappropriate questions

Is it wise to bring up those questions that one may not bring down later on?

***

### About life certificates

Each newborn person is given a certificate of birth.

A certificate of death is issued for each diseased one.

But how many from them truly deserve to get a certificate of Life – bright, meaningful and worthy?

***

### About life with no purpose

"Who wants to live will learn to run", said squirrel in the wheel without fun.

***

### About word and deed

I prefer many-implementing people to promising ones.

***

### About the consumption of life

They said: "Enjoy life to the full", but no one taught us to give it all we have.

***

### About national wealth

The richness of countries lies not in its gold reserves, but in people with hearts of gold.

***

### About the beauty of girls

One of the combinations of pleasant with useful is a beautiful and kind girl. Beauty is pleasant for one's eyes and kindness is useful for relations.

***

### About awakening of the soul

When a soul awakens – one of many becomes one of few.

***

### About business-in-love

There are beloved ones in relations, there are no such ones as "partners".

***

### About age

Age is an acquirable business.

***

### About small ones of this world

The best people are few – they are a suppressed minority.

***

### About discontent with life

If you are angry with life, what option are you left with – to praise death?

***

### About people and animals

Many animals have one indisputable advantage over people – they never kill others of their kind.

***

### About TV opinion

When you borrow your opinion from a TV – you get nothing.

***

### About bribery of incorruptible

Oh, thief, don't ever try – you'll never bribe the sky!

***

### About pledge of happiness

Pledge of a happy life – is to interweave what is best inside you into everyday life, into daily reactions and deeds.

***

### About deadly careers

The career shouldn't be a quarry – pit for your talents.

***

### About the color of the soul

The human soul has no color of skin, race, and religion.

***

### About human uniqueness

Everyone is born unique. Lives of many are too similar.

***

### About a way to wisdom

Knowledge doesn't make a man smarter. Age doesn't make him wiser. Religiousness doesn't make him kinder. The clever person understands the limitation of his current knowledge. Understanding of nature of knowledge, which is temporary and limited by itself, leads him to a depth of own being, and on this road, he becomes wiser. With wisdom comes inner harmony, which expresses itself in kindness.
