February sprinkled its heads with white sticky snow, which, falling on the asphalt, immediately began to melt. The life of these snowflakes was measured, although at the same time fleeting. they did not rush forward, did not fly down, trying to fall as quickly as possible. No, they slowly circled above us, writing out pirouettes and leisurely somersaults, enjoying their every second, and anticipating, as sweet for them, the last moment of life, when they collided with the earth, they would disappear forever, turning into water.
- You know, in childhood I thought that when a person dies, he lies in a coffin, and the consciousness watches his life in real-time, every second as if feeling anew. And now he lived, let’s say, for 70 years, and so for 70 years he lies and watches how he lived. Rejoices in victories, is sad from troubles and failures, is ashamed of moments where he did wrong. And now it seems to me too - there is a possibility that something similar awaits us after death. Therefore, you must try to live in such a way that later you will not be bored to see it all again. Well, or at least not ashamed. Although in our case it’s rather "At least NOT VERY embarrassing."
- That's for sure. Are you afraid of death in general?
- Yes, probably like everyone else. I'm afraid.
- But it seems to me that you should be afraid of death when someone depends on you. For example, you are a father and support your wife, two small children. And if something happens to you, they fucked up. And when you fly on an airplane there turbulence and wildly shakes, you are filled with fear of leaving your beloved people who cannot be taken out without you. You are afraid for them, not for yourself.
- You know, Nikit, it seems to me that not everyone is so noble. Basically, the fear of death is an absolutely selfish story, but I agree with you on me. No one depends on my life, everyone can cope without me, and in the moments of shaking on board, I think mainly about how my contact page will look if I suddenly die. If I didn’t leave someone’s repost hanging there for a day about the fact that some friend of mine wants to win a free photoshoot, help her as soon as possible with voices. Some people love me and will suffer, they don’t want to hurt me, but little will depend on me specifically on the issue of death.
- Unless suicide.
- Yes, unless he is.
- When did you first think about suicide?
- Oh, well, maybe 14 years old.
- Unrequited love?
- She is the most.
- Artem, and so why didn’t you decide?
- Suicide is an infinitely vile act in terms of caring for your loved ones. It is pure egoism. You have problems, you jumped from the roof, and got rid of them because everything is you, you don’t feel anything. And your parents are suffering, drowning in grief, because you, an idiot, were loved. I would not dare to commit suicide even solely because of love for them. I dare not hurt my family so much.
- And did you understand this at the age of 14?
- No, at 14 I just got a little sad and changed my mind.
I sat on Mayakovskaya in an institution with hipster shaverms and a bicycle bolted to the ceiling. One-half of the visitors were with laptops and a bunch of papers, the other half thought that they decide on important matters at 10 p.m. In a similar eatery. You must also somehow sit in a cafe with a laptop, let someone already finally finds out that I am business. I was brought, ordered by me earlier, a Hawaiian shawarma, as well as a can of Fanta. A few minutes later Nikita came and asked what I think about death. I replied that nothing good. He asked in more detail.
- Nikita, and why did you start this conversation?
- Yes, I read one book today, and there were the lines "Volodya turned 14 years old, and that was the middle of his life." And somehow I was impressed by the moment, I realized that yes, of course, we don’t know when we die, but we make plans in our heads that for 30-35 years this is a certain equator of life’s journey. But in reality, he could already be. At 13 years old. 14. 15. And now you think there is something to be done, done, but all in vain. The lines of fate painted everything for a long time and maybe not entirely in your favor.
I advised not to drive so hard, in the end, we all die one day, and, having finished, we went outside, and there it was still slowly snowing. Snow-white flakes landed on the asphalt of Nevsky Prospekt, on the people who walked along it, leaving only drops after themselves, and these snowflakes knew everything about themselves. They were in the know when their equator, when their end. With dignity they accepted their demise, looking at what would kill them, in the face, proudly flying towards the earth. Nikita lit a cigarette and asked him to stand.
- Tyoma, do not want to go to the "Pled" hookah to smoke?
- No, you know, I do not like these hookahs, there is nothing to breathe.
- Yeah ok there
- No, it’s stuffy and everything is in smoke. In half an hour I’ll become crap, and I’ll go home. How they sit there for hours and play Xbox - beyond my comprehension.
- Okay. Then home. To give you a lift?
We are driving along Nevsky Prospekt, then along a foundry, forest, from the speakers, a drake is heard neatly, and the north of the city is greeted by a more severe and serious snowstorm. And in this eternal cycle of life and death, we, flying towards that life that will kill us sooner or later, it’s good that we still don’t know when this will happen.
It’s better not to know.