Prokhor Ozornin - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

You are not even free – you have never been free. You only dream of it, sing about it, speak among each other about it – but you are never free. And when the time comes for you to say “no” – you are saying “yes” instead …

That’s the problem, the greatest problem of mankind history – that the man is too suggestible, too controllable, for he is too weak to be his own master. The problem is that there are always those who can readily take advantage of it and use it for their own sake. And it will always be so – just until you become the masters of your own life.

Remember it – remember that well. Your future depends on it.

* * *

Spacious apartments. A heavy oak table near a wall sideways from a window … the working ancient wall clocks which are beating out their mysterious rhythm … an icon of the Savior in a gilt frame on one of the walls … and more, and more, and more …

Bom … bom … bom … - clocks beat slowly and methodically. And once again – bom … bom … bom …

- Mister President, we suspect that you should familiarize yourself with these materials. It’s important for the stability of our power.

- Show it then.

A soft flash – and the video display starts working. Lines and words, words and discussions, discussions and thoughts. After only fifteen minutes the demonstration of “materials” comes to an end. Ten seconds of silence …

- What sort of clown is that ? Yet one more fighter for freedom and all. I’m stuffed up with that nonsense. Remove him.

Five seconds of silence …

- Are you sure, mister President ?

- Just remove him. And … well … take care of his family, of course. Do not refuse them in indemnification for his “accidental” death. And don’t let ones like him into our channels – or you can forget about your jobs. That is my last word. Is everything clear ? Nice. So - what’s the next thing on our today’s agenda ?

Heavy oak table near a wall sideways from a window … an icon of Savior in a gilt frame … ancient wall clocks, beating out some mysterious rhythm …

Bom … bom … bom …

And once again – bom … bom … bom…

21.10.2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Majority.

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

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

And that is why he is the criminal.

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

And that is why he is the hero.

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

And that is why he is the traitor.

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

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

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

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

But not for the Majority.

The Top.

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

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

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

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

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

Just a single instant.

And – the Eternity.

28.09.2010

- Pssss … come over here! - a voice came out of bushes.

- Stand where you are no matter whoever you are! - Ivan almost jumped up from surprise, having somehow inexplicable managed to rotate him in the jump for two hundred sixty seven and half degrees in direction to a source of potential danger.

- And what should the flying ones do - stop right where they are flying? - a reasonable question came out of bushes once again.

- Whoever is here, show yourself! - a hero, for many yet unknown, and for us already named, continued making his proposition.

- Hey, stop being afraid of me already! - someone hiding in bushes soothingly noticed. - Look, you’ve stopped on your way, but what’s a big deal? You have been wandering through this local forest aimlessly nevertheless. And here you’ve got a nice chance to chit-chat with somebody heart-to-heart … with me, for instance.

- And where might you be, I wonder? - a brave one, who have already recovered from a first shock, wasn’t appeased in the curiosity. - You may turn out to be a terrible and horrific monster, trapping lonely travelers on their way to people, you know?

- Oh, pardon me, what’s the point for me to be nasty! - a sniff came somewhere sideways this time. - Who will covet us in this case? Besides, we are not awful, but peaceful and truly democratic, to say so. We bring happiness, struggle for human rights. A freedom of choice, relations, conscience. And so on, and so forth.

- So, you are a female? A representative, of so to say, fair sex? - Ivan was taken aback.

- Well, fair for someone, and nasty for another. It all depends here on the level of reason, as they say.

- From what? - Ivan didn’t understand.

- Well … it’s such a thing - level. And the reason - what’s the reason? Simply a profanation! - a giggling came out of the next tree. - Where were you going here, I wonder?

- On affairs! - Ivan muttered. - I am not going to tell strangers everything, especially having not seen them eye to an eye. Maybe, they don’t even possess the eyes?

- Maybe they don’t … - a reasonable notice doubled itself. - And, maybe, ones such as me don’t even require it.

- Hey, you, eyeless monster! I am gonna fire at you an arrow from my bow, and where it will strike e - either to an eye, or some other body spot - is a minor matter! - barked Ivan and got behind bow and arrows.

- Well, you are not some sort of cupid to stick all passers-by with arrows of love, are you? And besides … what if it turns out that I am that wonderful frog-princess, whom you are required to kiss to further live on together with her in a happiness and consent till death itself won’t separate you? Wouldn’t you really want to try it out, m-m-m-m? - the voice of female stranger was getting more and more tender and viscous.