Good day, dear readers. It does not matter whether you are lying at home, wrapped in a blanket with your head, or you are distracted from the tiresome deadline, I am glad to you in any case and in any weather. I would like to make a reservation in advance that this part is introductory, necessary for deeper penetration by subsequent texts, and that does not carry anything sexual, unless you are enrolled in a listing of female names and a monotonous description of life. :) It seems to me that this and all further stories will be atypical, but they are no less interesting, because, although they are based on real events, they are largely based on my conjectures and fantasies, and also, above all, they do not concern me , and the elder sister, even though I act as a narrator.

It always seemed to me that I grew up in the ordinary Russian family itself. Dad is a former military man, kindly in his own way, but extremely narrow-minded, probably due to professional burnout. In recent years he has been working with long-range trucks, working for his former colonel, who also seems to have left his service, and having a position in the regional branch of a large grocery network. Mom, a couple of years older than dad, desperate housewife as I remember her, containing us in severity, and the house clean, ruined culinary genius and just very beloved mom.

The elder sister Lyubonka, as her parents often call her affectionately, who, it seems, did not know exactly how to raise a child, and therefore, in the first three years, before I came, we managed to make her spoiled and capricious for life. Vera, that is, I, and even younger brother Philip, who recently turned six years old, and whom I love, probably more than all my relatives, despite the fact that Phil still has serious problems with speech and may next year don't get into first class. All of us are friendly and not very much, we live in a two-room apartment on the third floor of a typical Khrushchev, in a residential area of ​​the city, whose name has no meaning.

Hand on heart, I can say that I was jealous of Luba for a long time, but in the end, I managed to turn black jealousy into a change of priorities. Lyuba is three years older than me, she is now twenty-one, and I, respectively, turned eighteen. Smooth, smiling, sociable and popular, with a bunch of girlfriends who constantly occupy the entire space of our common room, and a shock of thick red hair, night contact clicks, from the content of which my face reddened at ten and eighteen, in general, my complete opposite. I was hurt and offended to feel my inferiority next to her, not deprived of the love of parents and peers, because I was growing up a rebel, secretly dreaming of being in a familiar place, and reading klushi correspondence, which scatters her phone everywhere, eventually turned into a real hobby incendiary igniting imagination. It is from these correspondences, as from a mosaic, that I will collect all my stories, thinking out something, and describing something as I myself have seen or heard.

1 comment
  • November 24, 2018 18:45

    Nice to read professional literary text.

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