Short stories - 18 ïëþñ

               

                Contains some obscenities
 

"This bird has flown"

A sudden story (a crazy beatle play)

Introduction
 I like writing stories, but not in English. So it's completely not my story. Almost every word is a quote. I just got interested, what would happen, if I wrote words as they come to me.
 
 It's 5 o'clock in the morning.
 Eleanor Rigby (sitting in the sky with diamond, cloud 9) - My love, you've got to hide your love away. I don't mean to hurt you, but... Leave me alone. I feel so insecure...
 Sgt. Pepper (in the same place, opening his eyes) - What goes on? Everybody's got something to hide. All I’ve got to do is thank you, girl. Wasn't it just a bad dream, number 9 ? Tell me what you see!?
 E. - I've just seen a face. It's been Rocky Raccoon! I've seen him standing there. You may say I’m a dreamer, but it seemed so real to me... We said our goodbyes one year before. He threatened, he would rather see me dead.
 P. - Oh, darling! I know, what it's like to be dead. Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream. It is not dying.
 E. - But he's nicknamed Bungalow Bill. He's a jealous guy...
 P. - THIS guy won't be happy, till he sees you cry. Tell that Rocky, you're not at home. I get high, when I see you...
 E. - Try to see it my way! He'll come in through the bathroom window!
 P. - You're making me frantic to sail across the Atlantic to get to you! I'll never leave you alone, and he's a fool on the hill. In a couple of years we'll have built a home, sweet home...
 E. - How can I go home, if he knows my name. You know, he can look up the number.
 P. - That's why I never give you my number and name (and money too). But there's a place, where we can go: ¹ 9, Strawberry Fields, Nowhereland, where we're all came from.
 E. - There're places I remember, but THIS one is a hole in the ocean.
 P. - Well, there's another place we can be: 909, Penny Lane, Pepperland.
 E. - The farther one travels, the less only knows.
 P. - I know, but it's getting better! Roll up! You can drive my car.
 E. - Where to?
 P. - It's in my ears and in my eyes - only two thousand miles over the ocean.
 E. - Happiness isn't measured out in miles. I don't know, which way I’m facing.
 P. - Well, we'll follow the sun. We'll fly away somewhere...
 E. - In the dead of night? I'm frightened of the dark.
 P. - I'll try to make it shine. I'll make a fire.
 E. - Nothing is real. You gonna lose me. Let me leave.
 P. - Tell me why? We can work it out! Life is very short...
 E. - I'll never be the same. He'll always be the only guy for me. And life can be long.
 P. - So, now it's time to say goodbye. Let it be. Why wasting time, if we both know?!
 E. - I was only waiting for this moment to be free. (gets up and flies away)
 P. - A love, that should have lasted years...               
                The end.

06.2005
            Bird's opening  - anticlassics in action

Bird's opening – one of the most ancient debuts and  would have to evoke respect, admiration and sacred awe in all reasonable chess players.
 But no. In practice of people from level of 2500-2800 Elo it practically doesn't occur. Books on it can be listed on fingers. For example, "Byrd's Opening",
 D. Oleynikov, 14 pages of the theory, 200 games. The base of games more than 15.000 (in reality – 214). Training base. 2002. – is the best sample of the attitude to this debut.
 But why? Even to Junior (and to any other decent chess engine) promotion of a pawn down file f will never prevent winning a game against a man! So why are people afraid to apply a debut by the name of Mr. Bird?
 Prejudices in relation to this unfortunate debut were rooted deeply in subconsciousness of chess players. Even the King’s gambit, Yanish's gambit, Sokolsky's debut, Grob's Attack  or Owen's defense are so not pursued and oppressed as Bird's opening.
 And Henry Bird was one of the strongest English chess players of the second half of the 19th century, and also a chess theorist and a writer. He made the significant contribution to development of the debut theory and developed the beginning 1. f4 (Bird's opening) and system of playing in the Spanish opening. He learned to play chess at the age of 10, watching players in one London’s cafes; by the age of 16 he became a regular player of the Divan in the Strand. He was strong enough to be invited to the first large international tournament in London in 1851. When it lost Morphy in 1858, Bird was only 28, and he had been actively playing during next 50 years. Played a match with Lasker - 3,5:8,5. As the outstanding accountant, he wrote a book under the name “An Analysis of Railways in the United Kingdom” and as a chess player - several treatises.
 But it just a lyrical digression.
 And Bird's debut was played by Chigorin, Alekhine, Bronstein, Fischer, Tartakover, Nimtsovich, Larsen, Danielsen and the few other grand masters. But these ones are enough so far.
 So why is 1. f4 so seldom met in the games of people from 2300 Elo and is more? But this move isn't worse, for example, than Sokolsky's debut, and even much more correct.
So why is  Bird's opening exposed to such "discrimination", boycott and persecutions?
 The answer is one – the unknown frightens. The theory at this opening is practically absent, and from the first move you have to wander about the narrow paths of its variants on which a leg of a serious researcher didn't tread at all. Each step threatens with death.
 This poor debut has only several decent websites 1. f4: (http://www.geocities.com/drawyah/, http://simnet.is/hdanielsen/polarbear/ and  They, of course, don't give a complete idea of this remarkable opening.
 IMHO, benefits at 1. f4 has a lot of advantages. The early attack on the line f, first of all. The main shortcoming – the weakness of the royal flank.
 From my geometrical point of view, the piece of f2-f4 is parallel to f7-f5 piece. To check it, you only have to mentally  fold a chessboard in half from top to bottom (or from bottom to top).
And the Dutch defense - quite correct debut. By the way, if to fold a board in the direction from left to right (or from right to left), then we will find out that the piece of f2-f4 coincides with c2-c4 piece! (The English defense - not a debut from a garbage can too).
 And from the linguistic point of view, Bird's debut is suitable for a game. It is necessary to think only of his name – it’s not "attack" and not "defense", but namely an opening. I.e., very balanced debut.
 The chess engine point of view was already mentioned.
 The conclusion asks for it: further studying of a debut of Bird, without hasty conclusions, is necessary.

 to be continued:)
 Monday, May 12th, 2008
            Why chess is harmful. Philosophical view of a dupe.

To play chess normally (2600-2700), few things are needed: money and free time. Money – about 100 thousand rubles a year in the village, time – at least 6 hours a day. It is understood that health and technical and information equipment by the first two conditions are most often reached.
And how to earn money by chess, if there is no free time for them?
After all, without the corresponding theoretical and psychological training it is impossible to achieve serious progress.
On the other hand, if not earning money by chess, then there won’t be free time for them.
From this it is possible to draw a conclusion that chess, for all its visible availability, is a sport game for the elite, and all in all – a logical deadlock. :-)
Let's consider, for example, dynamics of my development as it is to a large extent caused by the factors of time and money.
For illustration of importance of time factor – it is possible to compare my quality of playing during diploma practice, i.e. when I wasn’t so busy, and in April. I don't know such people who could at the same time write the diploma and reports for 7 hours a day, to ride the bus for 4 hours a day, and to attend lectures sometimes hour 2-3, plus to watch Kasparov's* games for 2 hours, moreover, to play as a gross master. Even I can't do that...
For illustration of importance of money factor – it is enough to compare my results in blitz when I had money to spend the night in St. Petersburg and when I didn’t.
So, it is possible to come to a conclusion that if you live in the village, it is necessary to make a career and retire after all first, or to get on disability, or to find the rich husband, and then to play chess.
Absolutely unprofitable occupation, in my opinion. To pay the admission fee, hotel, food, an insurance, and after all that also to play quietly – it is necessary to have strong nerves. And where do women find money, is just unclear... ;-) Likely, they play poker...
Generally, it looks strange from the outside: take, for example, 50 people playing, prizes (sufficient not to starve for about two months) are given to 3-5 people. But, nevertheless, the same crowd of 50 comes to the next tournament though, logically, 45 would have to already starve to death and get confused in debts. But it doesn't occur. Therefore, they have some other sources of income. It can't be a full-day job, as you can’t retire every two months. :-) It’s suspicious, for all that...
I have an idea - to f*ck for money, and then to play chess on it, but somehow it doesn’t look nice to me. Well, no, I don't think that such activity which makes you to f*ck for money can be good... Therefore, chess is a bad game. :-)
And in general the meaning of participation in tournaments is lost. To earn money by it  is unreal, and to receive any rank – even more senseless. Chess rank is necessary, first, for increase in the status (so that IM and IG weren’t squeamish and disdainful to speak and play blitz). It is pleasant, for example, when the guest on a chess server loses, calls me names, and I just tell him: do you know who you’re attacking, ***, I am an ai-dgi! :-) Secondly, not to pay money for participation.
Thus, chess as an occupation is a waste of time. :-) And love to them means nothing here. I, for example, would now eat pita bread directly from an underground oven :-), but I have no such opportunity.
Blitz – senseless too. First, I don't like it. Secondly, after day of hard work it is difficult to expect victories. And for me the main thing is the game quality. If I make the move which wouldn't be approved by a chess engine or opposite to my beliefs, I am upset. Why experiencing negative emotions? :-) Why skiving? What pleasure can be there from a low-quality game and yawns? The main thing as R. Spielmann told, is the belief in the position. And I can’t really make such a belief appear somehow in my brain,  if I don’t study chess theory for an hour, don’t  get enough sleep, don’t have a rest and don’t eat. Therefore, personally for me chess in any kind is harmful. :-)

2008-2009

*Performs the functions of a foreign agent. Included by Rosfinmonitoring into the list of terrorists and extremists.

 
From the bottle

don't drink at the wedding they always try to make you tipsy we will sit by the river and then two “Baltica” beer the problem of gender relations but who will teach you f*ck you don't call me anymore my sweetie you like slender ones with short light well you are schmuck I… at first sight would kill you not so not so more softly call him wait for three years I… you very much let’s met with a girlfriend move away the dog Shagane well I can't…her it well you’re a bore-bore-bore my little sunshine why are you music supports orgasm how dribbling it she is so unhappy the water is near do you want I might acquaint why so slow and will you come you are afraid of me all of them love you hurry again even Camel  you never it can’t be so wow and others are allowed to the bathroom is on the right well somehow I didn’t have to f*ck so you’re there will be no way back met before do you hurt I can't today a guerrilla girl eat some more you …to me at once but where is f*ck off what is your smell I like ten rubles each close the window enough for three liters well you are such a… yes both to the army I love well don't yawn chess pieces you won't come I know a thirty-year-old virgin boy she… me and I… you and who is that girl on the last row we will drink for the grandmother to rest in peace in the cafe and to kiss? such textbooks should be thrown out forget and never mind you will be the last find an eraser on the window so we four gathered together do you listen you just don't see “to call” – emphasis on "a" some students three wenches and me all of them get drunk after the lectures woke up there’s a guy near who is in the old blouse don't wait for excellent marks hide the can under the chair I learned your phone number from… the dialectics of being an unfamiliar flat why such a small and not hard I must she the shop nearby the old and young assh*les well but I am sick a sausage sandwich so you don’t… me what children cranberry liqueur’s not enough but at the wedding don't drink

2008
            Emptiness

… Having taken off a green rubber cap and boot covers, I went out into a dazzlingly white corridor. It was hard to walk because of unusual distances between objects. The walls and the floor formed accurate straight lines, the bright bulbs lit the rough ceiling. It seemed to me that I am standing at the door to another world.
The first that caught my eye when I opened a door into the visitors’ lobby – a bright red grand piano in the dining room and squares of tile on the floor. Then I have suddenly saw my parents who rushed to me with shouts of joy. They had amusing faces. Absolutely not like what I expected to see. Mother's shoes and father's boots brought me into mute delight. Parents’ wrinkles made their faces too real and alive – and unexpectedly close to me, more than ever.
– Well, how has the surgery passed? – the father asked me. The mother couldn't speak because of emotions.
– Great. There was was such a smell as if they drilled my teeth. Also it was very difficult not to worry and not to move a pupil. And then I saw red, green and yellow ringlets from the laser. As though I looked into the kaleidoscope at surprising tracery. I don't understand what is happening to me.
– And do you see me?
– Of course, I do. And mother too. And the room. It seems to me, I got into some wonderful country, and I want to stay here!
– Now we will wait for the doctor, and then we will go home …

… There were three more hours before the bus’s arrival. I left the waiting room, took cigarettes from the handbag and found a lighter in my pocket. It was possible to wander a little more on the railway station and to think. The memories never end … especially when you badly want to get home quicker. Suddenly from around the corner there appeared a girl in a short crimson jacket and jeans. I haven’t recognized her at once. It was my friend Natasha whom we boozed and listened to the Pink Floyd with.
– Let's go and sit in the park! – she offered me.
– Of course. If I’ll have enough money for two liters.
– I will add some.
I had only two hundred rubles with me. But we were lucky. Soon came some more people, the students from another faculty who decided to leave the periods a bit earlier. There is nothing more boring, than to sit and listen to the tedious chatter of a lecturer narrating about his private life. It would be much more useful to stay home and read a book or a good workbook of the lecture. And it was even more useful to drink some beer.
– Look who is coming!
At the distance the local teacher of a certain useless subject appeared. We knew that he is drinking vodka right after the end of periods and is hanging out near University in such a state. And that he had several turtles at home.
– Hehe, this is nothing… there is one professor from our department. So we found him in the most distant resting room yesterday, on a sofa, and there was a bottle with something tasty in his hand.
– Well, they should relax somehow after their heavy job. Especially that they should drive long hours to our petty branch…
The weather was good, and no one wanted to be choking in the apartment. And therefore we bought several liters of beer and occupied two benches in the park, having driven a couple of local bums from there. Natasha with one more late student stepped aside – to chat about their married affairs. Alcohol already began to work …

… It was five o’clock in the morning, and gentle-pink rising sunrise foreshadowed a windy summer day. I was standing by the window and watching how two crows flew from a tree to a tree. Their legs and small beaks were so real that it was strange to believe in their existence. There was a small sticker with a drawn dragon, for exercises from short-sightedness, on the inside part of the glass. I tore off the sticker and wiped the glass.
Outside not only birds, but also people already began to wake up. The janitor was sweeping the street, and I could even remember his face. But I never saw faces earlier and wasn't able to remember them. The branches on the trees were shaking from the light breeze. I could have drawn them now, but I had already forgotten to draw a long-long time ago, moving the easel closer and closer to the still life. The world in spectacles is absolutely not the same as it actually is…

– Hi, and what are you doing here? – one more fellow student who was accidentally passing by. Lida was from those who found pleasure to drive me by the hand. She compared me with her short-sighted sister and advised me to read Norbekov. Sometimes we were crossing the road crossed the road together. Now I could walk by myself, and our topics for a talk were exhausted.
I departed from the company to chat with her. Lida began in her usual style:
– Why do you communicate with that Natasha? It has such heredity, it is no wonder that she is drinking much. And what will her child grow up to be, it is terrible to imagine.
– Why do you care?
– Well, I just have pity for you. She can't study, so she clings to you. And that boyfriend of her, Vasya, he is courting you to copy the ready answers from your textbook.
I recalled all disks and books that disappeared without a trace in Natasha’s apartment, and inwardy agreed with that. And about the rest too. But then I recalled that Lida was always copying my answers too.
– So that? I just want to have a good time. Well, I don't disturb you. It’s not so easy, in the end, to find a person who likes to listen to the Beatles. Most of people aren't similar to me at all.
– Well, nothing, that is your business. A fellow teacher told me confidentially that if you drink much, you will become a janitor, but not a teacher.
– And I was never going to be a teacher, and I don't give a damn for your acquaintances. I will pass all examinations better than you all the same.
– Well, I don't doubt it.
Lida took out a mobile phone and looked at her wristwatch. Probably, she took offense that her taunts are passing by my ears, I thought. But I didn't want to apologize at all. There is no difference whom to communicate to, if there is nothing to talk about anyway.
– See you tomorrow.
I felt that people around me were telling something, moving. But I was already plunging into my world where there was nothing superfluous – only the sky over my head and the leaves on the park trees …

… There was no mirror in the hospital hotel room, so I ad to go into the corridor. An unfamiliar face was looking at me from the mirror. I peered into it, trying to convince myself that it was me. Then returned to my room and turned on the radio. Strangely enough, the Beatles’ song "Let it be" was playing. Outside the window, as far as the eye catches, multystoried buildings were stretching out, people were hurrying on the street – some were returning home from work, some, like me, for their new eyes. The light was switched on in many windows, and it was possible to discern how someone was walking behind the lowered curtains. Each trifle in this world was unfamiliar and frightening to me. I lay down on the bed, dripped the drops in both eyes and closed them. Perhaps, it is much easier to live in the dark, only imagining what it is – this world …

… When my pal friends went away, I got on the bus and drove home. It was already darkening, and the glaring light of lanterns hurt my eyes. A pleasant beery feeling of nonchalance was spreading inside my entrails, and life seemed not so frightful.

           2012
            Vanitas

I woke up from the morning light that was pushing through the curtains. On the bed there was some unfamiliar guy. I didn't remember neither how he happened to be nor what we were doing at night. I took out the mobile phone. Six am. Carefully treading on the dirty floor, I went to the kitchen. The smell of cigarettes and beer hadn’t disappeared yet. A cat was lazily washing herself on the window sill. There were the old faded John Lennon's photo and a poster of Nirvana hanging on the wall. Dirty mugs stayed in the sink, pizza remains were seen on the table. There were some more people sleeping in the corridor, some on sofas, and others just on the floor. Trying not to wake anyone, I splashed out the remains of beer into a glass, took a sip, left the apartment and closed the door …

That morning me and my fellow student were drinking on the bench near the university. The next useless double periods which could be shirked. Having tried to keep cans with gin tonic under the desks and to drink right during the classes through a tubule, we decided that it is funny, but a bit complicated. And we were kicked out from the porches by spiteful grannies and dogs.
We were saying something, but it was unimportant. Music, acquaintances, food, the injustice of life and small pleasures. The main thing was – to feel the smack of freedom which alcohol gave. Everything – both bad and good – was forgotten, there remained only a feeling of infinite peace and the joy of life. It seemed, any pain will depart before a sip of light beer. We felt ourselves the strongest and most courageous people in the world.
– And have you tried to f*ck in the ass? – Masha asked me.
– Sure. – I said, so that to say something. The world narrowed to the sizes of a beer can, but my brain, it seemed, widened to the globe size.
– My ex didn't satisfy me at all. It like the Earth and the sky.
– Mine too.
– Except he drinks much. And even in the mornings. He still hadn’t paid for the broken car, and already managed to break the new one somewhere …
– Why dating him?
– Only sex. Well and I, of course, love him very much.

Suddenly I noticed a familiar face. By the bench there an elderly person walking a dog was passing. His face rumpled from alcohol gave away sleepless nights and some worry. "It couldn’t be worse."– I thought.
– And are you still dating that guy? – The question took me unaware. I couldn't tell with confidence what guy Masha means. Whether those two whom we drank last week with, or that whom I was kissing in the park a month ago. Or perhaps someone else. You never know what you will tell a friend, when drunk. But the specific bozo who was passing by worried me more than the others. It is unknown how a person leading a double life would behave. Married men are d*cks on legs. Besides, the behavior of those who were not given sex is unpredictable.
– No, I’ve been dating another for a long time already. – The man has greeted me, more precisely, he mooed something, and left. Excellent. It is so disgusting when it is necessary to yell at people so that they left you alone and stopped trying to paw you.
I took a sip of beer and felt as though some shadow from the past had flashed passing by. It happens when you see a face reminding someone else. Or not reminding. But it is very easy to pretend that a person reminds someone, and it is enough to like that person, though for a short time. Life seems to be deflecting through the dream prism.
– And I saw Anton yesterday. – I tried to recall what relation Anton has to me, but couldn't. Then I thought out that Anton's face seemed familiar to me, and during the next bender I told Masha that I like him.
– I’m bored with him.
– Me too. My boyfriend is going to take care of him and Fedya. He doesn’t like that we are drinking with them. As though to drink – means to f*ck. Why does he treat me this way … I drink with him too …
And that was a beginning... It is hard to stop a drunk person’s stream of consciousness. But alcohol makes any moment brighter. And we had been sitting on the bench for three hours already.
– And have you ever loved somebody? Truly? – Masha asked me. I took thought. As far as I knew, all people whom I used for draining of my thoughts, gradually ceased to talk to me and disappeared.
– Not yet.
– You will find still somebody. You are even half a year younger than me.
– I don’t care.
The words slid past my ears. And there was enough things to think over, without words. It was a fine summer day, the sun was heating the bench and the beer, so we decided to look at the periods’ schedule for tomorrow and to continue drinking at home, in cozier environment.

… It was a warm summer morning on the street. To get to the next bus stop –more than a kilometer. Holding back the nausea, I dragged myself forward, as usual, promising myself not to get drunk so again. The deserted quiet town didn't pay any attention to me, and only the singing of birds said that he will soon wake up and plunge into eternal vanity for a next working day.
As always, there was no place to sit in the bus. I understood that it was time to look for a bag for burping. Fortunately, some kind woman, having seen that I make suspicious sounds, has palmed off a package to me.
After an hour of almost continuous vomiting I, at last, reached home and went to sleep at once.


2012
             Non-existence

She was standing by the window and watching spring flies tapping on the window. It was cozy and warm in the room. In the computer – the video of "Juno and Avos", on the shelves – books on sexology, on walls – the pictures reproductions and icons. The bra was hanging from the back of the bed, and there was an empty box from from condoms laying on the floor.
 – Do you want some more wine? – Igor asked.
 – No, it’s already enough for me.
She recalled how many times she came into this room and dreamed of this to happen. And so, it finally came true. The feeling of joy overwhelmed her. It seemed to her that the rays of light are penetrating all of her body, warming her by its heat. Now she was the same as everyone, and his awkward disgusting caress were left behind.
 – Why have you left that time? – Igor came around and embraced her. They kissed.
How ridiculously he expressed his thoughts, when she refused him – "let's stay friends". Never before did she met that phrase. She had to look for its meaning on the Internet. An incredibly silly phrase. As well as him, incredibly silly and boring.
 – I don't know. Probably, I was silly. I love you.
 – I like you very much.
Some inner voice whispered her about the discrepancy of words and thoughts, but it was somewhere far, in the depths of her subconsciousness. She just wanted to say "I want you", and he had no desire to talk at all. Therefore they started kissing again.
– It would be great, if you let your hair grow long.
She felt how her heart ached. The thoughts in her head were ahead of one another, but none of them could be expressed here and now.
– You're so beautiful.
She smiled. Igor looked so self-satisfied and ridiculous.
– I am, sort of, your deflorator. But there was little blood for some reason.
From the lips of a virgin guy it sounded idiotically. But she suppressed her desire to burst out laughing.
– You have so many birthmarks, – he said.
She recalled with how difficult it was she managed to help him to finish the whole business, his constant "you should learn to give pleasure to a man", and the feeling of joy left. Instead of it the feeling of disgust came.
– I’m tired and I feel bad.
– I will take you home.
It seemed, she wouldn’t be let to spend the night. And it isn't necessary. It seemed absolutely unimportant in comparison with what happened  in the bed. Sex has no faces.
– The mother is sleeping, she won't notice us. Let's go.
They were walking along the dark streets of a small town. Here and there the lamps burned, occasionally the scared cats and pussycats were dashing aside. Nobody wanted to talk. At the porch it was silent and damp.
– When will we meet next time?
– Never.
– Well, this is your business. There won't be a third time.
Igor murmured something more, she never caught the words. She never saw him again.
At home on the balcony she lit a cigarette and was lost in thought. It was silent, and only the starry sky reminded her that she was not alone in the Universe. She recalled how once she and her classmates were returning from school, and he was showing some constellations in the sky to his friend. Just like her father. Her grandmother, the father's mother, was a biology teacher, as well as the mother of her classmate. So they were walking and gazing at the stars, and she was walking behind them, as though she didn't exist to him. Never existed.
Igor dialed the number for the third time. Long beeps. At last, a female voice was heard:
– Hi. Why are you so late?
– I was late at work, my darling. Perhaps, we will go somewhere some evening and have a walk?

2012

 
The club

– Let's play one more game? – Igor offered. His eyes were gleaming, he was looking down at the T-shirt of a girl sitting in front of him.
It was stuffy in the small room. It smelled of old sweat and lollipops. Several children were running one after another, laughing and crying out chess terms. Yellow wallpaper merged with the color of the ceiling, long desks with chessboards were almost breaking under the weight of chess pieces. The players were sitting at the desks.
– Only by five minutes, I should go.
– Not, I am just an amateur, I am not able this way.
At the next board two pensioners were loudly discussing the  game:
– I moved my bishop right here, so what are you talking about, Ivan Sergeich?
– The bishop stood on d2. Well, Slava saw that, right, Slava?
– Your flag fell down long ago, what are you arguing about?
– The bishop stood here! Well f*ck you, make your move!
Some chess player of uncertain age and in crumpled clothes approached the girl and suggested her to play a game. Having sat down at the little table, he suddenly began to pull her hand to his mouth instead of shaking hands before the game.
– Well you’re completely, – she said, fastidiously withdrawing her hand.
The game started. In the middle of the game she suddenly felt that someone is trying to half-embrace her from behind. It appeared, it was a fellow chess player from another city.
– Well why are you playing here? Let's go and drink beer.
– Leave me alone!
In another corner, in the little nook, the club’s elite gathered, the masters of sports and candidate masters gathered. Discussing something chessy. Several people made their way into the very corner, took out the hidden glasses and bottles from a locker. The fun began.
– And what can I do after work? Only to drink! – cheerfully one of the young people said.
Several nasty grease ugly faces drew nearer to her. But it was necessary to finish the game. And certainly to win. To smash that sh*thead.
– A good chess player plays well with vodka too, – joyful talks were heard from the corner.
A couple of local college students stopped at the board. Both suggested her to date, – that is, to walk with beer from one end of the city to another.
– Well, that’s nenough, I give up, – her opponent said and began to arrange the pieces. Fortunately, he didn't give a hand to her.
She came out into the dark street and went to the bus stop.

2013

 
Music

The club was noisy and crowded. I took a second cocktail. A lot of drunk people crowded near a scene, even more people crowded near the bar. Someone began to make a pass at me. I dropped back away from them. They evoked irrational fear in me …

… I recalled a camp somewhere in the south. We, students at that time, lived in separate houses near the sea. On the first day four people got poisoned by the wine of local bottling, some girls picked up local guys. I was collecting stones for my aquarium on the seashore and thought about how to catch a jellyfish. I was smoking on high benches near the stadium, sunbathing and eating crayfish on the beach. In the evenings I was expelled from the house because I had an allergy to someone's mosquitoes’ repellent. The roommates were watching me in a strange way and were spitefully telling something …

… The music sounded ugly, more precisely, just awful. Once one my acquaintance named Sasha had advised me to listen to that band. At home in the earphones it, really, sounded as it should. The real music for suicides. I had fallen in love with it to listen to in the long evenings, when I was frightened and wanted to end my life. But I came to the club not because of the music, but from some strange wish to pay a tribute to the memory of the past …

… The train. I’m going home. There is a pack of Doshirak Ramyeon laying on a little table, a nice guy – laying on the side seat in front of me. Each time the train stops we come out for a smoke break, and he is convincing me to give up smoking. On my question why he smokes, – answered that he is already a washed-up man and it’s all the same to him. His name was Sasha, and he had recently returned from the army. He had been studying at sports department of some university and loved aquariums too. I told him how I once was dreaming to enter the department of chess in Moscow. He taught me to eat dry noodles, and was telling me how they smoked usual tea instead of cigarettes in the army …

… Suddenly I recalled that I ran out of cigarettes, and have felt panicky. Fortunately, the barman shared one with me. I ordered one more cocktail, and I started to feel a bit calmer …
… I met Sasha one more time. That day me and Natasha arrived to St. Petersburg together. We were sitting in the electric train and listening to the player, one earphone into each one’s ear. At the station all of us got acquainted, and then she left with her new boyfriend whom she hoped to complement her husband. Me and Sasha were wandering through the bookstores and took part in a bus excursion. He seemed to be a good friend, but we had nothing to talk about. It is nice to get acquainted with people which don’t attract you, and which aren’t attracted by you too. And in the evening he saw me off to the station. He had a strange look … for some reason I always remember how a person looked at me for the last time.

… In the smoking-room I fall into talk with several local inhabitants. There was nothing to talk about, and even our favorite bands didn't coincide. But it was necessary to buy time till the end of the concert …

… We didn't correspond any more and Sasha disappeared from my life, as well as many people who are not interested in each other cease to exist to each other. On his page he wrote that he is a very good and merry person. Probably, it was so. Soon Natasha who liked to communicate with people on the Internet more than me, told me that he got married. Natasha liked to snap up my friends, but this time didn't attract her keen interest in my acquaintances didn’t evoke any emotions in me …

… The cloakroom was crowded, and I seriously was afraid that I will be crushed before I manage to get out from there. Sweaty teenagers in T-shirts with names of bands and hairy people of indefinite age in sneakers were fiercely forcing their way to cloakroom attendants. At last, I got my clothes and went out of the club …

… Suddenly Natasha called me and said that Sasha hung himself at his apartment. "That's all", – he wrote on VK wall. That last evening he was trying to tell something to Natasha, but she didn't answer him – she had no time.

2013
            On the streets of St. Petersburg

It was a late autumn. Slushy and dreary. It seemed, the streets of St. Petersburg pushed me away. Even the buildings seemed hostile. I felt lonely and lost. I was fired from another job, where I had been working only for three days. Before that I managed to have worked for month in a certain office, typing documents and answering calls, but, at last, the fatigue forced me to leave.
– Girl, let me paint your portrait, – a street artist offered. I refused and went forward. The rain was starting, and it was quickly darkening. I was heading for to the subway. Usually in the evenings I was wandering about some department store, so that not to feel so lonely. I sat down at a little table in McDonald's and imagined the times when my dad had been alive, and we drove there as a family. Since then a lot of things changed.
– It is possible to get acquainted with you? – the young man of uncertain age asked me. The train didn't arrive yet, and we got to talking. He worked as a teacher at some institute, and suggested me to come around there to chat wit him, on the next day. The train approached, and we got into different cars. I didn't go to chat with him and didn't answer his call. I never saw him anymore.
I left at some station and went to a cafe, where I agreed to meet with my Internet acquaintance – a chess player from Moscow. As well as many of my acquaintances, he drank a lot.
He was ten minutes late and arrived not alone. He was followed by two tipsy guys and a girl, who then disappeared in the direction of the subway. We sat down at a little table and started drinking beer.
– We began drinking in Moscow already. All night long in the train we have been boozing! – he was bragging. I felt  repulsion and boredom. Here is one more dipso in my life …
Having drunk and having smoked, we had a walk on the darkening streets, and I saw him off to the railway station.
I got into the subway again and took out a plan of my journey to the future work place, drawn by me. The advertisement promised high salary and stability. But, having reached the necessary address, I found only a small filthy office and consultants who had a fishy look. They began convincing me to invest money into their enterprise. I said goodbye to them and went forward.
The next job was called "A client relations manager". I was cordially welcomed and led into a semidark little cellar. There were computers standing in rows, and several people sitting, by their look – looking for a job too. I was explained the crux of my duties – to register on dating sites, to expose photos of certain girls and to communicate with men instead of them. For everyone enticed into an appointment – additional fare. Soon it became uncozy for me to sit in this den. The thoughts about prostitutes being so busy or silly didn't abandon me. I said goodbye and ran away.
It was already dark, and in the subway I took a little nap. I left on Lesnaya and by desert streets reached the apartment of relatives where I was allowed to live. At last there came the happiest time. I could listen to music, play chess, read books and dream that someday I will find a good job and will be able to participate in tournaments once a year.
I sat up till one am, watching video when I felt the smell of smoke. I went into the kitchen and looked out of the window. The smoke went from our porch. I felt panic and began to think what number I might call the firefighters with. The smoke became more and more dense. I closed the windows and ran out on the balcony to take the air. There wasn't any exit from the eighth floor. Everyone was sleeping.
Several awful minutes had passed, during which the apartment was filling with smoke. I guessed to take mobile phone instead of a flashlight and ran down with a dry rag on my mouth and in slippers. The smoke was hanging in the air by dense shreds. When I reached the first floor, my person was black, and my hair – green. I didn't think that I could have choked and died. I was afraid to be burned alive, though the danger turned out to be not so big. The refuse chute burned. Several people stood at an entrance. Someone was returning home from friends’ meeting and called the firefighters. Now I already became frightened because I had forgotten to wet a rag and ran down at all. It was cold to stand in slippers on the snow, and soon I came back into the apartment.
The next morning, having packed all my things that had gone into three bags, I left the apartment. I didn't feel safe any more and had been very frightened. The city was grinning at me out of a bus window.

2013
 
Madness

The pines began to move back, the suburban electric train St. Petersburg-Volkhov went forward. I sat down on an outside bench – closer to the portal, so that it was possible to smoke sometimes. There were few folks, – early in the morning usually went only students and pensioners got there. The summer sun was slowly creeping out of the horizon.

I already dozed off as suddenly three drunk men of uncertain age entered the car, unshaven, with backpacks and in crumpled trousers. They took seat on the next bench and began to discuss something loudly, sipping beer.

The slumber passed and the fear appeared. I remembered how once I was pursued by one person from the chess club, an elderly alcoholic. He followed me on heels through all rooms and even into the toilet, watched me on the street and told trite jokes. I made friends with him and was sure for some reason that he will get divorced from his wife, marry me and that we will live happily ever after. We will play chess and kiss under the moon. But gradually I understood that something was wrong. Fellow chess players began to gossip behind my back: "– She sleeps with him. – No, she doesn't". And meanwhile he offered me "at least sometimes to kiss him in the storeroom". It appeared, he was spreading rumors about me.

     It became terrible to me to appear in the club, terrible to live. Then he didn't pretend to be a friend any more. He purposely chose offensive words to irritate me. His favourite phrase was: "And it is already your problems now!". When it happened that we had to play chess together, it was stuffy in air from his greasy words. I worried and couldn't play. It continued for several years. At last, once, on a tournament, having been tired of numerous hints, I shouted at all hall: "Leave me alone!". And left the club forever. But even in five years he still tried to solicit me. I couldn't appear anymore in the chess clubs where he went to. Three times it was necessary for me to refuse participation in tournaments because of him.

Men noticed me and were going to stick to me. One of them tried to reach my leg. I cried: – If you touch me, I will kill you!
The drunks laughed loudly and began to move. I went to other car. There were more people, but quiet by appearance. I sat down at the window and closed my eyes.

I recalled how only three years ago I stood on the Leningrad station and wanted to rush under the similar electric train. I arrived to Moscow by the invitation of one fellow chess player from the chess website. It was deserted and sad on the platform All meeting and seeing off people dispersed, and there was nobody to calm me. I didn't understand what was happening. Having stayed in Moscow two days, having told lies to the Moscow relatives, something about a meeting with the friend, having visited several museums and having just hanging out on streets, I went back. And before that sat out for fifteen hours at the railway station. I felt very sad and I wanted to die. I liked this person because he looked like my schoolmate. I won't be able to count any more how many letters I wrote to him. But he never answered me. Although he could. And didn't come to the meeting.

Having come back home, I suddenly found in my email the letter from this chess player. He suggested to meet me in St. Petersburg. I was delighted, but couldn't understand why didn't he meet me in Moscow, while I sent him the copy of the ticket.

When I came to the meeting, I found out that this person – absolutely not the one whom he set up as. Or, more definitely, not the one for whom I took him. I somehow made a mistake. He had a restaurant in St. Petersburg, and he suggested me to go and sleep with him. I refused and left home.

Meanwhile the sun rose, and it became hot in the car. People drowsily moved, some got out mineral water, others beer and chips. It seemed to me, all of them know something about me and secretly watch me.

It began long ago. Perhaps, since that time, when one of my classmates added me as a friend VK. Once upon a time I wrote him a letter, in a small notebook, and here it laid and became dusty in a distant box of a locker. I knew that I wouldn't be able to speak to him. I don't know why he did it. And why he wished me happy birthday. I couldn't speak to him. I was afraid that he wouldn’t like me. I knew that he didn’t like me. I wanted to get rid of memories, and I was glad when he wasn’t online. It always seemed to me that all those Internet pages – only the ghosts of people waiting in the wings to frighten me.
There are no accidents in life. Otherwise, why there always happened some strange stories with me?
Here, for example, the last year’s incident. I was sure that there was a plot between several of my classmates, colleagues from work and several of my relatives. All of them were at one, and their purpose was – to kill me, but not directly and so that everyone would think that it was a suicide.
Otherwise how to explain that one chess player was setting himself up as my classmate on one chess website, and, having enticed me into Baku, denied it? He had a familiar face, so most likely, he was a relative of my classmate. I had even been sure of it. And on the conversation which I had eavesdropped on I had been sure that this classmate and my fellow workers drank together. What, perhaps, was not far from reality. (However, I was engaged in running through the chess website and asking everyone in chats: "And are you Vasya?") But my theories had brought me far, so that I couldn't get out of them anymore. Having arrived to Baku and having found the unfamiliar Russian young man there, I was surprised and haven't found anything better, than to sleep with him. I really  had no choice. I didn’t have enough money for the ticket, the bus went back only every other day. And my doubts had dissipated when I thought that so I will revenge all of them. I had been sure that he was an agent of some secret organization, and he didn't dissuade me. I thought that he would kill me if I don't sleep with him. We drank the wine, and he called me to the room. I refused. But there was no choice left. We had spent a night together, and the next day I left. He promised me that he would arrive and take me away with himself, but, of course, it didn't happen. And it seemed to me that we would always be together now, that it happened that our destinies were crossed. But then he wrote to me that I have to be in the mental hospital, and tall my relatives too. For some time I was ruminating whether I have to cut my veins in the bath, but I couldn’t decide it. Having cried for ten hours, I calmed down. It seemed, there were no any reasons for suicide.

The electric train already approached the city. I left to the portal and lit a cig. Cool air in which I felt the breath of spring, blew into my face. I couldn't understand my life, and it looked to me strange and full of dangers and plots against me.

It was noisy at the station, and I felt alarmed. I knew that someone was watching me, but who – I didn't know. I found the hall with the Internet and sat down at the computer. Police officers were near, and it seemed to me that I was in safety. At least for a while.
I decided to write one more letter. For this purpose I arrived there. I couldn't correspond with people from my apartment any more, I was sure that some other people were watching me. But whom to write? I knew that I was watched not by one person. Perhaps, it was one chess player, or perhaps another. Perhaps even someone who lived nearby. A year ago I made a declaration of love to my classmate because I knew that his e-mail was similar to an e-mail of the other chess player who wrote me. All this was with not without purpose. Such coincidence doesn't happen. And I reprinted the old letter and sent it. Don't know why I did it. It seemed to me that those e-mails couldn't be mere coincidence. But he didn't answer. I wrote him SMS, wrote letters, called him, but he didn't answer. And then, one day in October, he put me into black list on VK. Also he wrote on the wall: "Read The Illuminatus, bitch". But by his notes I saw that he knew about what was in Baku, and I understood that he threatened me. I knew that they want to kill me.

I wanted to give a sign to the police officers. But I recalled that I already went to militia. I wrote the application, but didn't specify names. It was dangerous. The policeman only smiled. He didn't consider my statement noteworthy. Now, probably, even the police won't be able to help me any more. I know too much.

I was sure that there were lots of people involved in this case, but I had no proofs. I wrote a letter to a fellow chess player, and left the hall.

On my way home I didn't think of anything. My thoughts were confused, and it seemed to me that people are talking about me. Student's years were dimly recalled to me, some people, talks, sit-round gatherings. I recalled one more fellow chess player with whom I tried to build relationships, our long boring talks and walks, kisses and all the rest. I had no any feelings to him, and he had no feelings to me. But for some reason I hoped that we would be together all life through. And it was a little similar to my classmate. Just because I wanted to think so. At present all this seemed to be unimportant. Especially in comparison with what danger was threatening me now.

At home I passed into my room at once and began to search. I knew that there were cameras set all around the apartment, but THEY won't manage to stop me yet! I already prepared a plate and matches. At first I was going to destroy spare CDs with data. It is unclear what they want to take. I gathered disks in a bag. Found some old wires, clothes, and cut them into pieces. I will carry all this into the forest tomorrow.

Someone knocked into the room. It was mother. I didn't open her. It is unknown, maybe, she is one of them.

In the evening I spread out books and papers all around my room. If they try to poison me, then for certain everything is impregnated with poison here. I should have invented yet what to do with all this.

Suddenly the door opened. Mother said that the ambulance arrived to me. The doctor asked what troubles me. I answered that nothing. I wasn't going to give away secrets of this secret organization to strangers. I signed a refusal from hospitalization, and the ambulance left.

I drank a bit of martini, lit a candle and sat that way till morning. I was tired of fight, and I wanted to commit suicide. I collected all ropes what only were in the apartment, and began to make one of them, thick. I already looked after a horizontal bar which was in the corridor under the ceiling. But I wasn't sure that I would manage to make it. I took some orange juice and mixed it with vodka. It was enough for me to calm down and live out till morning.

A week before that I broke my mother's phone with the hammer. It occurred at three o'clock in the morning. I don't know what mother told the neighbors. It was a phone with two SIM cards, and I understood that it was somehow connected with the Double Album of John Lennon. Of course, there was a bomb. Mother carried the phone into repair, but they didn’t succeed to repair it. Fortunately.

The next day I went into the forest, to the old cemetery, and got rid of all proofs. But on the way I met several strange people, and according to their words I understood that they spoke about me. Not directly, but in some secret signs. It was necessary to hurry.
That day was The Eighth of March and the uncle came to us. He presented us two white roses. Something broke at me in heart: two roses – a symbol of death, moreover, they’re white… Later he told us that "we should carry out gas". There I didn't doubt any more – he threatened us. I remember, I had an acquaintance. We got acquainted with him in 2006, and then he poisoned himself with gas in 2009. And Christ was crucified from 6 to 9. So, the uncle was one of them too. They just tried to discover a method how to kill me and mother. I precisely knew that my grandmother participated in the plot too. Some day I came to her, and the things in the room were placed in a very strange way. As though it were some signs. Yes, she wanted to give me a sign. She said: your mother has a beautiful neck. And later, when I saw beads on our vase, I understood what she meant. To hang. They want to hang her. And one more sign – my friend Vera (the name means “believe” in Russian) who lived in the apartment number 27. I knew that I must believe that I will live up to twenty seven, but there was little hope.

I put the cut-up things in the kitchen, and they took a lot of place. I removed my father's portrait from the wall and looked at it. He looked at me somehow strange and frighteningly. I understood that something was wrong there. The portrait was thrown out too, as well as a grandmother's ring, some money, jewelry, all gifts. I shall get rid of everything that was brought to me by other people.

It became even more terrible at night. I sat and listened to the music. But suddenly I understood that all songs sing about me and all films were shot about me too. That night I smoked three packs of cigarettes. I was very scared. I felt as if someone walked on my grave … or stirs my ashes … some foreign impact which I couldn't explain with words. The throat tickled from a set of smoked cigs. The room was gradually filling up with smoke. I understood that they, those mysterious persecutors, influence me at the distance.

I read little those days, and every book strengthened my horror. Everywhere it was written about me. THEY KNEW. That night I compared texts of the Master and Margarita and Bible. Everything met. Yes, indeed. And my address was chosen not accidentally. All figures and symbols met in one point, and that point was me.

I heard how neighbors from below and sideways exchanged words about me. The voices rang on the street too. I already got used to them, all night long they didn't allow me to fall asleep. I heard the voices of the presidents of different countries. I knew the earthquake in Japan was my fault.

I took a candle and went to the bathroom. It was somehow awkward to me to go to the bathroom and into the toilet with light, as I knew that my life is broadcasted on hundreds of cameras worldwide.

Having returned into my room, I rummaged in the bag, and suddenly noticed some transparent balls. It seemed as if they were hanging in the air. I understood that my grandmother poured them to me them when I was visiting her. Yes, that’s how it was. I took all knitted socks that she presented me, and cut them up into pieces. Perhaps I somehow will manage to delay my death. I put the balls on the candle and set fire. At this moment the door began to open. Figures of the police officer and the doctor appeared. I grabbed a huge chair and rushed to prop up the door, but I wasn't in time. They put cuffs on me and took me away to the emergency room.

I knew that it was the end. I was the involuntary witness to some secret affairs of this secret society, and now I will be surely eliminated. I sat in the corridor and heard how the passing by people talk. But something in their talk was wrong. And I understood what. Secret signs. They told one, but meant another. They were arranging to kill me, right in front of me, without paying any attention to me. At last, all papers were completed, and they put me into my uncle's car. I saw that in the car’s number there were figures 6 and 9. "That is all" - I thought and shouted: “They’re killing me!”

I thought that they would surely arrange an accident on the road, shoot me, and then flee by another car. But there was nothing left for me to do, I got into the car, and we drove away.

 In an hour everything was over. I was in the safety of hospital walls. I was forced to sign some papers and asked why I’m here. "I want to have a rest." – I answered. To me it was all the same already.

2013
 
Office work

A big gray building. I put a card to the door and come inside. Long corridors, steep stairs, modern elevators. At the offices it’s cool and lively. Computers are buzzing, people are clicking keys. Everyone – in one’s separate world and almost doesn't adjoin others. Some guy passes by, apparently, from our company, muttering curses through the clenched teeth.
– Good morning!
I go up one floor higher. At our office many came a bit earlier and are already working. It’s not possible to manage to do all things in one day. There is enough work for everyone. Someone is filling in some forms, another one is entering information into the computer and corresponding with customers, another is conducting negotiations with clients. Some are processing some documents, others are counting money, the third ones are just sitting on the phone. By the end of day many complain of their eyes and back hurt. Everyone complains of low salary.
During the lunch it is cheerful and noisy in the kitchen. In one corner they’re eating instant noodles, in another corner – caviar sandwiches. Generally they’re discussing working questions, and also – who and where went or will go for holidays this year. The topics are vast – from the cookies brought from the Czech Republic to the beaches of Turkey. In the smoking-room – the quiet silence, which is occasionally interrupted by short remarks on sorts of tobacco or brands of coffee.
At five pm we are released.

A big gray building. I come inside, pass by the security guard on a dusty old staircase. At the office it is stuffy and noisy. The majority at the office – women of different ages. Someone is chatting with one’s friend on the phone, someone has settled at the computer and is playing Tanchiki. Some guy is swearing, probably, because he have to do more work, than others. The women are discussing models of dresses and types of cosmetics, someone is drinking tea, someone is eating cookies.
In the smoking-room – various conversations "on life", occasionally interrupted by work. Everyone has enough time. The women are showing their new shoes and handbags.
At six pm a long queue of employees is heading to the exit.

A big gray building. Our office – at the end of the corridor. The employees are running, the couriers are hovering around, the visitors are constantly coming in. The workers are having tea right at their workplace, silently. After all, there won’t be any lunch anyway. The fatigue increases at the evening, but no one has any time to have a rest. The furious clients are shouting into the cellphones, the uncountable phones are ringing, and some strangers are forcing their way into the doors.
At seven pm the tired people are leaving the building.

A big gray building. At the office – silence, everyone is behind one’s own  fenced-off little table. The employees in strict suits are scurry about to and fro. Each door has its own lock and a code. On the ceiling – surveillance cameras and too bright luminescent lamps. Everyone telephone conversation is being recorded.
We have dinner at the restaurant.
– I hope, you are glad to become a part of our company! And what are you fond of? Chess? It is strange. You are obliged to go to corporate parties once a month. And we are organizing various contests.
Exactly at six pm the employees are wandering off to their houses.

2013


So let us rejoice…

… I got out of the bus and went to a bus stop at the railway station to get on another bus and to reach, at last, the university. Habitual morning fatigue from an hour spent in the stuffy and dusty bus with the students of colleges who were cursing all the time. Early morning and a wish not to think of anything. Neither about the past, nor about the future.
On the railway station there was a woman with a huge sheep-dog. Never loved dogs. Trying to pass by, I, probably, somehow looked at her not in a right way.
– F*ck you, I will set the dog on you! – she shouted. I quietly retreated, but something broke inside me. A morning mood was spoilt.
When I stood on the bus stop, the company of young people passing by looked at me in a strange way. I was frightened. One of them muttered: – You will s*ck my d*ck in a snug place!
In the city bus, it was, like always, noisy and cheerful. Students told jokes about teachers, some were doing homeworks on the run.
Having gone out of the bus, I found myself at one more desert bus stop. Dense herbs blossomed and the sun glistened in dewdrops on leaves. There was some village nearby. In the distance the walls of our native alma mater were seen.
Suddenly an sms from an unfamiliar guy was received on my phone.
– Are you busy tonight?
I asked whether it was Igor, or, maybe, Sasha. He didn't answer.
I joined the crowd of students who came out of the bus and I walked to the uni. There as no one to speak to, and nothing about.
Near the main entrance the smokers were already rejoicing a fresh morning. Several non-smoking students stood at the door by little groups. One girl had a short red dress on, another – some motley dress and tights with large red mesh.
I approached the acquaintances, got out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Now I felt safe.
I told my friend Natasha about strange sms, and she suggested to call on the stranger’s number. So I did. The call rang out somewhere nearby. We looked around. It turned out, it was a girl from a parallel group. After several minutes of spiteful showdowns and curse words from her side the mood was completely brought to zero.
– Now I know that you have a boyfriend and what is his name! – spitefully giggled a fellow student and her friends.
– Give up smoking, don't ruin your health, – one of the teachers said to me, passing by.
But I didn't even think of it. It was necessary for me to smoke. It seemed the only condition on which I was accepted into at least some circle of people. Smoking and booze made me one of them. However, it brought joy only in case of repeating regularly.
The fellow students didn't speak to me and spitefully exchanged words behind my back, but several people drank with me. We sat together at one desk and wrote letters to each other at lectures. Small talks. It was wonderful. An absolutely new feeling when someone sits with you with pleasure. Even if with a purpose of copying off all answers from you.
We finished smoking, left our jackets in the locker room and went into our group’s lecture room. At any lecture we sat on the last desks so that it was possible to talk, read or do our own things. As well as many. My classmates, unlike me, knew English second-rately, but compensated it by the diligence and by finding the summary of books they had to read in the Internet a day before the examination. At examinations they thrust cribs under their skirts and into other places. Nobody bothered studying lectures when it was clear that things could be copied off the cribs. And it seemed unfair to me, though unlike many of my fellow students, I had been studying in pedagogical university because I hadn’t any money to study in other places
– I know, all of you are dreaming about career. But what if fate will drive you into school … – one professor edified.
– What is this education, only zilch, English – the only thing that would be useful to you, – another pedagogue said.
All students were already on their places, and even Valya. Valya – the same outcast of the group like me – copied off my homework. But she was considered the worst in the group, and I wasn’t. There’s always only one outcast. Therefore it was pleasant to me that an outcast was not me, as it usually happened at school. Valya wore strange clothes and got satisfactory scores. I had people to talk with, except Valya, and I never mocked her. Popularity is only the majority’s opinion. And she had one good quality – kindness.
The teacher entered, and a double period began.
– How it will be to say “pohmelye” in English? – the English teacher asked.
– Hangover, – I answered, because I’ve just recently read a book about Bond where this word was on the first page. And I had practical experience. Classmates looked back to me with displeasure. But they got used asking me the most sophisticated English words or to copying off answers to tests.
Suddenly Natasha’s phone rang out. It seems, her child got sick. Or perhaps one of her convives, whom she was picking up from the whole University, was calling. She asked for permission to leave and left.
– Just look at her, she went … – Varvara Mikhaylovna said and made a contemptuous ugly face when Natasha left the room.
After the double period I considered my duty to tell about it to Natasha.
– What an old b*tch! She will be responsible for it yet, I will tell my mother. You know, where she works! – Natasha exclaimed.
On the following double period it was more cheerful. The teacher left on her business, having given us some easy task. It was natural. We knew where she went. The teachers locked themselves and smoked in a toilet with three cabins, and everyone in turn. "Again they sat firm" - we thought.
Instead of the usual ignoring me and talks about belongings and TV and on the topic who sleeps with whom, my fellow student decided to drink for someone's birthday (that happened every month), and even invited me and Valya to join the party. Some took out plastic glasses, some cookies and champagne. Unexpectedly the teacher came in.
– So, now I will leave for five minutes and I wish I didn't see it any more! – she told us.
 On the third double period  we, at last, had a lecture, and not practical training. Time to have a rest.
– A child – a clear board, we form his world view, – the professor was repeating, and it felt nasty and disgusting to me. Poor children.
I recalled how one teacher told me at the pass/fail test: "You shone so brightly on the first year, what happened to you after your academic leave?" Well, nothing. I just realized that you shouldn't spend your strength to seem better than others, while there are lots of more important things. Eyesight. Chess. Leaves on the trees. The sky. Good books. However, in those hobbies I was alone.
At the break time I spoke with one of my acquaintances by phone, and I felt slightly less lonely. We agreed to meet and walk together. He was boring, as well as all people. But it was pleasant to feel oneself together with someone.
– You will call me, huh? – I asked him.
– Of course.
The next double period began with the analysis of emphasis in the word "call". Many teachers never missed an opportunity to ego-trip at the expense of students. Perhaps, all system of the higher education was invented for this purpose…
After the periods the students didn't go away for long. Started to talk about the forthcoming summer session.
– We have to bring candies to our teacher. Otherwise he might flunk half of the group. Will ask each word from his lectures.
– It’s nothing yet, in St. Petersburg it is necessary to pay for each pass/fail test.
An elderly teacher passed by.
– See, how he is watching, he’s probably looking for a mistress! – one of excellent students started giggling. Her mother always sent her a lot of money for her clothes.
I recalled how one teacher made me rewrite ninety pages of the workbook, as he didn’t understand my handwriting. Naturally, the rewritten workbook wasn’t read by him too.
At last, we began to get ready for the bus. On the way I ran into Natasha with some pals, and I joined them.

… Several years will pass. My wealthy fellow students will go to different cities. Some teachers will die, including Varvara Mikhaylovna. Valya will become quite a good teacher. I will get mentally ill. Natasha will never invite me neither to her wedding, nor to her birthday, and none of my former acquaintances will ever call me.

2013

Men

It was a fine summer day. She went to a holiday celebration, rejoicing warm summer air and the smell of leaves.
 – Fallen sweaty wh*re! – was heard somewhere from behind.
She didn't turn around, but the mood was spoilt at once.
It was recalled to her how at school the seniors came into their class when the teacher wasn't at the lesson, drew a dick on a blackboard and suggested the girls who wished to have sex with them. It was the first time when she ran away from school.
Near the main square it was noisy and joyful. People with happy faces gathered in small groups and waited for a concert. Some old man cried out behind her: – A b*tch!
But she didn't pay attention any more, plunging into her thoughts …

… They sat in a small old cafe, drinking cognac and talking.
– And there she died, so unexpectedly, and the ambulance arrived only in half an hour later …
– I understand. My first wife too … – he answered, looking at her with oily lewd eyes, and touched her knee. He never missed a chance to paw over her. But she considered it an inevitable payment for his friendship. However lousy he was, she needed a man to share her thoughts with.
– You will give birth to my baby! – he whispered in a disgustingly sweet voice.
Then they sat on the river bank and kissed, she took a condom, and he tried to make something with one finger, as there were other people on shore except them. "Such a crooked finger with the broken-off nail you can’t see even in your worst nightmares", – she thought.
At last, he escorted her home. Her lips were bitten till they bled, as that creature was kissing with his teeth. She was tired, and he should have to go back home, to his elderly wife …

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by appearance of a certain bozo with a little head and small ears.
– Hi. And why is such beauty standing alone? Why is she so sad?
– I’m waiting for my boyfriend. But he is somewhat late …
It was not exactly so. Her guy under a specious excuse refused to go to a holiday celebration, and she suspected that he was with another girl now. He was a zealous Christian, wanted a wife the virgin and was very much offended that his girlfriend had "not enough blood". Now he checked the suspicions with another girl.
– Let's go, we will drink something, for a start, – the bozo offered.
– Do you have an spare cig?
– Only the strong.
– That’s alright.
After a couple of cans of Nevsky it became clear that the guy worked at the construction site in the neighboring town, had a girlfriend and a car.
– Are you very experienced?
– Well, so, I am able to do something.
– I can teach you for free! In life it is useful. I know all positions …
– Seems like I have no wish, thanks. And I have a boyfriend.
– I have one b*tch too. So that? Look, you will regret then, there will be nowhere to learn to do it! Here, you’re even kissing in a wrong way!
She remembered the favourite phrase of her boyfriend "you have to learn to give pleasure to a man". And it became his habit to speak so after the blowjob. It is a pity that very few people cared about her pleasure …
– I think, it is time for me to go, – she said, coming unstuck from his dribbling mouth smelling of beer and tobacco. The guy began to enrage her, but politeness won.
– Let's call up each other!

… The queue at the toilet cabin didn't decrease, the music sounded more and more loudly, and people were getting more and more drunk. Some boozy tried to strike up a conversation:
– Do you like me?
– I don't know …
– You are a good girl. Let's screw? I have money, we will sit separately at the restaurants.
– No, thanks.
Here the boozer was distracted by the flock of girls passing by:
– Look there! Fuck, I would screw them!

Having gotten out of the queue, at last, she went closer to the stage, looking out for her boyfriend. But he, probably, hid somewhere, being afraid of scandal. Unexpectedly a familiar face appeared in the crowd:
– Oh, f*ck, hi!
She recalled, – it was a friend of her acquaintance, the tall pimply teenager in spectacles who studied in the technical college and suggested her to go out with him several times.
– Hi.
– Let's go, f*ck, we will have a drink. We, f*ck, are going to walk, f*ck you, through the wood on other side of the river. Will you go?
– No, I have other plans.
– And do you remember, Tolyan wanted to date you? He talks to me about you till now.
Her only desire was – to get rid of that drunk as soon as possible.
– And let’s, f*ck, I will be dating you? I like you!
– I have a boyfriend.
– Àà, well, sh*t, it is a pity. Well, f*ck you, bye.
Music was dying away. It getting dark. The last small groups of people dispersed to their houses.
She reached her apartment, opened the door and turned on the computer. In a mailbox there were already several letters from various far and close acquaintances. The first was short: "B*tch, I will find you and I will kill you, and I will kill your boyfriend". The second was longer; more precisely, – on five pages. This love masterpiece began with the analysis of the drawbacks of life in small Russian cities, proceeded with the description of her clothes on one of her photo and the enumeration of actions which he intended to do with her and her pussy, and ending  with the offer to marry him as soon as possible it and to give birth to children, and "the more the better".
Having opened one of dating sites, she had read the messages addressed to her which also didn't add optimism:
"Suck my d*ck, b*tch!", "Let's f*ck?", "Hi, let's screw", "Do you want to look at me in the camera? I j*rk off well!", "We offer erotic video filming, it is cheap", "We are couple of guys, we apologize for such a courageous offer in advance, but couldn't you satisfy us?", We area married couple, do you want to spend an evening with us?", "I’ll eat your pussy gently!", "You will groan in my embraces!", "I will carry out erotic photography, free of charge! My d*ck is 20 cm" …
Having been tired from the variety of offers, she switched off the computer and dialed the number of her boyfriend. From the phone some dissatisfied mooing was heard. She flung away the mobile onto the bed, got under the blanket and was reposing for a long time, without moving and trying not to think of anything.
She was woken up by an unexpected call from an old friend who was married long ago and had three children.
– How are you? How do you feel?
– Normally. What happened?
– I’ve found a job for you. Only one call somewhere is necessary …
– So what?
– Well, nothing. Don't you want to meet me?
– No, I don’t.
– It is a pity. Well, just in case, you will find me if you change your mind …
– Bye.
She put the phone on the edge of the bed and sank into sleep again. But the phone rang out again. One more acquaintance, this time from another city and many years older than her.
– Hi! Sorry, that I woke you up. I’ve been reading your poems here. It’s awesome how you write. Very gifted... I love you. Perhaps we will meet some time?
She switched off her phone to have some sleep till morning.

2013
           The tournament

– What beer do you drink? – Igor asked.
– Any. Baltika Devyatka or Troyka.
– Me too. We have much in common! – he rejoiced.
The question wasn't an unexpected one. Usually it was one of the first topics with which the conversation with new acquaintances of both sexes began. "And do you drink often? That is – do you like to booze?", "Drink a small bottle with me!", "What do you drink", etc.
We were walking along the park. The rain was gathering, and the silent rustle of leaves reminded of autumn. In a small shed near the park the chess tournament began, and we hurried there. People didn't hurry to go away from the fresh forest air. Children were playing. Two young mothers on a bench were smoking. Old men were basking on the sun, sipping beer.
In the shed several people sat, the majority – of already elderly age. It was an adult tournament, and there weren’t any kids that day. The prize was, as always, package of tooth-powder, but nobody worried about the prizes – the participation was pleasant.
–They  don't appreciate me in this town … they don't allow me to train chess, – one veteran was lamenting.
– Only while you’re on pension, there is time to play, – was ruminating another.
Me and Igor sat down at a little table, expecting the beginning of a tournament. I didn't pay attention to chess players. Several people treated me neutrally and placably and gave useful tips on the game, and some considered me as an unwanted body in the club. I knew what they were talking behind my back.
– What a butt, – murmured one of them.
Igor pricked up his ears. Probably, he speculated on the thought which of them I slept with. Actually I hadn’t slept with any of them, but I didn't want to explain to Igor how I was mistaken in my best feelings and trusted one of them. I suspected that then it wouldn't be without a fight. That time I didn't know yet, that people try to obtain a certain degree of intimacy to put you down later. I didn't know what hatred is able to do.
The tournament began, and I "had luck" to play with one of them.
– Plays well, – with envy several people muttered, having gathered in a circle on some distance from me.
– And I met her, – claimed one.
– Well and how?
The chess player venomously grinned and smugly licked his lips.
I didn't catch the rest of the words.
– I know. My son saw her with him on the street, – joyfully said another.
After the tournament the senior chess players remained to drink vodka and to have a talk about their men's business, and I went home with Igor.
– I don't love these gatherings. Better to grow up children, than to drink, – he commented, – let’s go to me, we will drink wine, we will listen to the music.
The rain already started with might and main. We went under one umbrella and kept silent.

2013
 
The summer

The summer morning was coming slowly and almost didn't differ from the night. I woke up, made some coffee, turned on the computer and rejoiced at the fresh messages:
"I suggest to pay for your holiday rest and study. I already prepared the apartment. I’m still planning to start a family, therefore we will be meeting secretly".
"Let's spend a week together. You are not beautiful enough to meet you for long. Are all all types of sex available with you? My requirements: anal sex, a shaved pussy, to re-colour your hair and make a fringe, put on a white blouse on, and it is advisable for you to stop writing stories and playing chess".
"Again you write gloomy stories … some dirty side. But I just returned from the confession, and I don’t care what happened to you this time".
"You don't want anal? You are a haughty b*tch from the village".
"Do you have problems? And I don’t give a d*mn, I have tuberculosis. You should respect me. You are egoistic!"
"People are worth exactly as much as the amount of money they earn".
"You live too far away, so we won’t have any relationships, only sex".
Having removed all messages, I put my clothes on and went outside. The sun was shining, and every cloudlet was slowly and seriously moving through the sky. At the bench some drunk lay, squealing a bit in his dream.
On my way I ran into an old childhood friend with her child. The word "friend" implied that in the deep childhood I had a walk with her for a few times and went to her birthday once. In the time free from motherhood, she placed on her VK wall the recipes of dishes, the price lists for church candles and the announcements of a whip-round for kids, suffering from cancer.
– You have to change! Only with a child a woman can reckon herself a woman!
The phone rang out. It was some local guy, whom I got acquainted with on a dating site.
– Come to me. We will drink, we will have a snack, and we will listen to some Russian criminal songs.
We were walking along the park, and millions of leaves were sparkling in the sun like coins. Near the rubbish dump the kids were  running around the bum who tried to catch them.
– Well should I come to meet you? I will punch all your acquaintances in the face!
At last, I got rid of him and of my friend. I went to meet one of my acquaintances who suddenly wanted to get drunk with somebody after the meeting with her next lover. We came into a local cafe and sat near the window.
– Let's drink for our meeting. Drink more, drink!
She had a husband. She also had a child.
Outside the window curious pigeons were pecking something in a gasoline pool. Several men were carnivorously grinning, watching us.
After one liter I could, at last, get rid of her, and went home. There were infinite job searches ahead, where the allergy can't develop and there is a toilet, where they pay more than six thousand rubles and don't force to work for fifteen hours. And other convenient conditions for the mentally ill.

2013

A day in the nutbin


6.00


The consciousness was coming back slowly. As though I was swimming out from a huge black lake where I couldn’t get the bottom by my feet, and the seaweed are twisted around my feet and pulling me down.
Before my nose there was a fico. Real. Not illusive, and most real, from a human hand. The fear captured me in the first seconds until I understood that it only Valechka, the steady inhabitant of the hospital. She took a dislike for me for something and didn't miss an opportunity to spoil my life. I shouted at her and she escaped to her ward, grinning lousily.
Outside the window it was still dark, but the fluorescent lamp over the bed being switched on all night long lit a figure of the nurse’s aide in a white dressing gown and with a mop.
– Get up! Girls smokers, to the cleaning! – she shouted.
My ward neighbors began to stir, some started stretching themselves drowsily. At last, a thin old woman rose up and another old woman, a thicker one. The thin one  was sent to a mental hospital for running drunk through the village. The thicker one was taken for coming drunk to wish her mother a happy birthday. I made a bed and hid cookies and nuts under the mattress, in case of a check. There already was a pack of juice and a bag with bagels – a stock for a hard-set night.
In the storeroom there were four sinks. Ten mops, one for each ward, hung on the wall. Cool fresh air from a window leaf was mingling with a bleaching powder smell. Some people stood in a queue at the door. They took the mops and filled the buckets with water from a separate sink, and the nurse poured out the detergent into a bucket to everyone.
All patients washed their own ward, and some, dreaming of two or three cigarettes – the corridor. I was allotted with dust wiping in the general room and the corridor "by inheritance" from the discharged patient. The easiest work. But n the corridor I noticed a certain being. Nobody knew what her name was, and she wasn't able to speak. But everyone knew that she was biting nurse’s aides and even nurses. And once she nearly scratched another patient’s eyes. Having departed to a safe distance of three meters, I dipped a rag into a bucket and turned to work. Someone turned on the radio, and it became a little more cheerful there.


6.30

The nurse’s aide led our small company of "working patients" into the smoking-room. Having opened a window leaf and having turned on the fan, she got the packs of cigs from the box and started calling surnames and distributing cigarettes.
– Even three to you? Try not to become stoned!
We were smoking silently, exchanging a few words now and then. It seemed that we had known each other for ten years. From time to time somebody got up from a bench or from the floor and went to the bucket, to shake the ashes.
– Earlier when there had been two separate departments, it was paradise here. And now they even don’t allow us to smoke quietly, twenty people are crammed into one smoking-room, there’s so much smoke as if it’s a fire.
– Yep, just look over there, there’re beds in the corridor. People do arrive every day, and there is no place for them.


7.00

– On meds! – voices of the nurse’s aides were heard, and the patients started gathering quickly at the "distributing point" – the nurse's office. The queue of sixty people was moving ahead slowly, and there was time to look round. Some "regular" patients carried the tablets to the old women suffering from marasmus.
                – Take a glass, wash it down and open your mouth, – the nurse told me.


8.00

– To breakfast! – The voices of nurse’s aides and patients rang out. The timer’s peep at the chief nurse’s post was heard. The entrance doors opened, and the crowd of patients rushed to the dining room. Old women in the wheel-chairs were slowly chewing their socks on their way to food.
Two rows of tables were located opposite to one another, and the patients were slowly taking their seats, squabbling for the best places. Meanwhile the nurse’s aides were distributing the breakfast. To everyone – a plate with rice porridge, just a little at the bottom. One piece of cheese, one slice of butter. A spoon.


8.30

      In a smoking-room it was noisy and stuffy. Some started quarrels, others smoked silently. Some women with a zeky look quietly watched things happening, standing aloof. Two well-fed schizophrenics were excitedly discussing something in the corner.
– Well, you don't know, who my friend is! He is from rogues! We have the most expensive car in the city. I had been put here accidentally at all, and then I will be in another hospital, much better than it!
– Well, I won’t tell here yet, who comes to me! I have such friends that you can’t dream about!
– Who comes to you, only militia!
– Well, and militia comes too, so what? Mom is old, she calls the police when I have voices, she is afraid I will kill her or myself. Well, just the last week – I’ve been washing in a bathroom, and suddenly they come.
– They?
– They, the very them. They say to me, psych up and come out. And I say, and here I am, as it is, what should I do, to go out naked? I’ve come out naked to them. Made me put clothes on. Do they have a right to come to people when they’re taking shower?!
– Yea, it’s complete outrage!
– This chief physician is from Nazis, I know for sure. Such doses of meds are only given at concentration camps.


9.00

Lyda came near me and we went to have tea. Lyda once lived with an  alcoholic father who beat her, and the cousin who tried to rape her. Now she lived in the nutbin and liked to have tea very much. It was better for her in the hospital than at home. She browsed the wards and collected the tea bags remaining from others patients.
We came into the bathroom, filled the plastic glasses with hot water and made some tea.
– If you get out sometime, call me. I will be home if the father is taken away on treatment.
– And will he agree to go to the hospital?
– The main thing is to catch him with militia, when he’s drunk. Look, don't go alone on the streets in the evening when you are discharged. Men feel when the person is from a mental hospital, and can attack you.


10.00

After a poor breakfast everyone was hungry, but is there was nothing to eat. However, under many mattresses there was some food hidden. But sometimes during the inspection the nurse’s aides looked under the mattress too, especially to their unloved patients. Therefore the majority carried food with them, in the dressing gowns.
I went into the common room, opened a book taken from Katya, and tried to read a bit. It was hard to read through the fog of neuroleptics. Then I saw Svetlana.
Svetlana went everywhere, leaning on a chair back because she had sore feet. I named her Frida. Her spiteful relatives were guilty that she was in the hospital. As well as everyone’s. Once she worked at the plant where pianos were made. She liked me because I wrote out to her from the Bible "God shall arise, his enemies shall be scattered".
– God sent me such trials. I know, there were artificial icons at our house, a fake. I wanted to check. When abbe came to visit us, I found an icon in his bag, sprinkled water on it and put there crumbs. And it turned out to be from paper! They’re all against me; they all are only thinking how to keep me here till death. I threatened to kill them all, well I won't leave the hospital anymore …
"And those who hate him shall flee before him! As smoke is driven away, so you shall drive them away; as wax melts before fire". All of them are fated the God's judgment at the other world. Nobody will be bypassed by him.
– And you know who I was in my past life? – I whispered something into her ear.
– I believe you. And your birthmarks don’t lie.
Looking at her kind tired face, it was impossible to think that she will never see her grandchildren, won't enter her own home. But it was so.


11.00

Before the lunch all patients were nervous. The oncoming three hours without tobacco are a trial too. In the smoking-room a dispute on cigarette butts nearly developed into a fight. Vika as the one having the greatest intelligence resolved the dispute, having forbidden Sasha to beg for cigs butts from others and to pick them up in a garbage can. All were irritated by the continuous running with stubs.
After visiting the smoking-room we approached a nadzorka’s window. There was a men's department on the opposite side. Unfamiliar faces of young guys were looking out the windows. We began to wave hands to them. They showed something by signs too. Some girls were going to pass them on little notes through the nurse’s aides.


12.00

We were sitting on the window sill and watching the beginning of spring. Nature was waking up in front of our eyes. The streamlets ran, the birds flew from a tree to  a tree, and in some places the green grass already began to make its way. And we sat in the "hen house". There is nothing worse than the feeling of uncertainty. Perhaps, you will be let out in a week, and perhaps in a year …


13.00

Masha approached me in the corridor and asked how to make it so that "these shining features" were gone from her head.
– How is it?
– When I close my eyes, there are dots and multi-colored strips. I am afraid of them.
– But they don't really exist.
– I see them, and I’m scared.
Masha was married and had two children. Her husband left her when he learned that she was ill.


14.00

Lunch. This time – potato soup. And after the lunch – time of meds. I was given some two unfamiliar pills. In half an hour, having visited a smoking-room, I slowly sank onto the floor. My neighbors dragged me to the bed. The aid-woman came. I wanted to tell something, but there was some gurgling in my throat.
– Make Cordiaminum injection, – I heard.


17.00

In two hours I came to myself and left into the corridor. Everything was as always. The patients were walking along a long corridor. One of them took me by an arm, and we began to trudge.
– I have a child, but he is not here, but in the orphanage in Siberia. Don't allow me to see it. Alina is my name.
– And what are you here for?
                – I took ten sleeping pills, they hardly brought me to life.


17.30

– I hope, God exists, – I said.
– God doesn't exist. – Nadya answered.
– How do you know?
– Well, you will be taking meds, and you will be convinced of it. I was running mad after religion when I had a psychosis. And then I had stayed here for some time and it passed.
A patient passed by with a strange look on her face. She took a glance at us and smiled mysteriously.
– Don't come close to her, – Nadya warned, – When she goes crazy, she can attack, then they fix her. She strangled her mother.


18.00

Supper. The patients working in the dining room told everyone that there will be cutlets with stewed cabbage. And a piece of white bread. And it proved true. And there was compote.
In the lavatory it was crowded and noisy. Someone was washing one’s lower parts, another was engaged in other things. In the corridor – a queue: the nurse checked if there were any louses and cut patients’ nails.


18.30

The nurse led all the smokers to smoke again. It was dark outside, and it was good to look at the pink light of street lamps, inhaling cigarettes’ smoke. And to calculate, how many cigs will be left till relatives’ arrival. And sometimes to save, asking neighbors for cigs. A fellow knucklebone from "long-time residents" was smoking Belomor, but I didn't want to try it.
Vika was talking about the guy who hung himself with a bed sheet in the next, men's department, on New Year's Eve.


19.00

And, at last, the most cheerful time in hospital – the tea time. A small holiday. During that time patients were gobbling the supplies brought by relatives or were eating each other’s supplies. Someone had always been stealing my candies and bagels, and often I found there wasn’t everything in a bag with peredachka, that had been there the previous day. But something remained, and we shared our food with each other and changed chocolates for cookies, cookies for sausage and bananas, and bananas on processed cheeses. Fifteen minutes were allotted on eating up all the food.


19.30

The nurse allowed us to turn the radio on, and we started dancing. Valechka joined us too. She was elderly and ugly, but sometimes kind. Having critically inspected dancing, she addressed to me:
– And why didn't you give me bagels at supper? A meeeanie!
Then she changed the topic:
– And you are pretty. Not beautiful, but pretty. Why are you looking at me? Why are all of you looking at me?
Valechka’s eyes started to roll up, and the nurse gave her cyclodolum from side effects.


20.00

Suddenly the shouts were heard. We left the ward to have a look and to see what happened. Valechka, having cut herself a hand, was walking and smearing the blood on the walls. She was taken away into the ward, tied with belts and made an injection. Smokers the volunteers started erasing the blood. They were engaged in it even for half an hour.


20.30

Turned on the TV, and we started watching news. There was about an earthquake in Japan. I was sure that I was guilty of that. But I preferred to keep my ruminations to myself. All places on chairs and sofas were taken. When I passed by one "local" granny, she hit at my knee with much force by her foot. I had to complain to the nurse’s aide who told that nothing can be done with such ones, it is only necessary to avoid them.
– Here are some violent ones, they will kill you, and they will get no punishment for it. Stay away from them, especially from those old grannies, – Vika warned me.


21.00.

– To meds! – the unfamiliar voice was heard. The nurse’s aides and the nurse already handed over their duty to the others. And again – a long queue. The granny of eighty years old sitting in a wheelchair in the corridor suddenly slipped on the floor and started undressing. The nurse’s aides rushed to her.


21.30

Having come into the smoking-room, I felt that everyone is talking about me. I was sure that they know my thoughts and speak about me. But I didn't tell them about it. After all the hospital – only cover for providing safety to me. Well-selected actors, that is all. But I knew the truth. All relatives and neighbors are talking about me. The whole world is talking about me, and everyone wants to kill me. This hospital is my only shelter.
– Tell nothing to nobody, or they will keep you here longer. – one already discharged girl warned me, – Don't laugh, don't cry. They will notice and they will write it down. Then it will be worse.


22.00

By the evening the patients gradually dispersed into their wards, to eat their stocks waiting for breakfast. Some earned their living in theft, rummaging in others’ bedside tables. Those who were on friendly terms with nurse’s aides – went to smoke once again or to drink tea.
In our ward patients were eating bread with garlic, looking back at the glass door every minute. Smelled delicious. I was given a slice too.
The meds started to work. I contracted and turned into a point, a small point on my body. It could be a mote on a finger or a trace from the blue pen on paper. But it was me, and I was disappearing.

2013
 

Abulia

The ringtone melody of the alarm-clock was seeping through my dream. I pressed the button and fell back into the slumber. And the alarm-clock again. Eyes wouldn’t open, but I pressed the button once more and fell asleep again.
The sun was shining right into my eyes, and it was already impossible to ignore the third alarm-clock. I started to get up from the bed slowly. On my way to kitchen I stumbled into several corners and chairs. Didn’t want to go anywhere. Didn’t want to do anything. No thoughts of the future were sweeping through a tired head.
Coming to the kitchen, I brewed coffee, added some sugar, clove and cinnamon, poured out some cream. It was the only way to wake up. In ten minutes I realized that the morning began. After the shower and dressing up it became even more evident that a new day has arrived.
Having slowly cooked the breakfast, I tried to eat it. The food seemed to get stuck in the mouth, just as my thoughts got stuck in my head.
After the breakfast I tried to read, but my words got stuck on paper, not reaching my brain. After five pages I gave up this meaningless task. Having written a couple of messages to my friends, I decided to go for a walk.
Having checked whether I didn’t forget to put some clothes on, I got out onto the street. Everything was ordinary. The people, the cars, the trees. It looked like everyone was waiting for something and spying at me insensibly.
I had to talk to a shop-assistant at the department store and it wore me down. I could hardly understand what she was asking me about. The words were sweeping through, passing me by, not leaving any traces in my tired head. Finally I reached my house, put out the food into the fridge and got onto bed. I was very tired. It seemed like the whole day had already passed.
To spend time somehow, I turned the music on and tried to dissolve inside it. The long hours had to pass, till the long-awaited evening would come.
My thoughts were scattered, and rarely somewhere from the deep sensible ideas emerged. The whole chains of thoughts were sweeping past me, and I couldn’t catch them. Thus a few hours passed. I tried to have a clear-up of my room, but I had already no strength at all to do that.
In the evening I took my meds and went to sleep.

2013
 

The chess players

All things were done, the computer switched on, the music turned on, and the beer is poured. The evening began. I was going to play a little, as usual, on my favourite chess website. I chose the opponent and started a game. It was sad in my heart and I wanted to talk. Sometimes I chatted with strangers.
Rummy persons, as usual, began to come into my game. They knew that I am a woman, and began to call me names and to threaten to deal with me irl. "S*ck, b*tch" – they wrote. They never allowed me to play quietly, and for some reason I couldn't switch off the chat. It seemed to me that someday I will attain their sympathy and understanding.
 – Again you won, the wh*re. – Wrote next anonymous nickname.
Sometimes I answered them, but more often I didn't know what to answer. It was unpleasant and fearful to me. But I tried to rejoice in chess and not to think of bad things. Sometimes I used to cuss them out.
There were also joyful meetings. We discussed Dostoyevsky and metal music with some, chess programs and philosophy with others.
– And are you a believer? Read LaVey.
– Read "Notes from Underground".
– Don't pay attention to them, they just mock. Don't talk to them.
– Fell in love with a chess player, went to her, but I didn’t succeeded to pass across the border, they sent me home. They told me, I am a loony.
The visitors of the chess website also wrote me emails where they described their mistresses and said how they hate women. Some enticed me into ICQ, elicited naked photos and called me names. Others wrote me hundreds of threatening SMS. And once I met one of them. He was a man of about forty years old, he met me in the subway and invited to bed. After five minutes of a conversation I went home. With other chess player we drank a can of beer each in a bar.
That evening, as always, several men appeared in my chat and began to call me names. "All women are wh*res" - they were saying. I began to cry and left the website. It was time to go to bed.

2014

 
Moments of happiness

It was a cold autumn morning. Wrapping themselves up in light jackets, a few pedestrians were running. Near a sports complex, on a deserted street, I noticed a woman with three small children. It was my former friend. It was difficult to tell by her look, that her husband drinks in the mornings. She hasn't greeted me. Me too.
In the sports complex it was also deserted. The chess competitions had to start soon. Our coach was already there, and, it seemed was delighted to see me. Once in the evening he called me and suggested me to play. I refused. My health mattered more to me than chess. "There is no one except you". I agreed.
The coach let me sign some papers and led me to the gaming hall. The huge cold empty gym, serving for football and other trainings in the usual times. Little chess tables looked very strange in that place, and I felt uncomfortable. I started to have some gloomy premonition. I wanted to refuse to play, but I couldn't make myself do it.
I went outside to have a walk. The chess players soon begun to arrive. I knew practically every face, and they knew me. It became a little more cheerful to me.
Having glanced into the lists, I understood that I was visited by rare "luck": there were two of my close acquaintances registered in them. Having come into the hall, I found them at once. They sat side by side. The wish to punch them in the face felt strange and somehow detached. They hadn’t caused any emotions in me. I didn't greet them, and they didn't greet me. In the hall it was cold and stuffy.
At last, the long-awaited tournament begun. All of my life I was dreaming to get into the region’s championship, and it was a very joyful event to me. Women and men played separately, the line-up was rather weak. It seemed, there was nothing to worry about.
The game began well and proceeded perfectly during the first hour. But I knew from experience that something was going to happen. And it happened. I slowly lost concentration. The hands began to tremble. Having visited a toilet for a couple of times, having drunk mineral water and having eaten chocolate, I felt a little better. But it was not for long. Soon I blundered away out of the blue and lost a piece. Having played a little more for show, I have gave up and with a relief went outside to breathe fresh air. There was one more game ahead.
Having had dinner at my acquaintances, I got to the game with fresh strength. I had to play with the strongest participant of a tournament, the master of sports. It seemed to me, she treated me in a alert way. I remembered nothing her except that some time long ago in a children's tournament she has blundered with a mate in two moves to me, and I, of course, hadn’t noticed it. In general, I was little interested in people. I was always attracted by the fact that in chess it wasn't necessary to show particular interest in people. It is possible to learn a lot about a person, having just played with him a game or two. Besides I didn't like extra talks.
In the beginning the game, as usual, went well. At first my position was better, then worsened, and after some complications began to pass into the endgame. But in this fascinating activity more than an hour passed, and it "started" again with me. The hands began to tremble. At first I thought that it was from cold, but when the teeth began to knock, the whole body began to shake and I got nauseous, I understood that there won't be a draw. Though by the last effort I offered a draw, but she refused. Hands were shivered more and more, the consciousness began to interrupt for several seconds. At last, I blundered away. More precisely, I have up when it seemed to me that I lose a piece, that actually wasn't true. But I didn't notice it. The boyfriend of a chess player approached her, they began to wonder at such strange game end and to laugh over me. I left into the corridor and told the coach that I won't be able to play further. After ten minutes of admonitions and requests I convinced them to do without me. And still it was necessary to keep calm, to remain correct and not to name the reasons of such decision. I didn't want to tell them, what is my illness.
I went outside, sat down on a bench and got lost in thought. More precisely, I had no strength to think anymore. Later, having looked at the watch, I found a memory blackout for twenty minutes. Which was strange as it seemed to me that only a minute passed. To distract myself, I was recalling minutes when I was especially happy. It often helps to distract from sad thoughts. I remembered people and events, facts and words …
… a woman who gave me money for bus fare
… a meeting with unfamiliar guy at a friend’s wedding. Our eyes met, and it was a miracle.
… a casual acquaintance whom we chatted with on twitter
… an unfamiliar guy who treated me with coffee in a cafe somewhere in the mountains
… a gran on the street who asked me what time it was and wished me good health and good luck – "all of you are always running somewhere"
… the dad whose image remained in my heart. He always called me a princess
… a shop assistant of CDs who paid a compliment concerning my smile
… a kind nurse in the hospital
… a fellow chess player always giving pieces of good advice to me, whom we embraced with and parted forever at the station
… a card from my friend from Canada
… tender sms from mom and the dad
… a congratulation card and a small handmade souvenir from the former pupil
… several people who could listen and understand me
… fine books
… rare teachers who told  us to think with our own heads at the lectures
… the terrific thickets of flowers in spring near the bus-stop where I as studying
… that feeling with which you are watching the road in the car, sitting on the front sit
… the kindness of my grandmother and my talk with her
… the smell of milk mushrooms in the autumn forest
… sitting on the river bank in summer, far from people
… fishing on the lake and that feeling when you pull out a large pike
… talks with the father about the stars and space travels
Having come up from a non-existence, I understood that I overstayed. Memory blackouts weren't something new to me. A suggested conclusion was only one: I couldn't play chess. There was a struggling wish in my mind – to remain, let it be for a short time, in this atmosphere of competitive struggle and high ambitions. But I was very tired, and it was time to go back home.

2014
             Eternity

The midday Pyatigorsk sun a star was shining brightly, but near the cemetery it was cool and silent. She turned to a narrow small street and came out to the church. The high iron fencing near the church closed an entrance to the Necropolis. Fortunately, the gate was open, and she stepped inside. She wished to hide from everyone and to stay alone with herself …

… She recalled her classmate whom it was in love with. Their first meeting. He smiled at her and greeted her. She didn't pay attention to him, but that moment was kept in her memory.
Then – an accidental meeting on the first of September. It stood under the tree on the schoolyard, and she didn't recognize him at first. His surprising beauty and intelligence in his eyes struck the eye …

… Despite August, there were lots of old leaves and the decayed wreaths at the cemetery. Ancient graves the long-forgotten people seemingly radiated quietness and reminded of the inevitability of death …

… New Year's evening at her school she recalled. They were having fun when the light suddenly went out. They lit candles and sat in the twilight. Then he came into the room. She sat on a chair in the center, but he didn't notice her. Perhaps, because it was dark.
She was lucky to share the same desk with him. However, it lasted for only several weeks. And he never talked to her. But once the cover from a Beatles CD fell out of her notebook, and he stopped to pick up that piece of paper. "Oh, the Beatles!" - he was rejoiced. She didn't know what to answer him. Was afraid to show her feelings not to make a fool of herself. So the moment was missed …

… She was wandering between the graves, trying to understand what is written on the monuments. Crowds of people visited that place once before her, but there were almost no traces of human hand discernible at the old cemetery. The erased names, the headstones scattered here and there, half-buried in the soil anonymous monuments were covered with fresh grass and ivy. The plants became the only sign of life in that place. The high trees hid graves from public eyes for more than one century already …

… He sat ahead of her desk on chemistry lessons. Once during the break time he turned to her. Her heart began beating uneasily. But he had only asked her to pass the pen to some classmate.
On algebra lessons he sat at the second school desk behind her back. They were always late after the lesson to complete tasks, and often she was trying to do everything as long as possible to stay with him alone.
She sat at the front desk, and she watched how girls from her class sat on the window sill and chatted with him. Girls were always buzzing about him. But she was afraid to come near him. Well, he didn't show any interest of her too …

… Having reached Lermontov's grave, she stopped at the fencing and looked at thick firn near a footpath. Behind the thickets mountains and houses were seen, small from afar. Here and there the butterflies were flittering disturbed by her steps…

… And once she stood in the library, and he suddenly came in. What joy was simply to look at him and to know that he is near. He seemed to her the cleverest and the most beautiful person in the world.
Once she and her classmates were cleaning up the school territory. There was some garbage burning in the bonfire, someone was jumping through the fire, it was cheerful. But then he started to hurry and stepped aside. He was going home. Everything lost its meaning. She wanted to go with him so much, but it was necessary to stay and pretend that everything was alright …

… She has stood beside the ancient graves. She didn’t want to leave. Here it was quiet and peaceful, no one disturbed the quietude of the dead. Those who could grieve over the deceased had already died themselves long ago, and there weren’t that spirit of a hopelessness and grief at the cemetery which soars at modern burials. No little tables with grain and sunflower seeds for pigeons, no tasteless plastic flowers in iron vases. Only the place where thousands of people had found eternal rest. No one worried them now, and only the tombstones reminded that once they lived, loved and hoped too…

… Many years had passed. Once she had written him a letter with her diary about him. He hadn’t answered, and later she learned that he had uploaded her photo to one website and mocked at her with his friends. He wrote that he isn't a zoophile to meet her and that he didn’t like her "exterior". That way her first love ended …

… She left the charnel fencing, reached the bus-stop and sat into a taxi to the Tsvetnik Park. In the Tsvetnik Park, having found a stall with Pyatigorsk ice cream, she has bought a cup. Just like at the time of her parents’ childhood, the ice cream was fine. She reached the Chinese pavilion, found a stone bench nearby and sat down on it. It was very hot, the fragrance of southern herbs was shrouding Mashuk, and occasionally the fresh wind blew. "This is the most wonderful place in the world!" – she thought.

2015

 
The apple-tree

The apple-tree remembered hardly her childhood. She stood among the same identical apple grafts. They were exchanging words among themselves and growing their roots. Once she was thrust into a bag, put into the car and taken away.
She regained consciousness in the morning on some hillock. It was almost empty around her, except for several young apple-trees, plums and cherries. It was spring, and the warm air was casting thoughts of hot summer. A young man was digging in the apple-tree’s roots, and a woman was watering the ground with cold water from the well.
The next day the apple-tree got a bit settled on her new place. It was deserted, but sometimes people came. The men were planting potato and currants, the women – onions and carrots.
Summer approached. The apple-tree had taken roots and grew up a bit. People came. They were building a shed, laughing and joking. Sometimes she saw hares and moles.
In autumn people brought with them a cat and put him near the apple-tree. At first he sat, nestled on the ground, but then begun to run around. Gnawed one apple leaf.
In winter the man covered the apple-tree with fir-tree branches. The snow fell. It was warm.
The next spring children arrived, a boy and a girl. They were playing near the apple-tree, swinging on a swing. The kids were higher than the apple-tree, and she wanted to grow up faster.
In summer children with their father made a wooden little table and a bench near the apple-tree.
In five years the apple-tree thrived and could already brag to the currant bushes that she isn't smaller than them. In the spring the white cloud of flowers shrouded her.
In autumn the apple-tree apples appeared on the apple-tree for the first time. The elderly man and woman were picking them, rejoicing and praising the apple-tree. It was nice to her.
So the years were passing by … the flowers and apples were changing, and the people remained the same. The apple-tree got used to them. In spring they were always planting something, in summer spudding, and in autumn harvesting. The kids were helping adults, and sometimes they were playing near the apple-tree. Once the girl embraced the apple-tree with her hands.
In autumn people were digging potatoes. The children who now matured were sitting on the sacks and were sorting out potatoes. The elderly woman sat down to have a rest under the tree. She was very tired, but she wanted to do as much work as possible.
The next summer is was all the same. The apple-tree was surprised why nothing changes in people’s lives. So it seemed to her. Once in the summer afternoon the man with the woman, not so young anymore, were lying and looking into the clear sky. "How good it is at the dacha", – she said, – "And we have the most beautiful apple-tree".
Some time at the end of the summer people arrived late at night. There was the cat lying in a wooden box. The man dug out a hole near the apple-tree, and the woman put the closed box into it. The young woman cried.
In September the apple-tree watched how they were undercutting the bushes around. Was afraid, what if suddenly they cut her down. But the man only cut off the excessive branches, as usual, so that the tree crown became round.
In October people took out a ladder from the shed and got onto the apple-tree. The ripe apples were falling to their heads, they were laughing.
So some more years had passed. Once the woman sat under the tree and began to cry. "Mother, where are you now?" – she asked the apple-tree.
In autumn the young people came to pick apples. The apple-tree hardly recognized the boy and the girl who were playing under her many years ago.
The next spring people arrived only in May. The woman was tidying up the shed. The man sat down near the tree, the young woman made a photo of him. He had a very thin yellow face. The apple-tree watched how he was walking along the garden and making photos of cherries, apple-trees and plums, as though he doesn't hope to see them next year.
The autumn. Nobody came to prepare and warm up the apple-tree to winter. She was sad and withering. Random bums came to tear off some apples, but familiar people didn't appear.
The winter, the spring and the summer passed. The shed give a lurch on one side, and the vegetable garden began to turn into the forest. The apple-tree began to worry about people. But no one came anymore.

2015
 
Childhood dreams

I remember myself from the age of four. We were standing near the house of my mother's friend and chatting with her daughter. We were wearing the same caps. Then I actually don't remember much. I knew we had long walks with my mother and father, went fishing and mushrooming, swimming and visiting our datcha, but it's vague. I only know I had a good childhood and I was happy. At five I started to read and my father showed me how to play chess. These two things were always the best in my life.
When I was eight, I went to school. There life wasn't so cheerful. Pupils bullied me. I didn't want to talk to them. Was afraid of teachers too, so I could hardly answer their questions. Only in writing I could do well. I always wrote good essays at school. At home I was studying chess and reading a lot of books. Started from fairy-tales, I soon got to more serious literature, and it was my main joy. I hardly ever socialized. I never had any friends at school. I was just sitting and reading books for hours. I met people in books. I was writing short stories and poems from the age of seven.
I had been going to the art school for seven years. I actually wanted to attend music school, but had no money for instrument. Music was always the most beautiful thing in my life. No one bulled me there, but still I couldn't manage to make any friends. I was always alone, drawing some pictures in my corner. When I was thirteen, my granny, a biology teacher, gave me some books among which was Brehm's Life of Animals. It determined my interest for biology. I started to grow fishes and snails at home, dreaming to create a new gorgeous sort of guppies. At thirteen I started to have notions that God is watching me everywhere and that there’re cameras somewhere in my room.
The problems at school started about at the age of thirteen too. I was so afraid I couldn't go to answer teachers questions in front of the whole class. Pupils laughed at me. When I was at home, I could hardly remember the things we had to learn by heart or paraphrase. I was so afraid to go to school I sometimes went for a walk instead of lessons. I was horrified a teacher might ask me and I couldn't recall anything. Often teachers asked me if I study at home at all. They didn't believe I was tediously preparing for every lesson. Once I got so exhausted by preparing for exams, I felt unable to do anything. I was just sitting on the bed and sorting out some ribbons for hours.
Pupils bullied me or ignored, as I wasn't able to talk to them. And they thought me silly. I got some good grades for subjects I liked most and those that didn't require learning things by heart. When I was fifteen, a chess club was opened in our little town, and I went there to get acquainted to lots of nice and intelligent people and to attend tournaments. Also I continued to write poems. At the age of sixteen I started to have strange notions. I started to have severe insomnia from seventeen, was prescribed meds, but they were too sleepy, and I gave it up. So it became typical of me to go to bed at 3am. At that time I was only good at math, literature, English and biology at school. It restricted my choice for further education. I entered a good university not far from my town to become an English teacher. It saved money too.
At university things got a little better. I started to have some kind of memory. I was getting ready for examinations, I learned how to remember things for a day or two. Then everything was erased from my memory. But I managed to pass exams well. Sometimes things got shown when I was passing some psychology tests. I was avoiding public speeches. Teachers suspected something. Sometimes I was not very logical when writing my papers. But that was all. Things changed when I was twenty two. My father got sick with cancer and died in a year. At that time I became paranoid and started to think people were after me on the Internet. I suspected lots of people to chase me. It went on for about three years, till I finally had a psychosis with voices and was sectioned. I had to give up chess from tiredness and memory lapses, and I've not been playing for three years already. Had to give up some good jobs too. Now looking back at all this, I see I might have been ill since childhood and was struggling all the time to be "not worse" than others, though it took all my energy. I couldn't manage to keep sane, but at least I managed to grow into a person. I managed not to do much harm in my life and be intelligent enough. I gained some good friends when I started to take meds. Meds made me socialize more. Life wasn't perfect, but I had some joy, and it's still not over. The pages of my life aren't counted yet.

 


New Year's Day

The department store was merrily glittering with smart little lights from bulbs. New Year was approaching. “One hundred rubles a day… and I’ll have to buy food on this money for a month…” – she thought. The disability money was hardy enough to pay communal payments. And the prices were getting higher all the time… Some time ago they could let themselves a New Year’s cake, but now they limited themselves with one saucepan of salad.
Having bought some bread, potatoes, pasta and rice, she went home. Her mod was not festive at all. But the snow was crunching, people were smiling to each other, and everything was as usual – just like in childhood…

…The kids were sitting and drawing pictures, everyone in one’s own corner. She was attending that art school for many years, and almost hated drawing. Now she was twelve. But there was one advantage there – there was a piano in the corner of the big hall. Having done drawing, she often came near it and dreamt how she would learn to play. Sometimes they let her open the piano and play simple melodies that she learned at home, by a teach-yourself book. It was happiness.
When she had been five, she asked her parents to let her study in the music school. But they had no money for any instrument. And at ten parents of her friend, who moved to St Petersburg, bought her an old piano. Though she didn’t want to play much. This piano was first offered to her parents, but they refused – they had no money.
Often she came into despair, noticing that she was not five years old already, and her hands were gradually becoming insufficiently flexible for playing. But she consoled herself that she would surely buy a piano and learn how to play when she grows up.

… On her way home she peeped into the park. The winter made it comfortless, but in the nearby houses the New Year’s trees and colour music were gleaming, and it felt like people were rejoicing at the upcoming holiday…

… She was ten. She came into the library and asked some literature on chess. There were several books still on hand on some little shelf, but they lasted out for several years to her. Chess puzzles, composition, information on strategy and tactics… she was dreaming that someday a chess club would appear in her little city, and she would start playing with real people. It happened, but many years later. However, that club was soon closed…

Suddenly she saw a woman she knew, who was working as a barmaid at a single chess tournament that was organized in her town, in the distant 2009. An old woman warmly greeted her. – And are you still writing notes about chess for that chess newspaper? – she asked.
– No, now I’m visiting local poets’ gatherings. Though it’s dull there. They’re all too cheerful…
The old woman looked at her without understanding. She didn’t want to explain that the editor of that newspaper was dead long ago… and for getting a job in the newspaper, she would have to sleep with him. And she refused…

… Her parents were thumbing though a handbook of universities together with her. – Who would you like to be? – her mother asked.  – An interpreter… or a programmer… well, or a chess player! – she answered. Then she recalled that she doesn’t have a computer either, and it’s unknown when it will appear. Sometimes her father brought a notebook from work, and she played chess on it.
This will not do. You know very well, we have no money. And you’ll have to pay lots of bribes in big universities. You won’t be able to study in St Petersburg. So what, that you have the highest passing score in the local university. So study there! Or work and earn money yourself!
She thought about her feeble health, insomnia and neurasthenia and gave up.
– All right. There will be English, at least. Though I hate the teacher’s profession.
– You’ll get used to it. Everyone studies and works. We don’t choose whom to be. To where the fate will bring you…

… On her way home she met several dogs. She tried not to shout, though it was not pleasant. The dogs reminded her of one chess player who was harassing her and was walking his dog near her windows in the morning. Once she ran from one dog, and she bit her. The following years, seeing a dog, she stopped and screamed. And now the fear disappeared. She just loudly said “Stop!”, and dogs were walking away…

In the ninth form, having given up studying physics, – after all, she understood at that time already, that it was unpromising exercise, – she became fond of English. She had little strength, and all the time she gave to studying of English grammar. Phonetics she had to study on the book of French phonetics by Shcherba, that she found in the library by chance. As a result, at the same time she started to study French too and read books in French. But that hadn’t gone far. In the university most students were studying on paid courses of French, but she had no money…

… It was cozy and warm at home. Though she bought too expensive rice accidentally, and made mom angry a bit by that… But there was a nice evening ahead, with books and music… though she recalled something else, not exactly suitable to the meeting of the New Year…

… –  You’re a beggar, like my mother on pension! So what, if you have disability, you have to work by your profession! You’re not silly, aren’t you? – edified her one of her acquaintances.
– You have to try harder! You’re just lazy! –  edified another, – and by the way, I know a girl, she sucked to one guy for a mobile phone… but you’re not like that, aren’t you?
– And on the whole, we fear that people might want something from us… – hinted others.
It was useless to explain to them, that she doesn’t like her profession, that she has problems with memory, communication, apathy and abulia. The symptoms of her illness only convinced them that she was bad…

… She made a salad with champignons and cheese, and sat down to have supper with her mom. It was lonely a bit, but she was glad she had relatives. And that another year passed, that resembled all the rest. The fireworks were just starting near her window, as she went to sleep. And fell asleep at once.

2016
 
Leaves rustling

The early autumn of 2017. I’m walking along the park. The leaves are rustling under my feet, and the easy breeze is making the trees swing.
I watch how pigeons are pecking sunflower seeds near the benches. The pensioners and mummies with children already don’t stay in the park for a long time. I don't sit down on the bench too – it’s cold and uncomfortable. I’m wandering, enjoying the smell of cones and wet grass, and the sun though is shining, but it doesn't warm any more. I fade waiting for the moment when the still warm beam will fall onto my face. I go further. At my heart it is nice and quiet. I’m inhaling the cool autumn air and I feel how precious life is and how unesthetic death is. And my thoughts are carrying me away far … a year ago …


The summer of 2016 came to an end. I woke up from the strange feeling of emptiness in the head. "It is a depression after psychosis, as usual", – I thought.
Lately the periods of a mania came on me three times a year though I also took meds. Something was constantly provoking them. I was worrying, as usual, over any trifle. But most often – because of people and their attitude to me. Sometimes – from thoughts about how to earn myself a living and to find even simple job not to starve to death. My bad mood was smoothly changing into depression and back. But this time it was worse, than usually. I was thinking of suicide. Thoughts about suicide became habitual to me in eight years of illness. I was considering different ways to commit suicide, when it seemed as if it was absolutely impossible to live.
I came to VK and read the message from some unfamiliar guy:
– Hi, you are very beautiful, let's meet. I want children from you.
– Sorry, but in the next two years I am not going to get into a relationship with anyone.
– And why? Something happened?
– I just want to kill myself. Or perhaps I should go to hospital for half a year or for a year. I feel very bad.
The interlocutor didn’t know what to answer.

 One of my friends – a schizophrenic – suggested me to get married:
– In October we will get married! We’ll have five children, we will visit church and pray. Let's live in poverty!
I felt funny. He offered me for the fifth time already, but once, when I agreed, he told me:
– No, I really can't. It is necessary to look after my parents. And I’m sick, it will be difficult for us.
It was a hard evening. I convinced myself that I’m intelligent, beautiful and kind, and those who call me names – are evil people. Otherwise I could not survive.
"And in the summer I will go to the sea … to any sea… only to inhale salty air again, to listen to the seagulls and to lie on salty waves", – I thought. Such thoughts awakened in me again a wish to live.
And the memory was carrying me away far … one and a half years ago …


… I woke up and switched off the bothering melody. Turned the alarm clock ten minutes ahead. It was only twelve o'clock in the afternoon. It was possible to sleep some more.
The bright sun looked through the curtains. Outside the window the birds were singing. The small town was awaking. It was the middle of May, 2015.
I lay a little more, listening to the melodies of birds. Then The Seekers’s song, "Colours Of My Life" brought me out of stupor.
"I'll be shedding black and gray to take on red and blue colors I can feel by touching you …"
I sighed, switched off the song and got out of the bed. There was nothing to do and there was no wish to. The fatigue began since morning already. It seemed like all thoughts of the world were pushing hard on me. And sometimes the frightening voices prompted terrible ideas of leaving from here. But, fortunately, the meds and the instinct of self-preservation kept me from such thoughts.
Having turned on the light and having put fried eggs to cook, I tried not to think of that person who brought me so much chagrin, – my schoolmate.
I came VK from the phone and saw the message. It was my friend Vasya. He was engaged in programming and hoped to wait for the era of immortality and artificial intelligence.
– Have you calmed down? I am glad.
– Yes, I have. Everything passed. I don't love you any more.
I was in love with Vasya only for a month, but he didn't love me back. The feeling had passed, but the friendship, continuing for many years, remained.
I felt how fine the spring is. It was cheerful to be happy and not to be in love with anyone again.
Fried eggs with tomatoes were made, and I sat down at the table. And started again recalling that person who brought me so much grief. It was my schoolmate whom I was in love with since childhood.

I recalled the last four years of my life: depression, hopelessness, a wish to die. I remembered also what was earlier: strange meetings with people to whom I went to other cities, unending paranoia. I took those people for others, and some used it and enticed me to visit them. Once I went abroad and there was forced to have sex with an unfamiliar guy. I thought that it was my classmate or someone, related to him. Another time I went to Moscow, considering that one famous chess player called me on the Internet. Having wandered around the city, I returned to the railway station, spent 24 hours there and went home. Once I sent to my classmate a love letter, my old diary about him, as I considered that he spies over me.
All that weirdness proceeded during three years, and I already got used to them. Many chess players whom I played with those years online called me inadequate. But I didn't understand why. Then 2011 came. And there a terrible thing happened: first psychosis.
One fine day I understood that all people of the world are watching me and reading my thoughts. That I am someone's reincarnation and I can cause earthquakes in Japan. I took out all books from the room – they were poisoned. Burned money and broke the phone – money was the proofs, and in the phone there was a bomb. I knew it precisely by some details, unclear to normal people. Everything, it seemed, indicated the presence of invisible enemies. Even numbers in date of my birth and my address, appeared to be connected with the greatest secret societies of the planet. Yes, I was intended for the higher goals. But many people in the world wanted to prevent it. Their secret organizations pursued me all my life, were secretly killing my relatives, arranging arsons and accidents where I lived.
When I began to cut my slippers, trying to find in them the confidential tracking cameras put to watch over me, mother interfered. She called the police and the ambulance and I was taken away in handcuffs into the psychiatric hospital.
In the hospital it was hard, but quiet. I met calm patients. I met violent patients. Kind nurses and doctors. I recovered. But in two months’ time got there again. I was sure that people are watching over me and shouting to me from the street. Three times more I gave up tablets, hoping for psychotherapy and recovery, but psychoses repeated again and again.
Once in the autumn of 2011, I decided to look for the nickname of my classmate in Google. And came to some rock-forum. The first topic that I had read was about me. My classmate uploaded my photos there, some strangers were discussing me in nasty expressions, mocking and calling me names. Also he wrote about me in the topic “my classmate is a ***re” and told lies that I offered him a blowjob. All this unsettled me for a long time. I wanted to kill myself. There was no wish to live after such insults. The dreams of love were destroyed. Everything seemed a dreadful dream.
I wrote letters to my classmate for some time, thinking that I will be able to forget everything and to make friends with him. But it didn’t work out. He didn't want to talk to me. Once in psychosis I asked him to call the ambulance, but he answered nothing.

… And then there came the summer 2015, and I unexpectedly for myself began to write on that forum. I wanted to make friends with people. But one of the old residents – the moderator of a forum – took a dislike to me. For five months he was bullying and offending me, wrote that I am not a schizophrenic, but just a stupid woman, that I will kill my children and that I don't wash myself, threatened "to make me hang myself" and "to euthanize". I had more than 140 screenshots of bullying. I began to search information about him and found his name, his surname, his work address and lots of photos. After a while I understood that I could fall in love with that person. At the requests of users, I wrote a small book about life in the mental hospital. It seemed to me that so I will achieve his understanding and respect. But it turned out just the opposite. He created the poll "to kill the ***ch" where he agitated everyone to ban me. Then he attached to my nickname the status "*ucked up". I banned myself, but he cleaned this status, and I returned. Soon he began to ban me, and banned many times, despite the objections of other administrators. He forged my messages and wrote the story on behalf of administrators about me killing them all. Created one more topic in the hidden forum sections "*ucked up" where they were discussing how to forbid me to view the forum. At first one person participated in persecution, but then many others joined it.


… In the autumn of 2015 I found out that I’m listing to the song "Love Is Just A Four-Letter Word" Joan Baez and reflecting on the T4 euthanasia program which it was mentioned on a VK avatar of that person. Often I wanted to die. There was a feeling that the control over my life is slipping from my fingers. It seemed if he didn't clean this status "*ucked up" from me, I, probably, would have committed suicide … Then, after he had banned me for the fifth time, I began to write letters to him on facebook and wrote them for the whole year. Perhaps, I hoped to change his view on the mentally ill, or perhaps I just liked his photos. After writing letters I was deleting all accounts, so that he couldn’t answer me, as I was afraid of him and angry.

… There came the spring of 2016 … all my accounts on the forum were banned, my friend the schizophrenic went to the mental hospital, and I couldn't track the forum anymore. Then I sent several screenshots to my insulter’s work. But the feeling of injustice and the violated rights was oppressive. It seemed to me that only the account on the forum would make me human. All people had accounts, and I didn’t have it. Therefore I began to actively meet users of the forum in VK. One of them had "*ucked up" written in the profile, so I slept with him, just for spite of the insulter, and had been using his password for two months. Then I got acquainted with several more people and began to meet them irl. Five good friends sometimes gave me their passwords. However, mentioning of psychoses and my "laziness" repelled people, and some acquaintances didn’t last for long. But I always had some password. Most often I sat on the forum from the page of my friend the schizophrenic …

… But once in the autumn of 2016 I quarreled with the friend schizophrenic, and I had no password any more. Then I sent to several people the message with the offer of “sex for the password”. One agreed. I slept with him, but he didn't give the password to me. Only sent the screenshot proving that there is no topic about me in the hidden forum sections. But it was not true… At the same time I purchased one voice in vote against me for one thousand rubles from one girl. It seemed to me, that way I will achieve justice …


… There came the winter of 2017. I, strangely enough, took the second place in the poll of "Miss Forum 2016", and the second place among "sc** 2016". Then I purchased the password from someone else's account for headphones and learned the contents of the most hidden forum sections. From the hidden topic I learned that they are afraid of me, considering me “a clown” and hate me, and the administrators don't defend me any more, and approve "lynching". In a year they made a smilie with me, wrote a hundred pages about me in the hidden forum sections, where they were discussing when will I, at last, kill myself, so that they will have nothing to be afraid of, and how to post spam on my VK wall and how to ban everyone who are on friendly terms with me …In a year one person calling me "the *ucked up animal" managed to have changed the opinion of many people and bring them to his side. Many users spread the screenshots of correspondence with me, and he did it too.
There came the disappointment. I didn't understand any more, what for and against what I had been fighting. For the sake of what I sold myself for the password. For the sake of what I tried to fight against "stigma" and what I expected to achieve. Having lain three days in the bed, I sent the letter to the insulter’s wife and told her about everything. She answered nothing and banned me VK.
Then the decision came – not to write him anymore. So the winter ended …





… The early autumn of 2017. I’m walking along the park. The warm memories of summer are heating the tired thoughts, and the blue sky reminds that inevitably, after a while the flowers and the herbs will appear again, and there will be spring again…

2017
 




Friends

July evening. In the dark room we were alone: me and computer. I entered VK and began to glance over the dialogues …

– It is necessary to destroy all nature and to transfer our consciousness to a digital level!
– And what for?
– You are stupid, you don't understand … then everyone will be constantly enjoying life.

***************

– In marriage only sex is important, nothing more is necessary.
– And how about the mutual pastime, common interests?
– Women  are only for sex! And for the rest there are friends.

***************

– Self-actualize in life, achieve results.
– But I already achieved some, it is boring.
– Try to achieve more.
– What for?
– To get rid of the meaningless of life.

***************

– And what if I call you a taxi for 12 midnight? You will come, we will chat.
– I stay at home at night. And it’s three hours’ drive!
– It’s alright, I will wait. I have already ordered the taxi, so it’s late to refuse.
– Better to meet in the afternoon, to chat, to take a walk … I’ve never even seen you irl!

The call was heard. A nasty drunk voice was asking why I don't want to go.
– What do I need to visit you for? "Just to listen to the music" at 12 midnight? I have already taken my meds and I go to bed!
– Well you understand what do I need from you! – he answered with a joyful mumbling voice. I shouted at him and hang up. So the evening ended. The was no mood to read any more messages, I lay down and began to ruminate about eternity. There was nobody to talk to.

2017