Valentine Ruzanov - Where I am from. Why I am here. Where I am going 2.0. Memoirs of an alien

© Valentine Ruzanov, 2021

ISBN 978-5-0055-2506-2

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

To my muse, Brigita Nikitina

And the end thereof, neither the place thereof, nor their torment, no man knows;

(Doctrine and Covenants, 76:45)

Long day, scorching sun and yellow sand. I am very tired. Highly. It was a long journey and there is no way back. In an hour or an hour and a half, I will be in the colony, and everything will be fine. And with me, and with the colony, and with those for whom I went. Of course, everything will be fine, because we have not chosen the strongest for nothing – the one who can overcome everything and save those who remain at the base and are doomed only to wait. Wait is what I have to do now, and if the spring is safe, then I will quench my thirst.

The yellow eyes are looking for and finding nothing they close and open again.

The sand in my eyes makes me sharper, but if I don’t find a safe approach to the spring it can be dangerous. I need water. I can’t live without water. Maybe try to find her here nearby. In sand. And what, the veterans told that this happened. All I need is one molecule. Two hydrogen, one oxygen. Two hydrogen, one oxygen… Two hydrogen…

A red tongue protrudes from the mouth. The receptors slowly turn green and become covered with a film.

One oxygen… I only need one molecule, otherwise… Two hydrogen, one oxygen…

The black nose takes several convulsive breaths, the eyes widen.

Otherwise I won’t find a direction.

Bounce!

In agony, I hide my head in the sand so as not to feel pain.

– Where did you write this? – the boy slapped me on the shoulder and straightened his smile. I hesitated, but still turning around, noticing a good bar, I decided not to give myself away. – I AM?

After standing in thought, the guy took out a small book. Turning one page after another, he began to read aloud. – And who are you actually? “The devil,” the guy slammed the book shut with a bang. – And what are you looking for here?

The guy stared at the book again. – It says here…

You never know what is written there. But come to an unfamiliar city, put on a tie, and in this form go out into the street. This is too much! – Are you listening to me?

I’m listening. I’m listening. And I’m also looking for a way to the bar. – How do you understand that? – You offended. She did not come. The guy with the book. Amber eyes.

So, on the first day of the month, having collected everything I need, I hit the road. When I leave the house, I turn off my phone and stumble over a marble pebble. “Here are the chambers…”

Turning the pebble in my hands, I lightly throw it into my backpack. My intentions are the most serious. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Taking a nickle out of my pocket, I throw it into an advertising stand. – Let me tell fortunes. I reach out my hand. I smile at the good mood. – Your train, gypsy! – Nyis.

After the crash, I get out of the car. I can not see anything. I bump my head against a board.

“District Z”.

Having caught an unpleasant smell, I survey the surroundings. Ashdvao plant. River. Having stuffed my backpack with gravel lying under my feet, I climb up to the second floor to rest. The sounds of the subway awaken me from half asleep.

– Next station is Park Kultury.

– … and rest, – I bawl, scattering precious gravel on the run.

– If no one has anything to say, then we can proceed to the conclusion of a marriage union. – Let them kiss first. – No, let them sign first. After observing the audience for a while, I leave the building and tell the coachman to take me to my betrothed. “I know this way,” the coachman comes to life. – Truth? – Atosh!

The horses soared. I also wanted to add: “drive faster”, but I was jerked with such force that I barely had time to grab my backpack. Flying past a shop with an unfamiliar sign, I barely managed to convey to the coachman that we should definitely stop here.

A FEW WORDS ABOUT HAPPENING

After an unexpected meeting, the aspiring writer embarks on a journey. Driven by memories, he leaves his home, trying to return the lost and gain the unknown.

TIME: accelerated

CULTURE: cybersteam

CLOTHES: apron and Pythagorean

MORAL: – (dash)

Saturday, 6 pm. – Hello. We would like to meet with you. With you alone. Restaurant “Zorotaya Spora…” Sporrra… Golden Spur. Seven pi um. OK?

I leisurely check the music booklets and leave the music store. December snow on the face. Car wipers at traffic lights. There is a pedestrian crossing, half an hour of the road through the city center, and at the risk of my life I cross the road in front of “Spur”. There are two frozen figures on the bench at the entrance to the restaurant. – Halloween! – Hello! You’re a little early, however. – We love this kind of weather. You’re early too. – I just walked around. To the sounds of electro-jazz we go into a restaurant where I haven’t been for thirty years. Then it was just a cafe enticing young people with a demonstration of Japanese cartoons on the newly appeared video players. – What will you order? – I’m vegan. – For what reasons? – Ethical. The Americans, without showing any sign, also order vegetarian: borscht, fried potatoes, salad and water. – You lead a healthy lifestyle. Don’t you want to quit smoking? – I do not want. – Are you satisfied with everything? – Yes. – Have you ever loved? – Twice. The first married the other. All contacts from the second are lost. – Well. You’ll have to look better!

Another half hour of leisurely conversation and even the neighboring tables will learn about my youthful dream – to play jazz in New York, the lack of Russian-language manuals at that time and about my interest in English. My selfless story in fluent English is interrupted by an unexpected remark from one of the Americans: – Good evening!

Following the gaze of the foreigner, I turn around. I see the burning eyes of a twenty-year-old waitress who is imperceptibly standing behind my back, such eyes are in the audience when you perform virtuoso passages during improvisation. – Good evening! – the waitress, somewhat embarrassed and with a slight smile on her face, watches as I, with my mouth open, again turn my gaze to the Americans. – You have to look better! They nod.

Night. Immersed in difficult thoughts, I walk along the freeway. This concrete monster was specially built by the last suitor of the princess for fast driving and frequent dates with her. But according to local residents, the shortest way to the Principality is the iron one. And many, like me, chose this very path. – Hey! This is my canvas, – a long, skinny girl in a leather jacket blocked my path. – There is a fork further. Maybe we will disperse. – There are only two rails. – But there are a lot of sleepers! – Ash Lithuanian nyasuprantu. – And I understand her very well.

When I reached the fork, I did not want to go a roundabout way at all, and I suggested. – It’s cold. Can we sleep together? – On the bare burnt grass? We don’t even have a blanket. – Will the haystack suit you? There is one on the hillock. – Okay, but only one night. There is a border somewhere nearby. Climbing the hillock, we settled in a haystack. I did not want to sleep and I moved closer to the girl. Almost close. – It is too early. I’m not cold yet, “she pushed me aside with her hand. – What is your favorite band? – “Acey.” – What are you? Mine too! – the phrase was pronounced in the language of the principality and the girl asked in surprise. – Do you know this language? – I understand something. – Then it will be easier for us. – US? You said only once. – I’m not cold with you. – Good. I’m going to sleep. I had a nightmare in my dream. I fought with some big guy, but he turned out to be a weakling and quickly gave up. Then, after a short pause, the ring judge, drawing out his words unnaturally, announced: – Ladies and gentlemen. And now it’s an unusual match. In the ring there is an incomparable Violet! – the commentator warmed up the crowd making long pauses, – And charming Chamomile! Scheme A. A. B. A. Winner takes it all!