I'm going down the hall. Slowly moving shaky legs. Why so little light? Somewhere far away, something rumbles. The floor under my legs and the walls around me are shaking. I hear a rustle, as if water is flowing from somewhere. But do not stop - I have to go ahead, get out of this terrible place ...
Again something rumbles. The floor underfoot goes shaking. I can not stand and fall on his knees, resting his hands on the floor. But the roar does not stop. From the ceiling something falls very close. I sink to the floor and instinctively cover my head with my hands ...
And wake up ...
In fact, this dream does not worry me the first night. And the most disturbing thing in him is not even near death - I have long been accustomed to this in real life. And the fact that in this dream I'm a girl ...
***
I was lying on the floor in the hallway. The roar of firing was still heard in the distance, but the walls no longer trembled. You can get up.
My legs still did not obey, but I still reached the kitchen. On the table, by some miracle, a glass of water survived, but it was full of plaster falling from the ceiling, so I headed for the stove on which the kettle stood. There seemed to be some more water. In the morning it will be necessary to go to the column - if only they would not get there.
I looked out the window - in the next house a half-doorway collapsed. It is good that people moved out from there a week ago. In general, our area has been empty since ... I don’t even want to say it in my mind ...
***
Gray February dawn found us already among the dilapidated houses. We walked in silence, peering intensely at broken windows and unlocked doors. But the place seemed abandoned.
Reached the intersection. The captain ordered a split of two. Rudy and I got to go left. The silence was sometimes broken by the crows cawing and rustling of pebbles rolling down the hills.
And suddenly a gray shadow flashed in the distance. Rudy threw the gun up, taking aim, but I put my hand on his trunk and put a finger to his lips. If this is one of them, it would be useful for us to take him alive ...
***
I made my way between the heaps of rubble and broken stone, which turned into fences and whole houses. She hid behind the burned remains of the walls with empty sockets of broken windows. In my hands I had two water bottles.
To go there only a hundred meters, but after a night shelling, these hundred meters turned into an obstacle course. And I made my way in short dashes - who knows, suddenly there are some marauders or soldiers walking.
Some five meters remained before the column, I had already seen its black curved handle and mentally praised the Lord for not getting into it, when suddenly ...
***
- Stop! Who goes? - the barrel of the machine stopped literally a millimeter from the head of a man wrapped in a woolen scarf ...
***
I raised my hands up ...
***
Girl...
“Turn around,” Rudy ordered.
***
I turned to face them ...
***
Rudy smiled hard and lowered his weapon.
“You’ll go with us,” he said with a smile.
And I could not say a word. I suddenly realized ... realized ... it was she who ran along the crumbling corridor, protected her head from the decoration that fell from the ceiling ... that her house was shaking from the shells flying past ...
“Jacob,” I extended my hand to her.
"I know," came a small voice right in my head.
- Come with us ...
She shook her head slowly.
"I can not..."
- Then let me help you ...
She shook her head again ...
- Why are you with her ...? - Rudy did not finish, because my machine gun rested on him in the chest.
"Do not", - rustled in my head.
“I'm not going to,” I replied, and frowned.
- Go away, Rudy, do not bring it to sin ...
- I'll tell the captain what? - he often blinked and sniffed.
“That I deserted,” I threw the weapon under his feet, grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her toward the nearest wall ...
- Do you want some tea? - she fussed at the stove, trembling with stiff numb fingers trying to set fire to a match.- Sorry, I have nothing more ...
I threw my jacket on her shoulders:
- Sit down and warm up. I am now ...
In my dry ration, there were still half a can of stew, some biscuits, some coffee and jam. I dumped all my supplies on the table.
- Do you have pots?
She nodded, staring at the stew with hungry eyes.
- Is there any cereal?
She nodded again.
“Okay, I will find it myself,” I pushed the cookies and jam closer to her and turned to the numerous lockers with the rickety doors.
***
Somewhere far projectile boomed. The windows rattled in the window ...
He turned out to be extremely attentive. I did not even imagine that the enemy could be like that. But what kind of enemy is he? He is the liberator, savior, peacemaker. Why, then, my neighbors, barely having received the news that the peacekeepers were coming to our city, preferred to leave? Why, having heard the words "international contingent", old women are baptized and secretly wipe away their tears? From whom did he come to free us with weapons that destroy our homes? ..
The shell fell again very close. Plaster poured from the ceiling, finely knocking on the oilcloth, which I had long since pulled between the cabinets above my bed. Smell of cement dust in the air ...
***
And is she the enemy? So fragile, flexible and tender? Looking at her, kissing her cheeks, stroking her shoulders and back, I could not get rid of the idea that this whole war was somehow wrong, that we should not be here ... Can it really go back into my head?
I pressed my lips to hers. She answered.
Somewhere again something exploded. On the windows it was cut by the spotlight beam.
My hands slide along her body, but I feel every touch as if I caress myself. I bite her lips and moan myself from these bites. I penetrate her, I feel how she squeezes me, and I myself as if squeezing around something that penetrates me.
We - I - she beat in convulsions, bend, howl. I-she-we scream, explode, crash down. She-I-we're not here anymore ...
Something thumps, but I do not care. A stream of sand flows over the oilcloth, but it is not distracted.
A little more, just a little bit ...
...
...
***
I noticed my hand by chance under the rubble of a building that we bombed at night. Heart sank. He ran there, began to rake sand and rubble, discard large pieces of ceilings. Blue fingers convulsively clung to the door handle. He pulled ... A hand cut off to the elbow with a characteristic tattoo on the wrist ... Jake was so proud of her ...
***
- Nothing, more and more will stop.
- Come soon ...
- But now you know ...
- I know ...
Latest stories of the author
Father nodded, not looking at me.
He sat in a chair by the fireplace with me and thoughtfully scratched his forehead. - Something happened?
Of course, I could read his thoughts — he rarely sets barriers — but now I didn’t want to do that. He didn’t call me as usual, but through Parker, which means that it wasn’t about ...
Read more →
Below me - in front of me - people walked, ran, fussed, searched for me.
Here is a quick step flashed Flora. Ranita flew past her towards the fireball. They almost collided, exchanged a couple of phrases and went their separate ways.
Then the twins ran in single file.
Behind them, saber-rattling, Benedict marched forward.
Then Trent walked in the opposite direction, creaking loudly with rubber soles.
And I lay there, hiding my aura and merging with the ceiling pattern.
AT...
Read more →
I cursed, abruptly pulled the headphones from my ears and put my feet on the floor. Immediately turned on the delicate lights and from the speaker under the ceiling poured a quiet tune ...
Read more →
Today is our anniversary. Exactly three years, as we are together. And I already mark her alone.
He called three hours ago, said that he was already going. I know - on the way he needs no way ...
Read more →
I was sitting on a bench at the second entrance of a neighboring house, which is covered by an arch entwined with wild grapes from our windows, and unsuccessfully tried to smoke - my hands shook so that I just could not hold the light of the lighter at the tip of a cigarette.
How could she?
What should I do now?
Where to run?
How to live?
I drove away these questions from myself, tried to concentrate on how it turned out ...
Read more →
Are you interested in this topic, or are you trying to hone the flow?
Reply
In fact, the theme of war has been worrying me for a long time - it is worried and scary. And now, in general ... So I write about it ... all garbage ... and spread ...
Reply
It seems to me that you are all trying to look at some detail from different sides, and make sketches. Sooner or later it will lead to one end result. I think this will be very scary to read.
Reply
Perhaps you `re right...
Only if something happens, will I post it not here ...
Reply
Of course. Let everything be created by the will of fantasy, and not by the will of circumstances.
Reply
That's it. Hooked as.
Strong, very.
Reply
Thank...
Reply
Well, why bullshit? The story is not garbage, I personally hooked. Especially in connection with the latest events.
Reply
Thanks for the kind word)))) Especially in connection with the latest events ...
Reply
The story of course 10, but you need to throw "Zomboyaschik" in the trash.
Otherwise, he will cripple your psyche ...
Reply
We have long been communicating with the “zomboyaschik” only as part of entertainment programs, so I don’t think that my psyche is in great danger))))
Reply
Maybe here the war is shown as a test for humanity, in a difficult, extreme situation.
With war, life does not end for many, and for some it is just beginning.
For now, or if, they will not be killed of course.
Reply
Yes, that's right ... although personally, I would prefer not to take such tests ...
Reply
It feels like you are oppressed by the abomination and surrealism of what is happening next to you and breaks out with such bursts. Well, to share with fellow pen, the fact that boiling, too, is not a sin. Neither is it a sin for everyone else to think, but is he such a world, how so strongly he has been painted for us in his third decade?
We are peacemakers in green helmets,
We bring you peace, peace and happiness.
As you are without us, you are stupid,
We go on the corpses to cut the boundaries.
Left white, right red,
And I'm green, I'm not dangerous.
All those below us are our relatives,
And who with teeth, enemies from now on.
Who licks ass, we are glad
Who vyaknet against - not Democrats,
And buzotery and terrorists -
This is not a clean place in Europe.
We wanted to market, to eat bold?
Well, get what you want!
Not swallowed by the fat life?
We also add the capricious war.
Shells enough, and bucks the sea.
Who is not understanding, grieving grief.
Hurry to us, where peace and happiness:
We are democrats, we are not dangerous.
Reply
Of course, when I wrote this, I somehow thought more about Yugoslavia than about Ukraine, although in principle this picture can be successfully applied to any conflict ...
Reply
10!!!
However, I did not see war here, but the embodiment of a computer game into reality. I don’t play games, had this disease at the beginning of the computer era. However, if the wedge player plays for a girl, then after many hours of the game’s adventures, he will have a dream that he is the heroine of the game.
What exactly is characterized by schizoid embolism. But with such an artificial division of consciousness in a dream, the object experiences feelings for two: for himself and for his second self, which left his pseudo-Durian body.
These are the thoughts I had buried in my head after reading the next masterpiece of the non-commentator who I adored. The paradox of this surrealistic fantasy is based on the fact that a woman freely reads the thoughts of a man, absolutely without tension. However, from the point of view of schizo, this is quite explicable. After all, she and he are the same person. However, the rest of the characters in the narrative are most likely projections of the sleeping brain of GG.
Reply
Quite, completely))))
Or maybe the guy just had his hand blown off, so he gazed at all this and saw ... Or maybe the girl was a witch;) You can guess for a long time;)
Reply
“We-I-ona”, “I-ona-we” - I liked the reception very much. But I would put the tag “not porn” on this text - it’s not for this site.
Reply
I know)))) To be honest, I did not even hope for an assessment from you))))
But glad that you appreciated my "trick")))))
Reply
The execution of the story is masterly: the presentation of the idea, the embodiment ... And with each story it is becoming more and more confident and confident. Not to mention the rest, about which they have already said so much and will say more.
Of course, a dozen. Right on target.
Reply
Thank you, Sergey)))) I try, I work on myself)))))
Shl perhaps, it is necessary to still write outright slag, and then all the current straight and do that they praise ...
Reply
Will it work out? If only under another nickname spread. Anyway, fans and friends will capture :-)
Reply
No, in a completely different place, where neither friends nor fans yet)))))
Reply
Well then ;-)
Reply
I will try ;)
Reply
Roksalana cries, that they praise little, you - that they praise. And hell knows what's worse for the graphomaniac psyche.
Reply
When praised.
Reply
Kapochka answered))))
It is better not to praise than to praise;)
Reply
Why am I so stupid? (((What do they know, huh?
And I understand the impulse of Yako to discuss this story, and I don’t also understand it. ten!
Reply
That peacekeepers are no peacekeepers, that the war is not as fair as it should have been, that ... well, think up yourself, you are smart))))))
Thanks for the top ten)))))
Reply
Yeah, puts the understatement, and I break my head)))
Reply
Nitsche, Nicha, it is sometimes useful)))) You are not literally breaking it;)
Reply
I do not want to write something about politics, it is already across the throat. I will not write about the war, not the most pleasant topic.
But your writing potential does not cease to please. Versatility and originality. Thanks for the story, put a two-digit assessment :)
Reply
Really eleven?))))))
Thank you, Sanya. Yes, war and politics are already all across the throat, but people still have to remain people, regardless of what is happening around;)
Reply
If I could, there would be 11 :)
And I still can not give birth. There are 2 ideas that seem to be quite good, but ... then there is no time, then laziness ...
But at least there is something to read))
Reply
Give birth;) Magic Pendel give?)))))))
Reply
Hint understood, take yourself in hand. Better to do without magic :)
Reply
I pull myself together - this metaphor in the context of our website sounds somehow ambiguous :)
Reply
Well, the affthor should put yourself in the reader’s place)
So you have to take yourself in hands))
Reply
: - D
Reply
To the complex and diverse theme of "fit." And it's not just the “war” in itself. Not in politics, not in ideology, or in "black" and "white." Written by you - you can read in relation to any of the "local conflicts", even to Vietnam. Now the seemingly distant 80s sowed in me great doubts that wars may have an excuse. The 90s reinforced the view that even though the history of mankind is a history of wars, there is hardly anything attractive about them.
For me - a very sore subject. I would like it to spill out of you, and left it alone, and you wrote more romantic something. Although, apparently, it is hardly possible.
You go to the "history of wars" from a completely unknown side. Not from the side of politics and ideologies. (However, let's leave them alone). There was a direction that the essence of the person, his desire for domination, tried to enter this topic. But, you, in all this, also have feelings. Colorful in black and white phantasmogory, in which every word is documented.
I will not talk about balls, after what I wrote here, this question is already so clear. I want to wish that "this is all" quickly spilled out of you. For some reason, I suppose, then it will be easier, and it may also make up romance)
Reply
Thank you, Li, I would also like “this all” to be splashed and forgotten, but ... it climbs from the outside, rather than rushing from the inside ...
In any case, thank you for the kind words)))))
Reply