Рассказы пассажира

Sometimes life gets hard. It gets hard to handle situations. I felt myself so weak last days. I was really hopeless. I felt myself as a skin staying between two wars --the war that is going outside of me and the war that is taking place inside of me. I lost control... I felt vulnerable. The life was attacking me endlessly by throwing shitty relationships of people towards me. I was frustrated, because I did not wanted to react to anything. I did not wanted to react to people's words and actions even if I found them very irritating. Because it all did not matter. Ok, it did matter, but it was not enough...

Karina thought about the reason of not being able to hear the sound of falling leaf. She wondered about how was it possible that this huge leaf gently touching the surface of ground makes no noise. Sun was setting. Sun's plate reminded her a face hided behind the mountains on the horizon and numerous sunrays were its fingers blindly touching objects on the land. She loved moments when all houses and trees were enlightened from one side by the golden touch of sunlight. The world around would turn into the masterpiece of nature. It seemed as if she was staring at the true face of the world, because...

It was a quiet day. Nothing special. The window was wide open. There was a noice coming from mouthes of folks. There was dust coming from tires of vehicles. Only uniqueness of that day was brought by the butterfly that flew and sat on the window sill. Its wings decorated with triangular patterns were black at the edge. It was bright orange. " You think that this butterfly's colour is orange, right?" said the smooth and calming voice in her mind. Someone's hand gently touched her shoulders. "It is not orange. It is only an illusion. Play of light. The play that makes you believe it's orange.....

John was walking on the street. The street was not familiar to him. Suddenly there appeared rhytmic sound of walking strangers. Then the owners of this sound emerged themselves. They all looked the same - black hat and black coat. They started making a line - some of them stood ahead of John, while others tried to take the place behind him. They all were looking down. - Hey, what is happening?- asked John the gentleman standing next to him. There was no response. - Sorry, Sir, but I am talking to you- said John. This time he tried to speak louder. But he could not acknowledge the difference - the voice was still quiet...

Good luck in the hell - were the last words he hear before falling down. One.Two.Three.Pain.Chaos.Darkness. The end. Light was so bright that ....that what? Actually he had no words to describe what was happening to him. He had no feelings. He just could somehow understand if something was good or bad for him. He did not liked this light. Though he did not know why, it was easy to understand that something bad was just starting. Something bad and endless. There were walls moving towards him. He could not went through them. There was no way to escape. He looked up. The voice inside him said that he can fly if his soul is pure...

What is the meaning of life? There is no meaning. You have to create it by yourself. Life is an empty cup and you have to fill it with something. Thus, you bring the life your own meaning. Some people thing that they have to find te meaning of life. But it is impossible to find something that does not exist. That's why avoid wasting your time searching for the meaning of life. Don't try to copy the life of others. Don't try to find answers from the Internet. Do it by yourself. And remember, that copying the answers of other people deletes your unique response. It is miserable. Feeling fool, feeling jealous and feeling angry is always distractions from your life lessons...

Exam was behind. He was sitting on the bridge staring at his sneakers hanging down against the background of river. Although he lived in this town all his life, he never have been there. School, library, duties...Life passed away so fast that he did not understand how it happened that he is an adult now. Was he ever been a child? Was he ever been a teenager? Where did the time go? Awards...Study...Lose...Tears....Loneliness...Study....Awards....and that was all that came to his mind when he tried to recall to mind about his past. Did it worth it? " At least I am going to study at the best university abroad...

He was laying on the bed almost asleep. Metal springs from an old metal bed crashed into his back passing through a thin mattress. A lamp hanging down from the center of ceiling was the only source of faint light. A gnat circled around the lamp bulb tirelessly and constantly slammed into it. "Is the bulb hot? Pure tiny creature..." said he to the flying insect. "You should be pretty dumb to understand that there is no enter for you into that light bulb, actually. If there was one, you would be dead by now. It would kill you immediately. Like for real... So be thankful that there is no way to make true your aim, stupid fly...

Feet standing in the freezing paddle It is the time for his next battle Raindrops are cold and so is the life But he must keep the warm of the candle Dogs can't bite him, they'll only bark He is hiding his fear inside the dark It is a moment that's hard to handle But he must save the fire of his candle Once battle has started, no way to cease it No choice for season, no seek of reason Wind is against him in this crude gamble But he knows that he has to protect the candle Windows of houses enlightened by lamps Ceiling of heaven decorated with stars Old-fashioned candle...he holds it tightly...

Агата стояла посреди поля. Поле это было расположено далеко от кукурузных плантации, где любили играть соседские дети и где сама соседка вечерами пела песни. Тучи на небе напоминали о том, что пора вызывать всех домой, иначе им придется ждать долго. Дело было в том, что почва в этих местностях содержала глину, а дожди были сильные, что усложняло людям путь от плантации домой. Молния освещала кроны старых деревьев и это было завораживающе красиво. И тут Агату осенило. Всю жизнь она нуждалась в этом ощущении полного спокойствия. Она гналась за ним в поте лица. А сейчас спокойствие само нашло ее и укутало в свое объятие...

It was a quiet day. Nothing special. The window was wide open. There was a noice coming from mouthes of folks. There was dust coming from tires of vehicles. Only uniqueness of that day was brought by the butterfly that flew and sat on the window sill. Its wings decorated with triangular patterns were black at the edge. It was bright orange. " You think that this butterfly's colour is orange, right?" said the smooth and calming voice in her mind. Someone's hand gently touched her shoulders. "It is not orange. It is only an illusion. Play of light. The play that makes you believe it's orange.....

На синем бескрайнем небе жили да были облака. Разные были облака: белые, розовые и золотистые. Они по форме и цвету были настолько разнообразными и прекрасными, что окам увидемшим их они непременно напоминали все чудное- то зверушек лежачих на спине, то огромных кусков белоснежной ваты, то всяких мифических существ, то мягкую постель. А цвета! Ни одна кисть художника не смогла передать эти волшебные свечения! Ни одно сердце не могло забыть те чувства, которые возникали при виде игр лучей, проходивших сквозь эти облака!  Любили их, этих облаков. Даже самые мелкие и казалось бы, невзрачные из них находили себе место в изумительной небесной картине, дополняя изящные узоры своим присутствием...