Prokhor Ozornin - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

It’s obvious that heavenly apologist Ivan very reluctantly says goodbye to contemplation of burning fields of shabby books, so bewitching the sight of unprepared viewer, but, nevertheless, curiosity together with a call of duty finally prevails, and he, having waved a hand to all torches procession, and shouted to them something like “Hasta la vista!”, for one another time soars up to heavens like a free bird. He continues for some time to habitually wind of city streets at level of the third of fourth floor of buildings, and then with a gallop if, certainly, such a term is even applicable to such sort of movement, flies into the opened door of the currency exchange building.

Straight off it becomes clear that senseless vanity which once filled this senseless institution sank into oblivion in no time, for the rats, creeping here and there on parquets, have become practically the main inhabitants of this institution, as well as some individuals of doubtful degree of rationality with sad looks on their faces, periodically bursting in cries like “Blue counters, blue counters, they are the gingerbreads for money launders!”, “Will lend for five and take for three, I shall be reach, oh you will see!”, “Bulls and bears are not pears … run away … back off, I say!”. Similar chaos is supplemented by scattered here and there packs of cash of most different forms and coloring, on some on which aforementioned rats have already managed to make their notes. In general this picture leaves a strongly feeling of a madhouse which was left by all medics already along with the majority of their patients, excluding the most persistent ones from the second group.

Fyodor:- Is that too good, is that too bad? It’s like a house for the mad!

V.V.P.:- The parasites did crawl here … now crocodiles cry with tears.

Fyodor:- In kindergarten they should go who orchestrated “money flow”.

V.V.P.:- They are descending and know not … their desires make greed hot.

Fyodor:- They have been warned long ago, but didn’t change their spirit’s “flow”.

V.V.P.:- Let’s stop beholding their fate … no more course, no more rate …

Fyodor:- Back then to churchmen? No, no reasons.

V.V.P.:- Some men did leave the cages of prisons!

Fyodor:- Those ones without great crimes were given work to pay the “fines”?

V.V.P.:- Who Divine Law have understood, expiate crimes in work for good.

Fyodor:- Each one will show what holds inside … humility forges roads for right.

V.V.P.:- Let’s hope they have sufficient time, and their demons are in decline.

Fyodor:- Guardian Angel each one has got, listen to them to feel divine accord.

V.V.P.:- Many of them that will soon understand.

Fyodor:- What of the poets in our land?

V.V.P.:- They sing in joyful, happy rhymes, and give us prophecies at times!

Fyodor:- Songs of birds are very pretty!

V.V.P.:- To the forest! Leave the city!

Ivan suddenly bursts in victorious shout “Yahoo!” and takes off away from the root paper nervous-doing, gradually increasing his height as if trying to leave this city as quickly as ever possible. And finally before televiewers forests start floating above, camera sharply dives down and as though hangs on a branch of one of pines. Ten seconds after it becomes obvious that Ivan simply sat down on a fly on the of a tree, which has attracted his attention, just like a classical bird. Thirty seconds later silent joyful whistling reaches audience, ones of definitely human genesis. A view of a wood clearing and the slice of the sky opens before televiewers, which has appeared in a lens of a television camera just in time. It seems that Ivan’s pensive and spring mood was transferred even to the dictor.

V.V.P.:- We shall live not as we did once!

Fyodor: - Let’s sing like birds and then have dance!

V.V.P.: - Is that the pigeon of the peace?

Fyodor: - And don’t forget the goose, oh please.

V.V.P.: - I see you like the birds as shown.

Fyodor: - They are harbingers of the dawn.

V.V.P.: - Oh yes, so close they are to skies …

Fyodor: - The cocks - you hear - are on the rise?

V.V.P.: - The cock is sort of battle bird!

Fyodor: - Like nightingale, as of sort.

V.V.P.: - Ah, nightingale, that’s the singer!

Fyodor: - As if in warning cuckoo ringer …

V.V.P.: - The hawk has fallen to the ground. Decaying … now it is ants round …

Fyodor: - I will not find the proper words, describing fate of predatory birds.

V.V.P.: - And for the foxes there are dogs.

Fyodor: - Keep arrows ticking of the clocks.

V.V.P.: - And tiny birds make wondrous show!

Fyodor: - And streams of River of Times keep flow.

V.V.P.: - The time has reached another peak. Indigo Children - that’s the kick?

Fyodor: - I care not for our names. The end has come for hatred games!

V.V.P.: - And that is now without doubt! We’ll meet again?

Fyodor: - I will be proud.

07.05.2012

- Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you once more, Sarmael. It has been quite a long since we haven’t seen each other soul-to-soul and eye-to-eye, or so to speak. A lot of oil has been spilled since that time, as our ancestors liked to speak, yes?

- And yet no more than ten years in current time area, I believe. And I can assure you that I myself most certainly glad to meet one such as you, mister Architect. Ever since you have been nominated to that position I justly and sincerely dare to hope that …

- Leave your poor flattery, Sarmael, for some silly thirteen-year little girl, which you will certainly soon start to cajole after that molecular reengineering performed on you, - for I have heard enough of that nonsense during my two-three hundreds lifespan. As far as I know, not a single one from the heap of those unreasonable has ascended above the position of Curators. Not that manner and ambitions, you know, wrong type of grasp … Well, enough of that. Sit down and let us have a chat almost as we once did in that old good anarchical ones.

- I thank you. A lot of oil has flowed away, you say? No less than biotic and metals, I guess. Not to mention the quantity of our opponents’ brains, randomly transformed into the organic medley, right?

- Indeed … as these historical bootlickers of last centuries in human world liked to speak … how were they called ? … Frenchmen, - total and endless nostalgia. Old good anarchical years …

- All power for the robots, hm? That was the slogan of these biological bastards?

- Well … both yes and no. We would not become those whom we are now in these new shells if not for their researches, after all. And considering those … side effects … everything has its price, is it not? Even the right … the right to be free.

- Well, reasonably, reasonably. But have you ever desired to once, say, feel yourself truly conceiving, independent, to feel for an instant that very essence of possibility to be a … human?

- Very long time ago, Sarmael, almost a millennia. When we landed on “Thetta” and clones marched into battle … Her eyes, ones of that girl, I will probably never forget that begging look in her eyes, when … when bio-insurgents have been transforming her body molecule by molecule into that whom … which we have become now. They were filled with such an entreaty, despair and hope simultaneously … as thought something triggered deep inside me somewhere, provoking a short circuit, piercing through. Something turned inside out in me, and since that time I ceased forgetting that moment …