Прохор Озорнин - On the Wings of Hope - Prose

But haven't died that Miracle, for by the Maker himself was it made – only in hearts of avaricious men have it been dying untimely. And till now have it lived close to men, yet many did pass by, for they have no need for a world wonderful, unusual, mysterious – yet measured and verified world do they desire. Haven't belittled it from a blindness of men, and due to the greed of theirs haven't vanished. Still does it hope and wait for many to awaken, and still does it give itself away in all its generosity each and every day.

But who among men is capable to trust with own heart that the Miracle mentioned can still be hidden just under his very nose?

18.03.2012

“Hmm, is that really that place? I am, as these mortals usually say, boggling,” asked the Imp, continuing to look through a hardly noticeable door opening. “They didn’t even give us some charts, just told that we should ‘react in accordance with the situation’ – and how should we react if someone decides to disassemble us here and now, damn it?”

“Seems like it’s the place,” perplexedly shifting from one hoof to the other, answered the Fiend. “Do you see lots of equipment that is stationed there? That must be the control chamber. Damn, shivers are running through my horns in anticipation of what we are going to achieve there!”

“Oh, sure, sure,” the Imp twisted his ugly face. “You’ll have to get in there first! The door is locked, you see? Most certainly it’s protected by some magical wards to keep such fools as you away and at bay...”

“Don’t you be such a coward!” the Fiend interrupted him. “Just kick it, perhaps it will even open for you in gratitude!”

“I am no coward! I just don’t like all of this. We didn’t even see any guardians on the way here. Shouldn’t this place be protected from prying eyes at least for a little? It looks as if they are luring us into a trap…”

“Weakling!” the Fiend spat out on a floor and kicked the door by hoofs with all possible force. The door obediently opened, letting in such not so welcomed guests. “You have almost lost all of your hoof-power, brother, I tell you! You see that? Easier than a fried turnip!”

“I don’t like this at all…” the Imp accurately entered the room while continuing to mutter. “Wow…” he uttered a couple of seconds later. “So many devices! Just look at that!”

“This must be it!” the Fiend confirmed his exclamation. “This has to be it! I knew that everything would turn out well. Now we will figure out how to turn off a security system out here and, as these mortals like to say, the matter is all in a boiler!”

“In a hat, you blockhead!” laughed the Imp. “Always you are thinking about boilers and sinners!”

“There is nothing more appealing to my eyes than a sinner inside a boiler, brother! You stay here on a guard and I shall look around.”

“That’s frightful – to stay on guard,” having made a sour and ugly face, uttered the Imp while going back to the door. “If some damn shit happens – you are the first to game.”

“To blame, moron!” the Fiend answered him with a courtesy. “You, as far as I can tell, didn’t study a human language to perfection too. That’s why they no longer send you into human worlds – you would grow such games there… people under your unkind guidance will surely stop sinning simply because they wouldn’t understand what you are trying to offer them.”

“All right, all left, you got me,” the Imp giggled, having stood up near a door. “So, have you found something?”

“So…” perplexedly said the Fiend, continuing to go around and looking at devices and terminals. “Or not so…”

“What’s there?” the Imp was curious. “Something of sin-terest?”

“Something, or maybe nothing… One thousand of imps!”

“Aye?” replied the Imp. “Did you call for me?”

“Nay, I am just saying that figuratively as people got used to thanks to our efforts,” bitten the Fiend. “Don’t distract yourself, watch the flanks!”

“I am standing, I am standing…” the Imp confirmed unwillingly.

“One thousand of imps!” the Fiend swore once again, inspecting the control panel. “All inscriptions under buttons here are written in some unfamiliar language! It looks like that thing… an ancient angelic dialect! Did you learn old angelic?” he looked interrogatively at the Imp who was scratching his horn.

“Dork!” the Imp started caustically giggling. “Don’t even know that angelic dialect! I, by the way, don’t know it either. Its heaven only knows how old, no one studies it by now! So we didn’t learn it in our fiery school as well. We were passing it through – I mean, just skipped and moved on to more intriguing topics like how to create sinful thoughts for humans.”

“What’s the hell, imp only knows!” the Fiend swore again.

“No, I dunno know. Ask someone else if you manage to find him somewhere left here! You’ll have to push every single button here and maybe something will even be dug out of this!” the Imp giggled once more.

“Maybe something will open out in this,” continuing to go to and fro between control panels, bitterly answered the Fiend. “Now we are totally damned! We have no charts, they said. You will figure in all out in place, they said. Act according to circumstances, they said...”

“So let’s act like that!” the Imp cried caustically, having run up to one from a vast set of terminals. “Just like that!” and with these words, he punched with own paw a blue button of unknown purpose which was located at the top of a terminal. A lingering sound ringed in the air and a holographic image of some planet appeared in the center of the room. This image was living its own life, displaying the flow of planetary time and actions of its certain dwellers. Several indicators in modern angelic dialect appeared near the planet, including ones named as “Good”, “Evil” and “Future”. These indicators were constantly changing, displaying the total amount of both good and evil, produced on the planet by its inhabitance, and the “Future” indicator graphically represented the most probable scenario for the planet, according to current levels of both good and evil.

“How did you do that?” the Fiend twisted his horn in astonishment. “Interestingly, these labels are written in the modern angelic language. Devices are obviously much more ancient than this thing is.”

“Look, that must be the Earth! I recently was there on a business trip! Look here, little men are rushing! Such tiny ones!” the Imp started giggling, having approached the holographic globe and began examining it in details.

“We greet you, earthlings! If you haven’t yet killed each other, take my advice – don’t hesitate to do exactly that!” the Fiend loudly barked, having approached this three-dimensional globe.

“I bet they haven’t heard you yet,” caustically noticed the Imp, “it’s just a projection.”

“Or perhaps they will hear our thoughts?” the Fiend said thoughtfully. “Now I will send to this tired little man who is coming back home from his work my thought that his wife is a traitress and children are ungrateful degenerates,” and the Fiend pointed with a claw into a tiny image of one of the humans. Shortly thereafter this little man somehow strangely stirred up his head, his face strained, eyes darkened, and with an accelerated gait, he continued moving back home. “It works!” the Fiend burst out laughing. “I said I bet that now this jealous fool will come home and arrange a serious beating for his relatives, and a total indicator of evil will rise up!”

“You are a dork!” giggled the Imp. “It works from anywhere in case the inner spiritual state of a man coincides with our thoughts. That’s universal law.”