The most difficult was to cope with the ropes. And then wait for the fields overgrown with weeds along the road to be replaced with a sparse copse.
Well, at least my red star former comrades did not guess to put a guard on me, except for this old man armed with a single flintlock gun.
One blow of the butt to the temple - and the old man, exhaling, finally, some sort of curse, fell to the side.
I jumped off the cart and rushed headlong into the thicket, prudently stooping almost to the ground.
I ran for a long time, dodging, leaving false traces, getting my possible pursuers to the bed of a dried up stream, now to the marsh.
Already at sunset, pretty tired, I went to the edge of some abandoned village.
The picture was depressing - dilapidated houses, abandoned gardens, sometimes destroyed wickers. And silence.
Even to me, a person far from agriculture, it is clear - in the village, and especially at sunset, can not be so quiet. Must cackle chickens, gurgle geese, quack ducks, grunt pigs, moo cows, dog bark. Somewhere should be heard conversations and children's crying. Yes, finally, the birds must sing. But there was nothing of this. It was dead, literally silence.
My goosebumps ran down the back from this place, but it was already late to go farther into the forest - the sun was already rolling over the horizon, and the gloomy landscape was shrouded in twilight, which gave the picture a completely eerie flavor. I entered the first courtyard, walked along a grassy path past an abandoned garden bed, past a wooden shed on one side, past an empty doghouse. Near the shop, at the crooked door of the kosobochok, an ax struck me. There was, of course, nothing remarkable about him — an ordinary splinter with a short handle — but the hair on his head began to stir at the first glance at him.
I shoved the door with a trembling hand. She squeaked in displeasure. I entered the dark hallway, which smelled of earth and mold, and stopped at the threshold of the room.
Even in the twilight I saw that she was living. Despite its appearance, the house was not abandoned.
“Well, come on in, cola pryyshov,” came a deaf female voice from somewhere in the depths of the room — surprisingly calm and indifferent.
I automatically raised my gun, but even if I wanted to shoot, it wouldn’t work for me - my hands were trembling too much.
- What caught? Cut, - I would not have noticed her, if she did not move in the far corner.
I lowered the gun:
“Sorry, I didn't know ...” I mumbled and took a step back.
“Stetius,” she rose and approached me in a silent shadow.
On her head was a black handkerchief, on her shoulders was a black dress, under which a painfully thin, hunched old woman figure was guessed. In her right hand she held a small knife, and in her left a small onion of a strange dark color.
“Nothing in the yard, not ydas,” she said.
I nodded and guiltily looked away.
She swayed and returned to the room to the table.
I followed her, leaning my gun against the wall by the door in the entrance.
She put a knife and an onion on the table and went to the only non-curtained window, pulled the dark curtain and turned to me:
- Spikes switches.
I obediently felt on the table an old church candle, went up to the stove - the only bright spot in this dark room. In the darkness, I saw a fire glow in the very depths. Poked wick in this light. A tiny tongue of flame joyfully pounced on fresh food. In the dim light, I managed to see a few more candles, carefully placed throughout the room. I lit them all and sat down at the table next to the hostess, who, with the same indifferent look, continued to clean her onion. Now I could have a better look at it, but the sight that had appeared to my eyes frightened me even more than at the beginning of our acquaintance. She was pale.Under the sunken faded eyes, black bruises, the neck was so thin and shriveled that I saw every vein on her throat, and behind the bony clavicles seen in the collar of her dress, black shadows lay. I swallowed a lump and looked at her thin, nimble hands. She cleaned not the bow - it was a rhizome of a tulip, I recognized it by its color and shape.
I looked around the room - in the corner opposite the dusty curtain, probably hung an image, there was a stove on the right, and a wide bench beside it, covered with a quilt. In the middle of the room stood a roughly hewn table and four similarly made-up chairs, which, in an amicable way, had to be repaired.
In the corner, behind me, an empty cradle creaked softly.
- Have you died a child? - I turned on her eyes.
It is impossible for women to ask such questions, but I thought about this already after this tactlessness had flown away from my tongue. And then he pulled his head into his shoulders - as a rule, this was followed by a terrible tantrum. Perhaps I even expected something like that. Perhaps I even asked my question in the hope of making her cry, take her out of this terrible state.
But she just nodded silently, without even looking at me.
“I was still quite small,” I remarked, as if deliberately picking a dirty finger at an open wound. - From what?
This was definitely superfluous.
“The look of hunger,” she whispered indifferently, cutting the onion into two halves and holding out one to me.
I had a lump in my throat, and I automatically took a simple treat from her hands.
What hunger? Just two weeks ago, all the newspapers rang about what a magnificent wheat harvest this year, how the bins of the Motherland fill up at record rates, how ... What does that come about - that’s the price ...?
- And husband? - I asked almost in a whisper, swallowing hard with a lump.
- Visors, - but her voice has not changed. She brought her half to her lips and, sighed heavily, bit off the bitter flesh, without even wincing.
And here something broke in me, and as if the veil fell from my eyes. I decided that she was an old woman, but in fact in front of me was a young woman who had aged the time and famine before her. I got up from the chair, took her cheeks in my hands and looked into her eyes. In this faint grayness, in its very depths, a bright blue sea was splashing, sparkling in the sun's rays. A crimson blush flared on his cheeks that had turned gray from tears, and his thin, wrinkled lips turned pink. I suddenly saw how beautiful she was before, before all this.
From under a black kerchief, a strand of golden hair burnt out, burning no worse than church candles. I rubbed it with my fingertips, went down to my hollow cheek, only slightly touching thin dry skin, and pressed my lips to it. He slipped his tongue over them - they opened up like the gates of paradise open before the righteous. I just pulled away from her. The corners of her lips barely noticeably went up, but this forced little smile was not what I wanted to see.
I picked her up like a baby and carried her to the bench. He pulled off her dress, in passing covering the emaciated bony body with kisses, caressing the flabby saggy breasts, which from my touches became more and more elastic and pleasant to the touch. And he, meanwhile, knelt at her convulsively compressed legs. One hint - and this gate also opened before me, passing me to the most treasured treasure.
I put my lips to her heart, which, contrary to my expectations, smelled of cleanliness. She moaned softly, leaning towards me, scratching the cover with her thin fingers and tangling in my hair. I kissed her gently, fiddling with a small pea and feeling its slightly sweet taste on my lips. And she arched and moaned louder. Finally, she tensed for the last time, almost pressing my head into her skinny thighs, howled and went limp, breathing heavily.
I got to my feet, unbuttoned my belt, and hastily pulled off my trousers with my boots, then threw her legs on the bench, climbed up from above and slowly entered my bosom already heated by my tongue.She just whimpered softly, but she did not try to stop me or push me away. I looked into her half-closed eyes - they glowed blue from under lowered eyelashes. Her cheeks were burning with such a fierce blush that I, without hesitation, entered her at once to its full length. Her thighs slammed into mine, but I didn’t pay the slightest attention to it - I was already withdrawing, gaining acceleration for the second jump. The next blow made her arch her back and howl. Tears glittered on her crimson cheeks. I almost went out again, listening as her womb closed with a pleasant champ. If I had not seen the cradle, I would never have believed that she was giving birth. (Especially for eroticspace.info) And again the blow - tears a torrential stream irrigated her cheeks, flowing on her golden hair, scattering on the bed, and on her scarf. I leaned back again.
“Here,” she whispered, flashing the blue sea from under her thick eyelashes.
Another blow. She screamed.
And the corners of her lips rushed up, breaking the clay mask of pain and indifference. Another blow. Scream louder. The smile is wider - now it is not tortured, not painful. She is real. Another blow - she wraps her arms around my shoulders, earlier hanging lifelessly from the edges of the shop, presses me to her and kisses me hotly on the lips, penetrating my tongue almost as deep as I penetrated her hot, bleeding womb. And her hair burned with pure gold in the light of church candles, and behind the dirty curtain God happily laughed.
I was moving faster and faster, she was moving towards me. I pressed against her more and more tightly, and she to me. Our tongues intertwined, and the light cast bizarre shadows on the darkened walls of damp.
And then, with a long moan, we erupted — I into her, and she outside — illuminating the light of our passion with a dilapidated hut ...
And we fell asleep, firmly embracing, silently agreeing to continue with the dawn ...
And at dawn, she was gone - I heard her heart stop.
And it was inexpressibly painful to me that these glassy eyes would never again illuminate the light of the bright blue sea, that these sunken cheeks would never again burn a blush.
But I was immensely happy — a sincere, joyful smile froze on thin, pale lips ...
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Well written ... but necrophilic somehow
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Thanks for the compliment))))
Think you should create a category?
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I would not)
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It’s good that we don’t decide with you))))
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Piercing. Thanks you.
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This is thanks to you))))
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And for me, for what? "It is easy and pleasant to speak the truth" - remember? :)))
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Of course, I remember))) That's it, and thanks)))))
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I understand you, but come back, better in fiction, I ask you. Well, why so?
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I do not know, for some reason, science fiction is not being written now.
Excuse me for torturing your tender soul ...
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Very very sad
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That's right - sad ... and painful ...
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As I understand it, this story is another attempt to prove the phenomenon of famine. In the expanses of fascist Ukraine, the author, if he writes a couple more similar stories, can hope for a Bandera medal.
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Why prove something that there are millions of evidence?
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I'm not going to prove anything to anyone - the fact was, people were dying.Who is to blame for this - the question is open, and it’s not for us to answer it.
A story about compassion, and if they give me a medal for it, even if it is named after Stepan Bandera, I will be proud of it as much as I would be proud of with the Order of the Red Star or Purple Heart.
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Yes, your hero earned a pass to paradise by such an act, this is true.
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Well, I don’t know about a pass to paradise, but I definitely put a tick on my conscience ...
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Alexey, you are scribbling like Anka-machine gunner. Whom you want to shoot, is it possible the author "Non-commentator"? Let him live and write spiritual stories, as she can. As for the story, I think the author is a fairly competent and adequate person to perceive it normally. History - history, here, who would intelligibly explain what is happening today in our open spaces and at the neighbors? ... Nevertheless, I dare to hope that the author has a cry of protest and indignation around him. It is not easy for us from our far to understand what is happening in the souls of the Donbas people. Accept my moral support.
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Eugene, do not worry, I have long made up my mind about the events of the thirties. And then, who said that the events of the story take place in Ukraine, and not on the banks of the Volga? There, too, there was a famine and many still speak Ukrainian, albeit broken))))
Simply, there is a bad tendency to look around for political overtones, signs of national discord and appeals like "Moskalyaku to Gilyaku" or "Beat the Jews - save Russia." There is no politics in this story - only pain and sadness ... and hope for a bright future ...
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If they started talking about geography, then it’s not on the banks of the Volga, but in the Kuban. Just in the middle, so that no one was hurt :))). For the Volga, your Ukrainian "duz correctly speak Ukrainian" :))))
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As far as I remember, the famine of 1932-1933 was raging in the south-eastern part of Ukraine, on the Volga region and on the Kuban, so there is no contradiction in terms of geography))))
And about “duly speaking correctly” - I don’t interpret her speech for good reason, but I don’t write in Ukrainian letters;)
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I offered Kuban in order to reconcile both parties :). Not because of a contradiction in geography - everything is correct, only slightly incomplete. I dare to correct you a little - with all due respect to your knowledge: the geography of famine covered not only the south-east of Ukraine. She caught the north, and Podolia ... In general, the whole territory, which until 1939 was part of the USSR.
And the Volga region confused me a little because of language assimilation. Of course. Ukrainians were there ... but, rather, their speech was more close to Russian. Ukrainian pronunciation gave only softness and, perhaps, some smoothness of speech. But you have a heroine does not INSERT Ukrainian words into her speech, but SPEAKS in Ukrainian. The nuance is very significant, agree:) ... Though transliterate her speech, at least attach the soundtrack :) - well, don't hide your Ukrainian, no matter how hard you try! :))). But if she spoke in German, oh, naturlich! The Volga region is unambiguous! :))). Well, maybe, Kirovograd region and the Mennonite colonies on Zaporizhzhya :))))))))).
Well, you understand that this is all I write with great respect and sympathy for you and support of your story in particular and creativity in general :).
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I’m right with your word, and I’m not obsessed.
So, I imagined the very Ukrainian style, image, knowledge of men, children, schools, navies, Mabut Samchukova "Mariya", as a yakraviy and colorful. І situation itself could be lost in Ukraine and part of the famine - the same is true of history. Ale tse doesn’t mean if I’m talking to someone who’s called; I’ve already used to piss off, so that the situation has become, the situation is portrayed through the character of the character through them to convey to the reader Yakdei. All іnshe - zave.
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So, I commemorate Samchukov “Mariya”, i, not wanting a fierce yogi to create, atetezh implore this creature with one of the most beautiful images of Ukraine itself - duetly poetic, ale water and i tragic. I said that I psivsidomo zoreientuvalis themselves on the new, to center your outlook for more than three years from the literary point. :) For the scho you - a little spaghetti :).
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Mabuchi at psdsvіdomostі kozhnoi ukraїnsko і zhinki to sit like that of Maria;) My great-grandmother, for some reason, twisted at the tail of the Rumunian soldier, if she wanted to steal into a misnomer of borosna (I, Mabut, I need to do it, I need to put it in a separate piece of borosna (I, Mabut, I need to do it, I need to put it in a separate piece of borosna (I, Mabut, I need to do it in my room)
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I understood you as it should. And all the excuses with which you are trying to explain your immoral position are more eloquent than the story itself. To your surprise, in recent months I have repeatedly met on various erotic sites of the work, where in a veiled form it is hard to prove this very wish that you did not hesitate to repeat once again: “Moskalyaku to Gillyaku!” I am sure that the repetition of this fascist logung is not only not accidental, but made intentionally.
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And third. And what is the immorality of the story? That a dying woman shared the last tulip bulb with a guest?
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Aha, and the guest thanked her for it by cunnilingus - very immoral, by the way))))
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Dear Alexey, I am very sorry that you perceive all the incoming information so literally. And you see calls for ethnic conflicts where there are none. I understand that television and the Internet are a terrible force, but that’s what we are referring to as a kind of homo sapiens, in order to critically evaluate what we are told, shown and what we are forced to believe.
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If you are surprised at the Anki-machine-gunners line, then you need to, first of all, debug your site, which for some reason does not recognize the so-called. the codes from the picture, as a result of which the dialogues "hang", and this, in turn, makes it repeat. So leave your high irony in reserve, as Anka’s machine-gun fire is much more significant than your eloquence pearls, since this Anka has remained in History, but Eugene 3 is unlikely to be there.
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Sorry for interfering:) - but Anka the machine gunner remained, rather, in folklore, and not in History. For, according to the latest research by the largest Russian historian and screenwriter E. Volodarsky (God rest his soul), Anki the machine gunner was not as such, but was only the wife of Furmanov :). Well, with the appropriate consequences :). This is the first.
Friend :). Herostrat - he, too, got into the story ...
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You do not interfere, you justify. Significant difference. Volodarsky's opinion is not the ultimate truth. Some say that Chapaev was not there, just as there was not all that he did (in the story). But Dm. Furmanov, as a writer, had the right to some artistic liberty. But the story does not go against the fact that Chapaev was. And he was laying out potatoes there or not - it doesn’t matter, the main idea in V. I. Chapaev’s leadership talent.
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Chapaev really was not :). But Chepaev - was :))))
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At least, in order not to make the reading public laugh, it is necessary to read the original from time to time. And for greater persuasiveness I copy for you a link to the corresponding article in Wikipedia, read and assimilate how correct it is - Chapaev or Chepaev (in your opinion). However, it was immediately obvious that you are not particularly friendly with the information. https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%A7% D0% B0% D0% BF% D0% B0% D0% B5% D0% B2, _% D0% 92% D0% B0% D1% 81 % D0% B8% D0% BB% D0% B8% D0% B9_% D0% 98% D0% B2% D0% B0% D0% BD% D0% BE% D0% B2% D0% B8% D1% 87
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Sorry, I got excited ... just had a fight.
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Nothing happens))))
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And I liked the story. Written soundly. Well, the content is a bit provocative and so what. The story as a story, there is a place to be.
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I thank)))) This is exactly what I wanted to achieve - a calm attitude towards provocations)))))
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are you in the sense - “the writer is the creator of human souls”, however. Eka you :)
Do not say that you have a mission. Let it be just a story. Specifically - your - emotional statement. And not everyone will want or be able to appreciate the height of the flight of your thoughts and intentions. I will think that this is JUST a story, and what you want :))
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No, not the mission - the message)))) My personal emotional message to the world is people, do not be fooled by provocations! Cry of the soul, if you will.
And as a writer, I do not think of myself — so, as a grapher);)))
And thank you for your frankness - JUST a story is already a lot, it is already a big loan ...
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Well, it's good that everything cleared up. Alex, can, at the same time and with me remove the "black mark"? I re-read my review and did not see anything offensive to you there. Do you know what surprised you in your answer? What you called S.T. "our site." Sign up, participate in discussions, and he will become yours too. Here, all readers are on an equal footing.
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Written well, however, as always. But the story did not go. Maybe if there was no previous (about Laura), then the interest for me was higher. And it is difficult to formulate what is wrong, but I am sure that the author could have drawn everything better, stronger, clearer.
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Honey Kapochka, you have not been here for a long time ... at least in the comments))))
Well, I know what is wrong here - it is very heavy, dark and dark, you don’t like those;) Laura was lighter and more frivolous))))
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I love different) and dark and dark too)) Probably just picky) In Laura there was a little unexpected ending and break. And here, it seems to be appeasement. But it must be either sad or mildly sad. But all this is only in my opinion) There is not a grim burden, so that one would like to spit. There is no anger on the circumstances. There is no sadness about what happened. There is a given. A sketch with well-drawn details, which lacks either shadows or colors.
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Perhaps you are right ... I will try to do the next one more ... hmm ... well, I understood ... it seems)))
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You can go crazy. This only you could write. I have no words...
Dyakuyu.
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Thank you))))) You again praise me)))))
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Eka doesn’t give everyone a rest policy))) Women are about compassion, and men are about politics. Well, by God! About sekas we here in e, o sekas)))
Non-commenter, credit! But you know that I am not objective to you)
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And do not say - already tired ...
I know)))) Therefore - come on, praise)))))))))))))
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And I'm on a break))) I don’t even know ... can I scold? ...
On the one hand nekrofilskie aunt, I already got goose bumps, on the other sex excitingly life-giving, the third "moral of this fable is ..." and how to evaluate such a cocktail?)))
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So do not evaluate))))) Take it as it is)))))
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Yes, I did)))
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No, well, I had in mind not an estimate in terms of points))))
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In general, thanks for the cocktail - when it’s all simple and clear, even reading is somehow not interesting;)
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Yes, baby!
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Htsy is guilty of so much writer, but it’s possible to take butt :). I tilki for, schob tse bulie Wi :)
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Serg_yu, dyakuyu)))) you praise me the whole hour, and I’m surely promising, that you are! Well, I never once showcased and I will write - you will not be happy))))))
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You know, this answer should have been related to our correspondence above - where we practiced in Ukrainian. By some chance he got here (connection tricks, probably). Now I sit and think - maybe not such tricks were ...
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Do not cross over, all I’m one of you is))))
And you’re praising all the same to me)))) My teacher spoke: “People can be praised for the sake of stimuli on young animals”;)
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I read the story in one breath, kamenty different "peoples". Someone spotted a political coloring here, others necrophilic. Put 9. Why? Because I consider the porn component or erostovlyayuschaya extra in this story. The story is completely different. About hunger, death and people of that time.
I damage, perhaps)))
There is no political coloring in the story, because it fits the definition of “fiction”. It describes a different World than the Earth. More precisely like him. "Infernal reality". In which time is confused. Rafting 30 years of the last century and the present.
In those times, in the USSR, there was no such sex with cunnilingus and kisses with tongues. Iron curtain, did not miss the eroticism of the French spirit)))
Hence the conclusion - fiction. And if so. If you squeeze pornography, limited to a small description of what happened love, the story will be quite different, suitable for placing it on any resource.
Regarding necrophilia - it does not fit into any gate! The hero, after all, did not fuck with a dead woman, but was still quite alive, but what happened after that was irrelevant.
Personally, I liked the story for its unusual and easy reading. Description and reprimand women. I did not read it as a porn story, but as a story about a chance meeting of different people, different fates. The man decided to make a gift, finally, to a woman, and she gladly accepted it. But this is my opinion and I want to make it to all the commentators and the author too)))
With my respect, the deepest respect and love for the Author.
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You know, I could now cite a bunch of arguments in favor of the fact that this is almost a real story, only a little embellished by my indefatigable fantasy. But I will not. Because everyone is free to interpret it for himself as he sees fit - someone sees the policy mixed with necrophilia, someone fiction and signs of anti-utopia, and someone may even decide that the main character is an alien from another galaxy.
For me, it's just people - tired, exhausted, but managed to preserve humanity.
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It was these simple people who managed to preserve humanity, I saw in the story, because I wrote it, a little mischievous about fiction))
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I, as the mentioned necrophilism, bododu in response) About that about the soul was, and not about the body. She was like a lifeless soul ...
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+1 and when the soul became alive, the body could not stand it ...
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I'm glad to understand you correctly;)
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My beautiful Lady June-July, the soul is not dead - this is nonsense. Rather, the body. And the body was alive during love. But this is my opinion and I am not going to navyat it to everyone)))
Smileys: * kiss * and * hugs * :)
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It happens, dear colleague, and, unfortunately, the soul does not always die simultaneously with the body. And unfortunately, often there are people whose souls died in their youth, if not in infancy, and the body continues to live ...
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These are not people ... But ghouls or energetic vampires ...)))
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People are alcoholics, drug addicts, murderers, rapists ... after all, people are hands, legs, everything is in place ... and there is no soul ...
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Oh! We are talking about different things)))
I'm talking about something exoteric, God-pleasing or a fusion of the energy of the thoughts of a person, which is primary, and the body is secondary.
And you, adored, by me about human nature and existence, from the point of view of morality, ethics and social organization of society.
I am about the eternal, the infinite, and you about concepts and definitions.
So leave this argument. Both are right or wrong))))
Smilies: * hugs *, * kiss *, * smiles *, * showing tongue *, * dancing *
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Well, in my story I'm not talking about esoterics with theology, right? Moral and ethical aspects are somehow closer and clearer ...
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Everyone sees what he sees. Everyone has their own horizon of knowledge, which, having narrowed to a point, becomes his point of view. My point of view is not obliged to coincide with the author)))
By "soul," I mean something completely different, different from what the author meant ...
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In general, the soul is such an interesting concept, so extensive and shaky, that from which side you don’t come to it is all))))
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And not only the soul, but many other concepts. For example: lies, true love, friendship ...
everyone perceives and implies their own concept and meaning ... sometimes quite the opposite)))
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That's why I prefer a more down-to-earth moral and ethical aspect;)
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Women ... their abstract thinking ... supposedly breaks into ordinary practicality. They say: “Honey, Look at the stars. are they beautiful indeed? ”, but she replied:“ You can’t pour your stars into tea, you will not smear on bread and ... you cannot buy furniture on them! ”. Abstract practicality, damn ... And they can not look at the aura that is sparkling with golden light. Because they are grounded ... Not all, of course ...
Remember! The soul is all that is light, what else is left in a person, even in the last drunkard and drug addict, murderer and rapist. Even the last cannibal buys flowers and carries them to the grave of her mother ... Did you see a suicide bomber who couldn’t blow herself up, because next to her was a curly girl of European type? And I saw ... I saw her die. From what? From the blast? Not. Her heart broke ...
Soul is something else ... There are no heartless people. This is already a zombie or a vampire ...
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Dear colleague, I do not argue in the least with the fact that every person has something that makes him live, act, move. What is it? Soul? I don’t know, I don’t know ... Perhaps the hope is that all is not lost. Perhaps the pursuit of something. Why does an ogre carry flowers to his mother's grave? What drives them? Love to mother? Trying to look in the eyes of others as a normal person? Trying to atone for your sins? Do you think he can honestly answer this question even to himself?
Why didn't the suicide bomber explode her bomb with the child? Here the answer is completely simple - she imagined herself in the place of the mother of this child. Or introduced her child in place of this. If he were at least three times the enemy, first of all this is a child. And even if she was a fanatic four times, first of all she is a woman.
And what have the soul? And despite the fact that as you do not obzov it, of course, everyone has it. But there are situations when the body seems to be living, and why, where, for what, it is not known ...
My heroine is one of those - her child died, her husband was arrested, no one was left in the village, and if they did, they are no longer people. So it remains for her to chew on tulip bulbs and in the evenings to pray to God for death ...
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And do not even pray. Just perform routine actions on automatism. There is no meaning of life. No desires, no dreams, no thoughts. And there is no pain. There is a limit of pain, after which comes the shock. Mental shock.
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This image can only be understood by a woman ...
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Do not understand, perhaps, and feel. Mind understand this condition and men can ...
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To understand with the mind and feel is not always the same thing - the man can understand with the mind and the process of childbirth, but he is not able to feel it. Because it is impossible to convey with words the catharsis that a woman experiences when it was all over, and this tiny miracle that has just passed through her body and through all the circles of hell is placed on her breast ...
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So I also spoke about the differences between "understanding" and "feeling". This is not the same at all. You did not read me, probably ...
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Read, do not worry, and completely agreed with you)))))
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Women should not argue. And even if she repeats your words:
"... And what have the soul? And despite the fact that as you do not obzov it, of course, everyone has it. But there are situations when the body lives like and why, where, for what, it is not known ... "
Anyway, she considers herself right)))
After all, the "soul" lives, and the "body" is almost dead ...
If I believed in our God, I would say that it is eternal and leaving the body falls into the kingdom of heaven for distribution. I believe in another God, I would say that the soul is also eternal, but it moves to another body - another life. But I do not believe in any, but I know that the soul does not die - the body dies. The soul is thoughts, past years, memories. They do not go anywhere ...
And why did I undertake to argue?)))
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You see, my esoteric concept of the soul is somewhat different from the conventional one. Well, it just so happened that I did not believe in the transmigration of souls, and I consider my soul mortal. In general, this is something like an interface individually tailored to a specific machine — it cannot exist without a machine, but a machine without an interface is easy, but with limited functionality ...
Everything, let's finish this senseless argument, otherwise we will reach religion now, and heavenly fire will burn me for my seditious thoughts)))))
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Let's! Finish By the way, I, too, do not believe the Niv of God, nor in the devil and I doubt the immortality of the soul.)))
So we finish)))
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No, it is too scary: to have a mortal soul in addition to the mortal body. So merciless existence can not be. Let me better be unoriginal and even trivial in my views, but I would prefer to assume that the soul always remains with its knowledge and experience and goes into the noosphere. But I agree with you: indeed, a lot of people walk the earth with “dead souls” and with purposeless existence because of this, not knowing why they are here and it's all around - but this death is rather not literal .. Your concept is contradictory in itself. But this, in principle, can be discussed not under the story, but on the forum or in correspondence.
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You can’t even imagine how merciless life can be, how cruel it sometimes destroys the most beautiful illusions)))) And I’m sure that my concept of the soul is not even half as cruel as things really are because account, do not care about us with you, our feelings and thoughts.
And it’s funny that you mentioned the noosphere)))) Honestly, what I wrote are just common features of my soul concept. If you want, contact lichku - sign for it in more detail. Perhaps in this case it will not seem contradictory to you;)
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Again, I have a flood under the story! Where is my crystal owl?
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OWL? Right now I'm going, I'll call ...))))
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Stand! She's not crystal! or something I do not know?
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I just do not know, stop or ... Not) Perhaps I stop.
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Comments read with pleasure)
Nice to see so many erudite people.
And the story is really good, although there are some questions.
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Thank you for your kind words))))
The comment below is considered invalid ...
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Thank you for your kind feedback))))
It is a pity that there is no separate assessment for the flood in the comments))))))
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Leaving the assessment of the artistic side of the story. I do not know and hope not to know how a person feels the day before he dies of exhaustion. But I suppose that both his physiology (weakness, pain) and the psycho-emotional side (apathy, decreased libido) change. Therefore, the “I do not believe it!” Reaction described in the story ((It is clear why the topic of necrophilia was raised. Description of the “dead” village, the heroine is a “living corpse”, an attempt to overcome death with the most “vital” act ...
But you skillfully build up. I expected to end mysticism or evil)
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Thank you for a critical look))))) I will not argue, after all, everyone is free to interpret what they read in their own way)))))) For me, the whole situation is a metaphor, a symbol, therefore I didn’t pay much attention to physiology when writing) ))))
But I am pleased that from the discussion of the political component and metaphysics, you still went on to discuss the story itself))))))
Shl mystic would like to tie, but it would ruin the metaphor;)
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Put the top ten for the number of comments)))
Well, here's what to do with you?))) The forum is such a cheerful woman, but as soon as you go to yourself, then you just want to give a member on the forehead and drag her to the bathhouse, to the steam room, and there you also have a broom on the ass))) .
As you understand, all these deaths do not bother me. Here is if a dog, or a cat, there yes.))
People have to die, moreover, they need to be killed. Without this, there is no life for others. Moreover, I am a convinced Stalinist. Because Stalin acted according to all the laws that were taught to me. No more, no less.
And to me all this criticism. A modern person even understands complete abracadabra exactly how he is determined to understand it, but, in general, correctly.
And teenagers - in general, emoticons and pictures communicate perfectly.))
A person who reads from the first paragraphs determines whether he would buy the book or not. I would buy, but did not read it.
Well, it's in the porn story column ... It’s necessary that the tail be a gun. I wish I could feed the heroine with sperm, and she would come to life))) I don’t know what other nonsense to write in order to revive you?)))
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Do you understand ... uh ... well, I am a woman - I have different moods, PMSs, in the end (you can, by the way, disdain him)))))))) ... or maybe I am a movie looked nasty on the eve? maybe ... I don’t know, I read the newspapers, I reviewed the news))))) Or maybe I just got bored))))))
In short, I did not understand - did you like it or not?;)
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The scale, of course, is different, but what would you understand ...
I had a hard time reading “Perfume” and could not watch a movie. Although Zuskind is certainly good. I get only one feeling of death - I was so sick!
In short, I am fundamentally not the target group for perception.)))
Maybe another person lives a quiet, comfortable life for himself, and now he may want to find himself in this atmosphere.
But I have not read all your stories.)))
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Well, here, but he said everything))))))
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Fucked babe to death! Sorry, joke. The story is amazing, but like all your other stories. Personally, I did not see any provocations in it. +100
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So I did not see)))) Thank you, although I think that you are too kind to me)))))
Although I will not hide - it is nice))))))
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Karoch for nothing concerned such a topic as hunger. Moreover, it is not the time for Ukrainian to talk about the famine in Ukraine. In the house they do not talk about Virevka but you speak. The war is fucking. now isho is long for ukrainian and maveton will speak about hunger in Ukraine !!!
And the story itself is nishtyak. Do you remember Agatha's husband, nebilo, nebilo? Father, Patamushta, all went to the front, you are the wife of the enemy, and the mother of the enemy, I will kill you for what I kill you I love you for what you do not love me ...
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Well, hunger is a topic that is so slippery, and not only because of Ukraine, but simply because it is very scary. Naturally, I am writing about what is close and familiar to me - what reason is there for me to write about the famine in Zimbabwe, if I live in Ukraine)))
There is no politics in this story. And the fact that because of any reptiles now speak Ukrainian moveton, so that is not my fault and not your fault. Of course, we need to adapt, but ... but is it really necessary?
And thanks for Agatha))))) Honestly, this song even sounded in my head when I was writing this story;)
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“And the fact that because of any reptiles now speak Ukrainian moveton, so that’s not my fault or your fault. Of course, we need to adapt, but ... but is it really necessary? ”
NADA FEDYA NADA
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Nihat to adapt, live a hut and enjoy life! ;)
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All the hats and you buy an elephant, i.e., do not speak in the house of the hanged man about the virevka. In the memory of Ukrainians, the Russians would be abused by the type of INTO they would starve you with hunger, you would not kill the runoff to the people in the current Bucha
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If it comes to that, then you should not be offended by Russians, but by Georgians;) Although I personally think that it is stupid to be offended - it is necessary to draw lessons from history. And history teaches that ethnic conflicts never lead to anything good ...
And here the story is not about Russians and Ukrainians at all - it is about grief and compassion ... and about sex;)
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What lessons from history to draw on ?! If apyakuyu nastayayuschy mountain Georgian and mountain Chechens more precisely will come to power and begin to seize all without trial and death - it will help you to know the history as you hold your pocket. And this hunger is SALTAL use, tochka. And many Ukrainians are defending, there are Russian vinavaty in it. If you are not a shield, then you are a little one.
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