Sergey Zybolov - Deja vu. Love

© Sergey Zybolov, 2020

ISBN 978-5-4498-7896-0

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

SERGEY ZYBOLOV

Dejavu. Love

Translation into English: Sergey Zybolov using translation programs

Before setting off on a new book trip, take a small backpack from “Dejavu. Love”. Perhaps it will come in handy. So, let’s begin.

The first thing that you should pay attention to and adapt to is the few storylines in the novel, one of which is “green” – develops almost a year in advance. How and what happens is time. This is just a small copyright tip. I specifically say this in the preface, so that the reading is more calmly perceived.

The second, with unknown parts of insects or geographical names, if they suddenly come across, can be found in a special dictionary at the end of the book.

Third, this is a kind of well-known dejavu – a state in which a person feels that he had once been in a similar situation. There is an opinion, which is supported by scientists, that a possible reason for the occurrence of dejavu is a change in the way coding of time by the brain. Yes, and at the same time, the process is easiest to imagine as the simultaneous encoding of information as “two in one”: the past and the present, moreover, with the simultaneous experience of these processes. With all this, scientists say that the effect of this dejavu itself can be caused by preliminary unconscious (i.e. in a dream) processing of any information. In those cases when a person (I pay moderate attention to the word “person” rather than “person” or “individual”) in reality encounters a situation perceived at an unconscious level and successfully modeled by the brain, so to speak, close enough to real event, and there is an effect called dejavu. A similar explanation is perfectly confirmed by the appearance of dejavu in quite healthy personalities.

And the fourth is love, which still rules the world. Have you heard this somewhere? Then it remains to wish you an easy perception of the work.

Annoying drops monotonously knocked on the window, lulling the whole world with their symphony. The lullaby, performed by nature on this warm May evening, harmoniously floated in a huge, faceless, gloomy city. Heavy ghostly marble clouds slowly crept from south to north, hanging heavily over the metropolis, as if a sleepy, burly sow swollenly moved into its cozy flock for the night. And only a bright-carrot airship, which had entangled a messenger of some immensely past century, boldly added a light brushstroke of warm colors to the palette of rainy and gloomy sky. Despite the fact that this fat, helium-inflated sausage, hung soullessly in the sky, involuntarily personified a sort of “luminary”, the real energy of heat and light did not come from it, but only on the contrary, the orange object wandering, as it seemed, randomly in the celestial expanses, with an annoyingly stubborn weight, mercilessly pressed on the city, causing only unpleasant fear.

Somewhere on the outskirts of the industrial monster, a painful thunder rasped, here and there the nervous lightning zigzags sparkled. The viviparous sky, as if plucking out streams of water from itself drop by drop, martyredly squeezed out rolling natural roars. Only a muddy, vague pruning of the moon had nothing to do with the raging elements, the night light scornfully reigned over one of the tall panel buildings, on the edges of which, as if the armrests of a giant royal throne, towers towered, and calmly dozed. The bad weather was enjoying its fury, as if an awakened tiny child who woke up and falsely naughty in the middle of a night’s rest, but meanwhile, for three whole weeks or so, dusty and windless, almost sandy, land reigned in the region.

Along a brightly lit narrow street that sheltered in different colors – five-, ten – and forty-story panel cubes, slowly rolling a green passenger car of some mossy model. Suddenly he jerked sharply and stopped at the intersection at the moment when the sparkling lightning blinded the buildings, the next instant the vehicle briskly turned backwards, jerked once or twice, as if a puppet kitten choked and backs back, and gazed heavily again headed along Sixty-second street. Having completely dissolved in gray, dreary rain, the car no longer returned, turning into the next quarter.

Not a single passerby was on the evening street. Not a single one at all. In the tightly tinted windows of the first floors of buildings and in the mirror of wet warm asphalt, the useless pulsating light of the lanterns repeatedly, until a frantic phantom, was completely shamelessly reflected, and this glow increased even more, all playing with incessant drops of rain and preventing the city streets from falling into a dream. Night mood…

“Well, that’s who will say honestly and frankly – why the hell is it to shine so brightly on our deserted streets, since anyway no one should appear in the late evenings. No, really, why all this? Well, why-ee? Nobody goes anywhere, but where to go, if you can’t? It is impossible… yes, actually, and there is no need. At night, we need to rest for a new working day, which we are doing very well… and the light is on and on our health? Maybe they turn it off at night? We don’t even know if it burns at night. Maybe ask Ski or Rhonda? Although… in general, it’s a rather strange situation… strange, yeah… but, okay, you should not think about this topic. This is not our question, our business is simple, simple – work for yourself and work! Today the day is over, and tomorrow… Tomorrow will begin soon… after awakening! And again – in a circle!” – Thought Ave, trying to find a decent explanation of what is happening.

Imperceptibly approaching the end of the tenth hour of a rainy Saturday afternoon, the minute arrow mercilessly destroyed another day in fate. Before the evening verification was a quarter of an hour. In almost every window of house number twenty-four, a muffled light jealously froze, as if the building itself was also preparing for a daily roll call in order to check the Aveilable composition of residents, as it was established in this condominium.

On the twelfth floor in room A-745, the television flickered faintly. Absolutely indifferent for some time, Ave and Ski watched, like every weekend, the news program “Evening Pages” of Channel 19. But now, they immediately revived, their attention was drawn to the plot of a strange tragic event that took place in the capital of the neighboring state, the huge metropolis of Anmea*. Today at exactly noon on the central square in front of the monument to the leader of the party that has been ruling in the republic for about fifty years, two dozen ants, twenty workers staged a self-immolation act. Brought to deepest despair, the insects locked themselves in an old modest minibus, and after the friendly chanting of political slogans, the crowd gathered around, a decent number of walking ants, suddenly heard how painfully, violently and vigorously breaking a glass of bottles and bubbling liquid spilled, they broke about ten vessels, what took a few minutes. Frighteningly, part of the onlookers began to retreat obliquely, to shun, foreboding with all my heart irreconcilably unkind, all the more so as a sharp bad aroma flashed through the air, blowing on the spot… Then, overnight, the little car flared up… The screams resumed, the suicide bombers flaming and rushing about in the walls of the vehicle screamed with all their might, proclaiming one slogan after another. The language of the neighboring country, of course, was different (that’s why it is “another country” – with its own language, culture, system, etc., etc.), but still the individual words were clear to viewers, although they were carefully muffled when creating a peppered news story. The most tragic and fatal was that this terrible death, this monstrous action, was carefully planned: writing and television journalists were invited in good faith, the city authorities were officially warned, and by a strange coincidence, no one prevented such a strange form of expression of will.