Oleg Seriy - Tomorrow I was here

Translator Tatjana Guziy

Cover design Ekaterina Sinotova

© Oleg Seriy, 2018

ISBN 978-5-4493-3003-1

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

published by PROJECT – EDEN with the help of Ridero

© Copyright 2011 Oleg Seriy without MaRiCaBo

© Translated by Tatjana Guziy

© Cover artwork by Ekaterina Sinotova

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PROJECT – EDEN & Ridero Edition, License Notes

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Part 1

/ Dream

Story of life

In the hospital

Part 2

/ Ancient prophecy

Part 3

/ War

Pursuit

Memoirs

Enlightenment

Forced landing

P.S.

From the author

When the mountains merge together, when the sun rises after the years of darkness, know that came to the throne the ruler of fate THE CHOSEN ONE.

He lay staring at the ceiling. His eyes didn’t rush about from side to side at the speed of light, as some traders have. In his view it was possible to determine that that person was very goal-seeking. He stared dully at the ceiling at one point, as if the roof would fall at that moment and he would be suddenly dazzledby the flux of sunrays. But that did not happen. The room was dark, wet, damp. It was difficult to breathe. Almost with every breath he screamed of pain as if he was hammered a nail. He could not breathe properly. That man was constantly coughing. Lump came to his throat. He suffered from pain because he had not been eating and drinking for the second day. He was in the mud and slime, which that cell was filled. There was almost no clothes left on him… That bunch of rags could be only called clothes. His hair was unwashed for a couple of months, he was constantly scratching – he had lice.

On his face, even in the dark you could see a couple of scars – from cheek to ear – signs of torture. His eyes were small, and he almost did not blink – he was used to the darkness. Though physically he was alive, but his soul began to pass away from that world. He was not alone in that prison. Behind him on the bench you could see some black shadows, it seemed that they hold conversation about something. Suddenly he was blinded by a sudden effluence of light. He stood up, walked to the door. On the either side of him stood four thugs, who, as soon as he came out, handcuffed him and led along the poorly-lit long corridor.

…It was something horrifying: a large number of red clouds – darkness eaters – gathered over him. Icy cold pierced him through and it seemed that there had been never warm. Thousand torches were burning around, there were many people. At first it seemed that those people were dressed in black. But then he saw white crosses on the backs of their dark green shapeless garments. Our hero saw that picture when he came to himself. People around him were singing a song…

It must be the howling of dogs. He felt giddy, he froze, his stomach turn inside out. People were committing a ritual… He awoke abruptly, jumped out of bed with a distorted face. It was not worth of explaining for a long time that it was a dream… a NIGHTMARE!

His name was John Smith. He was born in a small town. Why was he however named John? And why not, after all, his parents were crazy about action-fighters, and the most common name in their names was John. All the more was so because his family had English background. Smith’s name had all their predecessors, and his parents had never thought about its value. John had been very different from their peers since childhood.

When my parents moved away from John’s perambulator at least a couple of steps the ear membranes could be broken from his cry. But parents were used to it, and his father got earplugs at night, and slept peacefully… and the mother? She did not sleep at all, and when she fell asleep her place was under the cradle baby. In the morning he had to go to work! My father did not understand the children, it was alien to him. He drank a lot. Because of the constant scandals (even then the psyche of the child was broken down), he left home and abandoned his mother. But she didn’t keep her head, did not send their children to the boarding school (she had not even thought about it) and decided to bring them up by herself. My mother had a sister and got on well with her. And her husband drove John and his sons to the sea three (or even more) years, to the warm blue sea. He felt so good there. Years passed and passed, but memories remained. Uncle John was a wonderful man (really a man, not his father). John had for his uncle sympathy and sometimes even imitated his uncle, who was for Smith a perfect example of a man, but he was destined to die in the full vigour. That was a great grief to John. He cried almost all the night. It seemed that he wept all the tears. An absurd death was a great misfortune not only for John but for all the relatives and friends, because he was a man who did good things and people came back at him. It seemed he had done everything that every person should do in this life (most likely, every person should live more than one life): to acquire a family, have children, builda house and plant a tree.

John’s torment was so great that he could not even think about studies… it was not so long ago, John lost his grandfather. It turned out that the doctors were “only” (!) mistaken with the diagnosis and treated for another disease. Then John began to execrate the medicine. Perhaps the doctors would ever try a scalpel on his body. Only God knows it.

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Once, when they were resting by the sea (he was three years old), John ran away from his parents, or rather from his parent – mother. At once no one noticed the loss, but he was vanished. Everyone started to run, look for him. And only in hour his cousin brought John by the hand to his mother. Johnny looked ridiculous: a grown-up already but had red eyes and sniffled.

In short, without a word it was clear that our boy had not grown from “the mother’s milk”. John was too small to explain what had happened. And it was this way. In general, he left the mother and ran up intuitively to his boarding house, went up to the first floor. At that time, the elevator was opened and a few people came out and John ran into the cabin, and began to examine it. He was surrounded by high brown walls. A few moments passed, and the doors slammed, and all John’s attempts to reach to the buttons were doomed to failure. The light began to fade, it soon became quite dark, and nothing was visible except the all-consuming darkness. Well, at least John did not suffer from claustrophobia… So it could last for very long, but quick-witted little brother decidedto look through the floors of the boarding house, as all the coasts had been repeatedly verified. In one of the stairwells, he found a kid who, as we see, managed to get out of the elevator after someone called him. There was no longer visible recent blush on the red from crying little face. Tears also ended, leaving only the dried stains. One can only imagine the indescribable joy of the mother, who finally found a brave tourist after a long search.