I
Not even barely admiting any values, except of absolute successes, Victoria Borisovna, full of zeal and self-confidence lady, who all her idly moving life was living in unshakably wide manner, more wide than any of most widest, without tiniest of seconds of slightest hesitance or fright, staying gladly and happily freed from rather popular dead burden of shyness, doubts and confusion, so sadly native to each heart. Being born in a small skimpy town, at young age of raw 17 years she has hastenly parted to study in vast hugs of far capital city, at surprisingly notable ease and in flawlessly masterful way having got, as the first of world's gifts, most deep and fruitful education, which was assuredly completed by speedy eminent career, with richness stuffed with fhirst for progress, for new attainments, heights and merits, so amply growing at her route.
"New day, new period for struggle, for fight with fate and race ahead to further victories and hardships, to waltz of chances and regrets, of risks, acquirings and losses. I like, that world is made for winners, for ones, who're cherished by success, for harsh and timeless competition for getting everything or death. In restless days of hungry now, we have no right for any claims, for any sluggishness and fear or any calls for someone's help. We have no place and no excuses for lack of power, mind or will. Weaklings' breed is consumable rubbish. We live for labor and survival, for taste and shining of new feats, of future glory and next splendor. Most main of sources of support is you yourself and your persistence, your faith in better and in luck. We all are absolutely free - in every choice and every striving: wrong ones, unsuitable and dull, prefer to doubt, crawl and pray, and proper ones, unflawed and brainy to pay resistance, fly and rule. For losers worthlessness is pleasure, such trash will always cling to bottom, to dirt, deception and vain fuss. And me was born for heights and only, for purest excellence and grace, all rest is garbage, dust and nothing, disgusting, purposeless and dead."
The lady has unhurriedly got up, performed short simple rite of yoga, then drunk fresh-made pineapple juice and, having wrapped own flesh in clothes, gone up to cradle of own work. The heroine, what's easy to predict, was working into place, of course, not simple, but in the main Accounts Chamber - in almost Mecca of free money and tart unbounded success. Great lavish place, if to be honest. But for immodest proud soul of our wicked and naughty beauty, it was quite trivial and tasteless, as any other usual job.
At street enjoyable June freedom serene and tender summer heat with sunny whitening zenith and cozy somnolence of nature. Warm sticky air is immovable and static without any slightest blowing and with faint sweetness in own volume. Landscape is flooded with oblivion and peace, shy blissful harmony and languor, mild friendly heartfulness and bloom. City's look is relaxedly coy, full of light and unshakable silence, long empty streets, forlornly purified from crowds, are meek and carelessly wide. Pale pensive district is emotionless and timid. Time is cautious, smooth and inactive.
Victoria Borisovna, having nimbly exchanged few flat quarters, connecting home-place with work, has delved in depths of stubborn labor, having lost mind and sight into duties. Paper deals need in boredom, in sea of tiredness and fuss, but thought of waiting money's demon was serving as a strongly helpful rescue from any laziness and stress. Day's schedule is most practical and strict lunch is short, pace is fast. Work with zeal, gain own cash. Right as others.
Time's plot has deftly flowed ahead, sheets' noise has stretched own charming rustling and then, at finish of the day, all has sharply and hastenly frozen. The lady has removed all needless papers and stomped by distance to own home, once again trampling battered pavement. Fresh nude surroundings are stuffed with tasty fumes. World Is calm. Native walls are pacificly friendly.
"One more time I am free to be great. With bunch of time and tons of power. I need to keepsome easy road, to look at city and to rest in some free abode of impudence to shake myself and to cheer up."
The heroine has stretched most brisk of clothes and gone for eminent of deeds.
At vast and blurred evening street, in each its pale and faceless corner, is meekly hanging growing dusk. Bleak lifeless places of numb quarters, with straightest readiness to fade, are getting visibly much darker, dissolving colors, tints and views in veil of coldness, murk and soothing, with far infrequent twinkling lights, calm voice of wandering night winds and empty nudity and sternness of tart oblivion's excess.
And into splendid, bright and rich imposing restaurant's embraces, in blooming space of local center, amid of music, light and loafing, admixed to peaceful dishes' noise, is briskly going feasting process. By sides thick ampliness of suits, of round faces and fat bodies, by random carefully shuffled in tight and hotly boiling swarms, with joy involved in active resting and prompt consuming of food's hills.
Victoria Borisovna, who has added herself to all others, has taken role of spy observer and delved in passionless beholding. And then, few hollow minutes later, free thirsty soul of our lady has most assuredly decided to catch some satellite for night and swiftly fallen in quick searching, which was quite fruitfully completed by certain choosing of shyly sitting single man in one of opposite hall's corners.
"Hello, don't scratch own eyes with boredom. At here you're permanently vain, without tiniest of chances. So let's get busy with each other with darling joys and piquant prudence. What means rise up and go with me."
"What an enchantingly sweet maiden. I'd like to savor her more close." - the stranger has delightedly got up and with obedience built path to slit of exit.
"I hope you're at least with car. I don't appreciate feet-walkers." - has sharply snapped Victoria Borisovna.
"Cars' breed is property of losers. And I am owner of true deity of perfect Mercedes full treasure!"
"Quite cute and reasonable boasting. Lead ahead to your vaunted transport."
"What an unbridled wildish girl..."
"Just calm your useless wordy mouth, shut up and lead me to your kennel."
"I'm wholly shocked bemused and puzzled and even hitted right in brain. This day is surely the weirdest for all my modest earthly life."
"Who knows... I think, you're weird from birth, from firstest seconds of your childhood. Get used to feeling of confusion, believe, I'll give it you a lot."
"You're breaking me without hammer in smallest splinters of myself."
"Are you so breakable and gentle?"
"I can easily leave you just now, but, to my shame, I even like, what you are doing."
"What an endurable nice pervert. Flawless idiot golden!"
"Yes, praise me, praise me as your donkey. I'm greatly eager to your scoldings."
So, after several of meters, having luckily sat in notorious car, the heroes have ridden into distance. In spreaded depths quarter's gloom to dreams, alluring and adventures.
"What an incredibly new model was it made by the hands of Karl Benz? It's so much shabby, old and worn, that I'm amazed why it still works."
"Do not be angry, do not hurt me. The car is seven years old. It's more fresh than the youngest of roses."
"What for my merciness for fool? You deserve only pain, only hatred. You're not more purposeful than dust. At least for me and my next share."
"Please, less hard, I am certainly stressed - so much, that ready to start howling."
"I'd also like to whine and moan and hope, you'll help me in these wantings."
The voyage has proceeded to own ending and then got stopped at doors of youth's apartment.
"Here we are. Thanks to wheels. Let's step up to all new and unknown." - the hero with slight fearfulness and shyness has taken girlfriend by her hand and led in walls of his meek abode.
"Not bad... For role of rural cowshed. Pour some tea and let's start."
"With zeal and straightness in impudence?"
"And do you wait for something else?"
"I'm just a little bit surprised."
"Then fine. Possess with each my input. Give, at least, one activity's drop, don't stand as numb and lifeless statue. And please without of foreplay. I do not need in such a boredom."
"You are stunningly stern. I am enjoyably bemused."
"Eh, my faint breathless sun, take your head and replace under skirt."
"Right to charms?"
"I will do all myself, if you're so helpless, shy and limp." - the lady, tired from passivity of partner, has deftly hugged his neck with hips: "Be, at least, good and pliable toy, if you are worthless as a fucker."
The hero has quite firm desire to answer something harsh and sharp, but mouth, occupied with flesh, has stayed pathetically silent. Keen tempting process of sweet contact has slowly got the peak of speed and gone ahead to depths of pleasures, after few of next tireless seconds having sent final level of bliss. Tightly chained by serenity bodies have coyly melt in flooding peace and long and lazy gentle kissing, completing ended stormy act.
The youth has humbly lifted up and softly whispered to lady: "I have to tell you, I'm quite happy. I've wholly doubtlessly liked it much more than any other cases! Each of steps was incredibly good."
"Then rise and hurry to your boss to add to paper of resume that you're lost and hopeless madman. I do not care, what you feel. What's of me I feel good, it's most main, other things don't make sense. Shut up and sleep without questions. You have no interest for me."
"As I see, my attempts are in vain, for you I'm freed from any value or any particle of weight. Let's admit, that you're right. For me you're marvelously good. As the best of my sweet shameless dreams. Thanks a lot, I am endlessly happy."
"Shut up and sleep without twaddling. I am aware I'm the best. Your sick delights are simply useless, as well as anything of you."
"Okay. But anyway you're super. Do not be angry, I'm so glad."
Soon tired hero has departed into sleeping. The lady has unnotedly got up, nimbly swum into dress, deftly put silk of panties on flesh, performed few playful rubbing frictions of glossy tissue of the last ones and thrown them back on vacant space of motley pillow to leave some trophy, in such case, is undebatably saint matter. And then to hallway and in door.
"Once again I'm superior lady - supreme and dominant in all. Once again I'm in need and in favor..." - the heroine has happily concluded: "What a cutie I am, what a goddess... And he is really quite good. Not angry and not arrogant, not ugly. I, perhaps, truly was too rude without lenity and mercy to fervid miracle of soul. But this is prudent, right and fruitful. With curse of kindness you are hopeless. I've come to conquer, not to ask. I've come for glory and perfection, for all best blessings, heights and gifts. But for the sake of being honest, Im not a bitch in depths of heart, I'm frankly bottomlessly glad and madly grateful for each minute. To cope with heeding of my scoldings is itself rather powerful deed."
Meantime young dawn has shown own gleaming. Bleak spreaded wings of grayish haze have tightly caged coy faded morning in endless pensiveness and fog. New day, with heaps of fuss and boredom, is wholly ready to get start. And what's of night... It's just shy memory from now... Quite sweet, but unreturnable and lost.
II
From far and vague lifeless heights has calmly slidden liquid fog. Long wistful veil of lonely facelessness and grayness has humbly laid at weary featureless landscape, with timid peacefulness and meekness involving static frozen views in tired drowsiness and languor, deep smooth oblivion and bliss of morning warmth and sweet dew's freshness, dissolved in emptiness of world. Nude lazy latitudes of quarter have idly sunk in lavish river of thick relaxedness and joy. Vast teeming coziness and blooming have firmly flooded every corner of free and sleepy city's streets, by neat and skillful hand of nature with richness seasoned with aromas of flowers' blossoming and grass. Coy time has lost oneself in routine, in bunch of fussiness and deals, so much habitual and sticky and so predictably in vain, as most of daily human worries.
Having luckily left melted dreams, full of fervor Victoria Borisovna, with perfect easiness and quickness, has woken up and gone to gather to drink hot coffee and get ready to next development of day.
"Again to rush, to climb for better, to strive ahead and to move up." - has thought the heroine and yawned with rather notable dispassion: "Again to fight with beast of fate. Again to hurry and to struggle, to cope with work and to compete, to play with share and its hardships, to drag through tasks and through results, to curb with duties and to labor. Let's time will steal me till late evening, till new night's freedom and new plots both sinful, shameless and bemusing as any sip of something true."
The lady has put on thin leather jacket and, having slidden with short glance by dusty surface of wall's mirror, got lost in peacefulness of walk. By free and empty wasteful sides deep static permanence of boredom, nice morning sleepiness and calm. With lack of people, cars and sounds and with coy dominance of fog. Hazed views are colorless and limp, perplexed, mysterious and blurred, encaged by thoughtfulness and bloom, slight lonely sadness and cold dampness, thick shapeless clouds and brief breeze, with decent constancy and neatness extended up by all observable horizon.
Having nimbly and rapidly brought languid flesh to awaiting work's plenties, Victoria Borisovna has with great easiness sat down in spacious abyss of huge chair, having swiftly and endlessly melted in boiling routine of duties, of long and boring calculations and killing stoplessness of tasks, of course, exhausting, dull and hateful, but stably tamed and firmly learnt in all of parts, details and vectors, as something native, plain and close. Time's race has started running forward without smallest idle breath, then got diluted by short lunch and kept identical continuance. Soon day has given all own length. Glad and weary Viktoria Borisovna has slowly yawned and, having torn own eyes from numbers, freely gone back to shy faithful walls of always friendly home's abode. Few usual quarters of quick walk, and pleasant clicking of key's body in frankly missing door's keyhole has gently greeted lady's ears with timid hospitable voice, with warmth inviting in embraces of room's tranquility and peace.
"And again evening's time waits for freedom - for pleasures, playfulness and sins. This thirst for regular amusement is best of signs you're still alive. I love night madnesses and meetings. One drop of activeness and zeal, and you effortlessly acquire most healthy variant of bliss. If mind and body are in heaven, good soul will always be with them. In world of emptiness and fuss such gifts of fortune serve as blessing, as straightest ladder to delight, to short, but genuine excitement and long, but vague blameless feeling of your past unity with grace. I'm born for victories and glory, for all of benefits and heights, which are included in this being. For me world's cradle is my toy submissive, valueless and mortal, deserving hatred and consuming and inappropriate for care, for trust, affection or respect. The only worthy from all humans with full assuredness is me most perfect, talented and stubborn, upraised to stars and sunk in luck. I'm made of excellence and shining, of greatness, blossoming and flame, of free and lofty timeless flight above of swamp of dirt and hardships, wrong broken shares and torn dreams, above of rubbishy society and ugly trash of people's wastes: from hell of grayness, fools and losers to call of winnings and success."
The heroine has vividly got up and, having luckily adjusted demanded volume of makeup at young and charming face's circle, sent legs in route to fresh adventures, cheap easy joyfulness and lust.
At street deep static emptiness and numbness, soft growing darkness and cold winds, with shyness wandering by pavement in murk, oblivion and peace of long and sleepy languid district, so tightly occupied and flooded by liquid calmness and pure rest. Whole world for personal requests, frank timid hopes and shameless wishes. Whole world for pleasures and regrets, new risks and old, as fate, mistakes.
And again into restaurant rampage, to drunken bodies and lewd startings, low sinned desires and bad needs. Quite lavish plenty of impudence, tart idle loafing and nude vice. Amazing, nasty and seductive. Rich choice of poisons for your soul.
Glad and wilful Victoria Borisovna, not losing energy and time, has most straightforwardly decided to delve in looking for new partner and new amount of fresh joys, but soon was deftly interrupted by instant greeting from behind: "Good lovely evening to your person! I'm madly charmed with your sweet beauty and firmly ready to be yours."
At here it makes huge weighty sense to describe common look of this stranger tightly clothed into modesty's thickets young bashful guy with mouse eyes, old clumsy bag and grotty figure.
"Oh, morbid victim of fate's drama, do you really thought to get close!?"
"I see, you'll scold me as last garbage, but I'm not scared by such plot and even promise to stay thankful."
"What a wonderful breed of full moron... I'll say you're freak and ended weirdo, why do you sit and do not vanish?"
"And even get great dose of pleasure."
"What sort of happiness and profit can you get from such hopelessness' pit?"
"I like to contemplate your presence, to be located next to bliss..."
"Next to my mockeries and hatred?"
"Next to you to your ravishing body and to bunch of my vain silly dreams."
"What a lost piece of shit have I met. With wholly empty mindless head and so awful excess of ambitions..."
"I'm just fulfilling my desires. And I will never leave away no slightest matter how much cruelly you'll drive me."
The lady has with harshness grabbed the hero and pulled him up with fullest strength, having suddenly payed a long kiss: "You'll think you have been sucking with true God. As I guess, so I am in your thoughts."
"You are my miracle since now."
"Look at zeal of this tireless moron. He has such scale of inspiration, that could start soaring in sky, if it was helpful for acquaintance. But luck is something not of you, what means step out with straight road and don't turn back till last one's end."
"I have no plans for this direction. My aim is being next to you."
"Restless slug. Wholly ill headless madmen. What are you keeping to demand?"
"I want to know your address. For priceless right to send you letters."
"I'll never answer, don't you know?."
"At least, you'll read them. It's enough."
"Is this offensiveness your target, your main necessity and need?"
"I will accept it as success."
"Flawless fool. Perfect brainlessness ever. Okay, write down street and flat, if you still begging of this trifle."
"I am Philip Stepanovich, and you?"
"Victoria! Your treasury and goddess."
At this, on rite of quick handwriting, the meet has finally got stop. The hero once again was amply scolded, but as before his smile and mood were left without of bid changes.
"I suppose I've been scarily cruel." - has thought the lady after case: "Of course, I'm right in this sane rigor and my refusal wasn't strange. It was explainably expected and had no other types and patterns of my emotions and response to such a tasteless sort of partner. I know, his tryings were polite and behaving wasn't freaky, but his appearance and look... Too gray, too modest and unfashioned. I need in ideal, in idol most tempting, flawless and unique. I'm born to win, to bath in greatness. All other offers in ignorance, in can for uselessness and trash, the very one, which keeps and holds whole mass of nowadays society, produced to suffer, hate and rot, to fall in dirt and crawl by bottom."
What's fun, result of this refusal was not so innocent and calm: the lady had to stay alone and to leave out with no partner, and then again in hugs of walls, this time in sadly empty own.
III
New day, new season of heart-hunting. New time for thoughtlessness and sins. Pleased, lucky heroine is noticeably glad night's plot is fruitfully completed, hot carnal contact with all passions has calmly melted far behind, having left sticky sweetness on lips and piquant memories in bottomless mind's abode. The lady has reluctantly got up, thrown cold look at remains of past generous lust and, having skillfully retreated at usual gifting of wet trophy, sent oneself in habitual route from short bliss of occasional bonds to vast home's emptiness and boredom.
"One new play, one new joy and new winning, one new feast of my dominant grace. So much great is my path through of being over fates, over times, victims, sins, by others' weaknesses and heads and by sweet notes of admiration of me myself and my success. Each day I am achieving more and more, with every second getting better and delving deeper into luck, in glory, mightiness and shining. I'm fully confident, I'm goddess imposing, brilliant and perfect in any feature and detail of my enchanting matchless nature. Hot, crazy, blossoming and lustful I am most tempting and most precious from all of treasures of this world. Most charming, flowering and bright as purest miracle and angel, upraised to latitudes of sky, to sacred paradise's cradle and gently spreaded heaven's hugs. What else, explain me, can be needed, in supplementary addition to all my bounty of feats, of endless talents and rich merits, which are the hugest part of me, of my completely flawless person the only peerless into all. Saint right of freedom and of mind is most significant of values, I've got its taste in immense scopes and I am craved of getting further."
The heroine has pleasurably yawned and slowly hastened own step, aiming path to meek walls of home's shelter. Time is burned. Night is spent.
IV
And here let's take smooth walk by numbers. Victoria Borisovna is 27th years old. Better days years are still waiting ahead, behind are stopless dashing passion and length of victories and feats. Small activities' range stays the same self-development, work, rest and sex. All truly needful for right being. Wrong killing feeling of confusion, just as in past, is unfamiliar for share. As well as unfamiliar is pain. Mad scope of countless ambitions is also still magnificent and vast. Soul is free. Head is prudently clear. In plans to make new lucky evening: to move to restaurant till night and then to delve in fervid lewdness. Nice approach. Even great. Cute and piquant. With decent measure of free panties such living manner has no end.
In habitual hall, full of light, noise and people, are tightly swirling idle guests, involved in swift and vivid process of sternly boiling active rest and prompt consuming of food's plenties, performed by icy sparkling drinks and hot fat snacks of all dimensions. Free set of muzzles is most motley. From fools till foolers and from freaks till craved freak-seekers. And again, having speedily found first appropriate bearable face our thirsty for lechery lady has aptly moved in straightest way for new adventures, sins and joys and, having stood one moment later in front of singly seating man, nimbly thrown brisk and obstinate offer of common spending of night's time: "I'd like to organize brief meeting with fleeting eating and next bed till frames and boundaries of morning. Will we make?"
"You've killed last lantern in your brain? We had the same impudent session not more than few of months ago. That time, for sake of some strange reasons, you've even left one tiny rag from shameful latitudes of pussy, you've apparently thought, I'll be endlessly glad, with care cherishing this item as something absolutely saint and full of dominant temptation and hypnotizing sacred bliss. You're deadly primitive and headless, if you've believed in such result. Both you, your flesh and your worn panties are not more valuable than trash, than wholly useless empty rubbish, most sharply rid of any taste or any notable uniqueness. Are you indeed so firmly mindless, that do not recognize in face even recently served part of fuckers!?"
After words this hurtingly merciless speech, shocked and lost in own helplessness lady has uncontrollably got limp and, having shakily trudged back, dissolved in agony's embraces and growing painfulness excess.
"What a shrill indescribable failure! What a terribly bottomless shame, what scarily desperate horror! What an impossible nightmare... This is most surely my end. My straightest ticket to death's abode. What a frightening hopelessness' pit... Which way to live since current moment... Which way to look in people's eyes... In true opinion of others I'm sadly equal to pure wastes, to mad addicted piece of slut, each moment seeking for low pleasures, for new short dose of sinfulness and lust. All time I've been assertively persisting in gaining glory and success, in turning happier and stronger and in acquiring of luck. I've been exclusively demanded, exalted, beautiful and bold with bunch of victories and merits and with full confidence in self, by which ill sequence of occasions have I destroyed all charm and splendor, all past significance and grace... It's darkest fact I've lost myself. In dreams, in fuss and trifling seekings. In total emptiness and dust, which at first glance had face of fortune. Today I'm smaller than last crumb. All my stars, all my heights and achievements are plunged in fatally deep dirt. All delight is transformed into smoke, in hollow fog and breathless void. What an exorbitant disaster... What a frustrating endless shame... All better faithings and intentions are unforgivably erased. All me is nullified and cracked, defamed and sent in decomposing."
The lady has equipped her pace with freedom and promptly melted in hazed distance among of desolate street's space, embraced with dampness and despair.
V
Victoria Borisovna is 28th y.o. Her unique incomparable briskness, each moment reckless, firm and dashing, was indescribably reformed and reduced to small pitiful copy of past decisiveness and strength. Deep huge self-confidence was wasted, stern steady willfulness was lost, vast forceful arrogance was frozen and incorrigibly replaced by shyness, hesitance and doubts, most indestructibly ingrown in faded ghost of lifeless nature, without any slightest traced cleaned up from previous ambitions and clothed in passiveness and fright, so amply blooming in each corner of inly dying bloodless soul. Hot flaming fervor was exhausted. Harsh inward rigor was restrained. Stiff tameless temper was extinguished and turned in nothingness and ash. Crashed broken mood was dropped at bottom. No even shade from cutted bliss.
At wholly average today, lust only having woken up, the heroine by newly built tradition, has quickly fallen in unfixable depression and dreary thinking of day's plot, which quite predictably was freed from any sort of lavish prospects and unforgivably remote from any fruitfulness and joy. Sharp urgent need in long-term feelings and warming family support, which sadly shown true scales of trouble, each next of tryings coldly ending by prompt parting, has called to seek for new relations and sowed necessity to hurry and to be flexible and soft, of course, without of big progress, but with small miracle of hope. So, having coped with tart regretings and with large burden of grief's nets, coy wilted lady has proceeded to reflections and to perceiving of fate's state, which by some tragical of reasons has most detaily demonstrated full depth of powerlessness' abyss, enshrouded everything in pain and vastly blossoming despair. All route of life by some strange horror has turned in one incessant fuss. Each one, who has mistaken and lost path, will stuck and fail till death's attaining. Each one, who has directed into hardships, will overgrow with new omissions until transforming in pale corpse. So it works, so it's made sad and wrong. At this perplexed and foggy morning, calmed faded heroine has finally decided to change damned row of meets and partings and to unite in steady pair for most impressively long term: "I have to couple with my dreams, to set thin rightness and firm order. I've lost all victories, all plenties. I ought to solve it, to rebuild. Let's think of plans of luck's achieving. With whom I hadn't loving story? From my department, as it seems, I've tried with everyone, it's clear. With head of it. And with his head. And with few boys from work with public... The only one, who is not tasted, is the director of whole office. He is government's friend and has two limousines and island. Maybe chain of my previous failures was leading me to this great goal... To mainest victory and idol. I have to risk and to approach. I faith, I'm bottomlessly lucky, I have to dare, to move up."
The heroine has dried her cup of coffee and sent own body to work's cradle. At street is circling thick wet snow. Sad joyless voice of restless blizzard is humbly singing dreary songs. Deep static darkness is unwittingly dissolving, revealing views of gray landscape. Plain boring length of daily road is irreproachably devoted to lonely barrenness and peace with faceless blocks of tired buildings and with nude trunks of frozen trees. All things are featureless and skimpy. World is dead. Dead and cold.
And again usual abode of office with chair, table and work's duties. And again labor's abyss till noon. And then, in time of tiny rest swift secret act of brisk acquaintance. Whole play of such brave undertaking by will of wavering conditions has taken place in dining room. Demanded hero has been caught with cup in palm and roll in mouth in soothing lounging and calm..
"Enchanting peerless day to your immaculate nice person." - the lady has begun her conversation.
"Which type of my participance you're needing? With some petition or complaint about labor?" - has slowly handed Semyon Dmitrievich, the very one most mighty ruler.
"With wholly different proposal. I've came with offer of acquaintance, of timid trying of luck's fruit."
"It's rather funny. You are dauntless, if have intentions of such size. Let's move in mutual exploring. Sometimes this knowledge solves a lot."
"Come on. I'm eager to be studied."
"Okay, come on. In new and fine. I'll try to pay all my attention."
And then, in frames of hero's car, in time of riding through of road, they both have delved in vivid dialogue, freed of from any formal bonds.
"I'd like to get more close, more native. To find each other in one boat." - has playfully declared lady's voice.
"Well, tell your manner of existence. What do you do except of fuss? Do you sing, draw, or train yoga's poses?"
"I am cold to such purposeless rubbish. I spend my energy on work. I had got used to go to restaurants one time in patient waiting for bright meetings, but it was fruitless for right plots. I seek for beautiful relations, for something blameless, strong and long. Today my targets are like that."
"Which force will hold you in a pair?"
"Passion, heat... Inner flame."
"True glue of hearts is depth of love. You didn't even name this feeling. If all your deeds contain one work, then you're less full than empty box. You're mix of dumminess and void. Of trifling nothingness and dust. Night bars and restaurants, believe me, are your true level, your true top. You'll never reach some higher senses. I work as ruler for long years, but I've not stopped at this vain routine. I like collecting of old paintings, of wooden dishes and clay cups, hand-made umbrellas and brass buttons, what's more, each evening in free time I play piano and in each morning with first rays I press kettlebells on reps. And you prefer to stay in limits of scanty tiresome work's frames. When you are going to votation, you chose first surname and approve. If you want rest, you ride to sea. You're having sex for fun or health. You don't see excellent in usual. You have nice cover, cute and pretty, but what it's hiding in own depths, except of aimlessness and boredom... Please, return to night bars and short meetings, such ones reflect you real cost. Fall in love with most trivial person and spend days' time in common hatred, long frequent quarrels and regrets. Across this street stands perfect tavern. Take bunch of bucks and step to joys, to purest loafing and free partners. And I will try to visit opera or some unoccupied museum. At work, I've coped with all my duties and bloom with plans of useful rest. So, have nice day and pleasant evening. And don't be angry on myself. I've told opinion, not further..."
The heroine has breathlessly got out and trudged through avenue's stretched space.
"What an impossibly mad shame! Loss of all. Fatal bitterness' sea calls in waters. In hellish dreariness and pain. What an exorbitant huge failure. Inconsolable, tart, vast and strong. I have no use. No slightest value. No single reason to exist..."
The lady has switched on at quicker step and nimbly melted after corner. And one day later, changed her job and said goodbye to past ambitions and to own confidence in self. Such things were sadly left behind with youngness, aimfulness and fervor of cutted passions and cracked heart, unreturnably lost in life's abyss.
VI
Victoria Borisovna is 29th y.o. Almost whole endless year has passed from her retiring from work. Past delicious accounting chamber was replaced onto average paper department with wholly different conditions and lower salary's amount. Days of life have got thin, things have faded. Realities have fallen in depression and unforgivable regress. Hot blooming passions have extinguished. Brave wildish ardor has lost power and turned in will-lessness and fright. Worn hopes have sunk in devastation. Cracked hurted temper has subsided and freed from stubbornness and heat. Quirk mental easiness has melted and overgrown by doubts' slush. And thoughts have finally got dreary and tightly cleaned from faith in good. Sad life's perception has transformed in passive suffering and waiting of last of days and last of griefs.
Today's frustrated faceless morning has brought one small, but weighty fact to working team has added new employee. For beings' plenty it's a drop, but for forgotten seeking nature it's more than luck and heaven's gift. So, having clung to such a prospect, exposed as perfectly great chance, thrown needless soul has lit own brightness and promptly rushed in fortune's pit and, having waited for right moment, involved in magic of acquaintance. In dinner time, when loafing hero was having fun with dose of meal, she has approached his eating person and quickly started usual talk.
"Warm playful greetings to your share!" - has called bloomed lady from behind: "Let's dilute boredom's flesh with acquaintance!"
"Yes, let's. You're bottomlessly pretty. For role of secret weekend mistress, you are most certainly the best."
"What does it mean?"
"I have a wife at not she's sleeping in my house. But she's uninteresting, gray and suits not further than for cooking..."
"I don't deserve so ugly roles!" - has thought harmed lady with annoyance: "I have forgot to mark some notes. Too much of work... Have long nice day. Goodbye at now."
The heroine has lowered her gaze: "True immense tragedy, true horror... No door in victories, no way..."
And new tart sadness of pale evening. Work's day is calmly left behind. Victoria Borisovna in thinking is slowly trudging back to home. Around - usual boring district. High frequent houses and alleys. Landscapes, faint silhouettes and lights. Soft gentle air and hazed distance. Gray vast horizon and dense void. Without any tools for hope and any memories of greatness. As some unbearable dark curse, exhausting, merciless and endless as all next future at this earth.
VII
Victoria Borisovna is 33th e.o. Her fate, imprisoned in disrepair, is almost standing in own middle. Short range of joys is still the same work's routine, home and right for hope. Most weak and doubtful at now, but quite surprisingly alive. Deep static loneliness is inconsolably immortal and turned in leading force of living with ample fruits of being needless handmade stained-glass windows of all colors and all forms, produced by heroine's neat hands, have decorated walls of yearning house. What's more few changes have incrawled in her habitual encircling such one was broaden by new friendtress Valeria Semyonovna, mild pensive woman, also hopeless, lost and lonely and one long dozen years firmly older.
So now, in tiresome room's shelter, with modest couple of tea cups, these two unlucky thoughtful persons were meekly talking of fate's routes.
"All is so frighteningly shaky, each day and hour at this earth. How much amazing is existence, how much ironical and sad. All time of life I've been persisting in self-development and labor. I was exclusively the best most bright, exciting and attractive. I was as miracle, as goddess. Produced for blossoming and fight, for constant dominance and blooming. I have got used to take by force, by strength of will and size of mind. I've finished school with perfect marks, the same result had university's completing. I've come in heart of motherland in restless capital, its jewel. I was believing into ideal, in fairy, was so much proud of myself, with sexuality and heatness, like crazy nymph, involving fate in any thickets of desires. I had saint purpose to come true, to lit own heart and get demanded. To find right copy of myself with equal splendor and requests for to build trust and common future. To reach all heights, all being's plenties. I was enjoying to be needed, was rudely parting in first night, gaining up others' warmth and affection and loving freedom and my feats. This path had aim to give me power, to endow with sweet taste of success, to open door in something true, in real needfulness and passion, in real feelings, real deam. I was examining life's sky... And now scratching its last bottom."
"What do you want from such approach. Ambitions - shooting with no target. We believe, that we're fruits of own will, but share works in own intentions, it drugs ahead and love to hurt. We are pawns small and weak. And quite stupid. We are consumable resource, so much replaceable and trifling, as something absolutely vain. You cannot argue with existence, can't change it's laws or shake it's sense. With life such tricks are sadly workless."
"But how much time was spent and burnt. Day by day, day by day. In total emptiness, in void, in hungry abyss of fate's pit. Each one was eager to spend night, but not to love or to take care. I had no mutual response, no even slightest shade of frankness. I've turned in object for rejection, for laugh and mockeries, not more. At first it was unbearable and shocking and then I have got used to such a share and clothes of shame has turned in skin. It's rather scary to admit, but am absolutely hopeless for many many of last years..."
"It's so much painful to perceive it till bitter tears and night cries."
"Each disappointment and failure is kind of freshly left concrete if you will stuck within its masses for too much dangerously long, it'll never let you from own limits. Each new experience of sorrow lead up to doubts in past choices and to soon hesitance and weakness, to new mistakes and new regrets. And then you banally surrender and lose last confidence in self, transforming living into fuss and constant waiting for own finish. It's sad, but will-lessness destroys."
"It's hard to see one endless void, one tartest vacuum and griefs, you forget how to trust... How to live, to preserve inner flame..."
"Routine's cargo can kill smash in splinters. When you're in boredom, you get dead, you seek for any of salvations, stretch hands and beg for something new, you ask for hope, but get one errors, it's truth of life and its crooked laws. The more persistent, long and loud are calls for miracle and rescue, the less is volume of support. World's frames are borders of pure abyss and if it wants it turns in dust, in total nothingness and rubbish, without trace from cutted greatness and with next path in hugs of grave."
"Eh, pain, unbeatable in growing... Eh, fate chaotic, vast and hazed. Too unpredictable, too empty. Too wrong and merciless sometimes. World's plans are measurelessly secret, you cannot solve them, cannot change. You have one risk, one right of waiting, of blurred hope and faint beliefs. For whom all tragedies and horrors, for whose prosperity and wealth... Each one is suffering and trying, each one is bathing in mistakes, in thickest errors and omissions. Each one is victim, pawn and slave. And who is holder of this madness, of all huge flock of people's breed. We see one side of these intentions, one part of plans and undertakings of our crazy restless world. We see one sacrificing payers, whose local role is to be wasted, to be exhausted and consumed in shy exchange on strange fulfilling of some life's purposes and goals. We see undying forceful dirt, see blooming hopelessness and torments, and pearls and jewels, heights and feats are staying prominently hidden. Far distant future, made fog, will never serve as consolation, as source and soil of heart's calm. Life's gifts get taken by one fortune, by fleeting friendship with own luck. Such state destroys, upsets and buries, transforms in innerly worn corpse, in tiny particle of nothing, so much unsuitable for all including blossoming and greatness."
"Each fate is game with human trust sad thing, which harms, disturbs and spoils, makes rid of chances, time and strength, of any readiness to live, to move in previous direction and to maintain past faith in self, to give resistance to dirts' abyss and to take care of own dreams, of inner flowering and shining, so highly precious for soul's calmness and for believing in next route."
"I haven't managed to be happy, to catch this fire of success... At not I'm useless broken loser. Without future, plans or hopes..."
"We come to races with dead horses, but still suppose to take first place..."
"I have sincerely been thinking, that I am absolutely able to get all benefits and heights of this untamable existence. I even hadn't any doubts, or any hesitance or fright..."
"Each life is lottery's example. You cannot curb it with persistence, can't bend by stubbornness of will, it's too indifferent and immense for to be taken by one zeal or by nude sharpness of own wishes. All our measureless efforts aren't more than tiniest of trifles for static endlessness of fate. And after falling from sky's cradle, you are unfixably destroyed, completely nullified and trampled and turned till coffin into pawn. True time for chances is too fleeting, too vain, too fruitless and too short. Not too long is life's term, not too bright..."
"It's too much bitter and too scary, to realize this tragic fact, too wrong and painful to be needless, to stay torn of from former luck and to get parted with youth's blooming. World's laws and principles are awful, you live in hot anticipation and then get coldness of regrets and put yourself in dreary abyss of weakness, uselessness and murk... All can die, all can fade all of values... All of abilities and feats, which are less helpful than a penny in stormy waves of being's ocean, erasing everything and all without memory's remaining, if it has suddenly lost justice or has got purified from weight."
"I still believe in your good future much more reliably, than in mine..."
"It's nice to hope. Quite vain and stupid, but still pretty."
At this both ladies have got silent. Talk's plot has finished by goodbying and our heroine was left again alone: "How madly vain I've spent my past, how greatly purposeless and aimless. All heat has turned in hollow fog, in trashy dumminess and tears. All path, all long and loud years have brought one emptiness, one partings, one barren handful of regrets. Cracked heart was sunk in heaps of sorrows, young stopless briskness was dissolved, firm faith in self was smashed in dust. I'm still alive, but life is wasted. It's freed from anything, what rescues from any fullness, warmth or sense. With only dreariness and darkness in last survived from future plans. Keen inner ardor is behind, sweet tempting prospects are forbidden, all given truths are sick and sad with tragic mourning enfeebling and unconsoling getting old."
The lady has unhurriedly leaned back and meekly stared at shelves' vastness: "Thick books - shy amulets of thoughts... I was so proud to be clever, to show own dominance of mind, but which life's end am I beholding... At lowest shelve is pile letters from that gray youth from times of distant past, Philip Stepanovich, if I am not mistaking in his name. And even these short modest sendings have stopped own regular arrival since my attaining of sad 30, having finally left me in void..."
The heroine has catiously sighed and taken one of envelopes from shelf: "I greet you with my shy and timid letter, throwing minimal part of myself with this neat and affectionate lines, without them I'm lost and broken as last unneeded useless pawn. Time's length transforms all things in rubbish, in dead and breathlessly worn dust, but my coy love is most unchangeably alive and full of tenderness and passion. I frankly hope, that you pay mercy and try to read me time from time. One day I've chosen you as miracle and idol and stay devoted to this choice. It keeps me full of shaky faith, that maybe fate will bring together two our deathless sinless souls in one unbreakable tight couple, which will be always into peace and in best harmony with pleasures. I'm wholly ready to be waiting for many years of my life till my last second at earth's surface. I seek for love and understanding, for heat of feelings and for you most pretty, needful and desired from all of treasures of this world. With best of wishes, your Philip."
Viktoria Borisovna has yawned and put away worn sheet of paper: "Anyway, life is strange... My stars are burnt, my warmth is spend... I guess, I've started to get weaker, if truly marvel with such things... I'm glad with trifles, it's an end."
VIII
Victoria Borisovna is 35 y.o. Her timid, lost and needless figure is slowly creeping by cold street, enchained in covering of snow. By sides one endless whitish distance with vivid dancing of thick blizzard and dreary wilderness of chill. Usual piece of stern furious winter. All views are alien and barren. All world is absolutely dead. Bleak faint surroundings are empty and heart is full of lack of luck. No single chance on something warm.
Soon suddenly, in midst of this harsh abyss, has stopped long body of huge car of shining limousine, so close to firebird.
"Good bright day! After countless years..." - has called her Semyon Dmitrievich's voice: "By nets of fate again we stand together... You have retired that time. I didn't want such twist of story..."
"You've told me truth, and I am glad. You have been right I've turned in nothing..."
"Let's sit and ride with mix of talk."
"For you I'm fool most low and empty... But I am trying to transform am neatly practicing handwork and frankly trying to get better... And what's of you you're still alone?"
"What does it mean? When was it so?"
"That time you have been occupied, not free?"
"I have been married for ten years! And now they've turned in almost twenty. It was the cause, why I have scolded you shameful primitive attempts."
"I didnt know this... I'd never dare, if you've told."
"Then I must give apologizing, you're not a fool and not a sinner."
"No, I'm a fool. I'm still alone. Without victories and partner and with one emptiness in all. Life's path have turned to be just vain..."
"Only one, who has burnt, can't get fire. Of course, it's bottomlessly easy to puzzle shaky person's mind, to kill past aimfulness and ardor and to make rid of any sense. Pain's burden is quite able to destroy, to left with nothingness and trifles and to confuse till time of grave. World's storm too rarely is friendly, it's used to hurt, to crack and break. We wait, believe and build predictions, but fate performs to us not this. It stays indifferent and static and never hurry to gift warmth. We trust to dreams, to flame of wishes and then fall down in regrets and find own share next to bottom. We come for tart and blameless greatness, but stuck in pettiness and dirt, in daily problems and omissions, vain hollow fuss and dust of time. We're free to fight, but not to win. It's sad to feel, but we're just crumbs most helpless, tiny and indistinct in common boiling of events. We cannot change it, can't get rescue. We can hope, this is all, what is given. But this is madly not enough."
"You're deeply right in each of phrases. I confirm every sounded thought. Which way is living our chamber? Without changes as before?"
"I do not work there for two years. At now I surely can say, that there have stayed one thieves and morons. Painful fact, but all good starts to rot."
"It seems, I've been quite valuable employee, if my shy absence had such fruits..."
"Forgive for being to much strict, if I have harmed that time your essence..."
"All is nice, I'm more sad, that I'm lost. All other incomparably less bitter, than realizing of this state."
IX
Victoria Borisovna is 36 e.o. Outside of pale window's frame is long-awaited blooming summer, swift life in capital at now has got diluted by modest trip to her homeland in small and faceless grayish town, from which had started her life's route. One railway platform is behind, the second is meekly meeting. Around plenties of quirk crowd. In static air - smell of sleepers with slightest taste of cheep dried fish. The same as twenty years ago, all views and pictures keep past calm. Each one is similarly poor, but it's not new for local life and is quite close to branded sign of local latitudes and fates. From old worn speaker comes quiet music. Sweet ease, oblivion and freedom frank, changeless keepers of true peace. By sides - forgetfulness and loafing, in heart relaxedness and joy. Vast space of square is quite empty, without people, but with tents. At first of last ones vivid writing "Candies' time." - pleasant loveliness drop. Habitual environment's abundance. With highest harmony and out of soul's worries. All is smoothed, faint and slow, old and pretty. With reigning spirit of archaic laws and rules and with stability of present. Cute summer selflessness and void, best source of coziness and fullness and greatest treatment for lost heart.
The heroine has humbly walked around and stood at empty broken fountain: "I think, it's really my place, my best of possible here levels... My peak and ceiling at this earth..."
Here suddenly has sounded low voice: "What I see, so familiar muzzle! Local queen has returned from her skys. Have you achieved all laurels of being and are most happy from humanity of world?" - drunk flabby man, one of past classmates, has asked with full of sneering tone.
"I'm great and awesome, be assured. And curb you hatred for next time." - has mumbled lady and stepped back: "Too earlily I've charmed with local being. Old views are glorious, but people are the same bastards and nits in hugest measure. I think it's time to get good sleep, to rest from work and from myself and after week to live this places. Without tears or regrets."
X
Victoria Borisovna is 37 y.o. Her faded and entirely worn share, completely bleak and rid of all, has most assuredly got wasted and left in emptiness' excess. Her lifeless silhouette is sitting into longing in usual vacuum of room and throwing glance at curtained windows, so neatly hiding evening's dusk, shy sparks of lights and tons of silence.
"How vain and stupid was my life..." - has sighed the lady with coy weariness in voice: "What am I having at fate's end... What have I got from length of years? From endless chances, meets and feats... One thing remains for me at now - to take these letters from the shelf and to equip them with good answer. How much ironic has it turned... All has gone, all has tracelessly faded. All immense arrogance and strength..."
The heroine has taken sheet of paper and plunged in telling of her story: "Im writing you with great repentance. I'm madly stupid, madly wrong. I have been reading every letter and have been seeing your clean love. I have been reading them and putting back to shelf. I have been looking for some brightness, for some unknown needless heights... I've just got arrogant at once and spent in arrogance whole being. Without purpose, luck or warmth. I have been rushing and persisting and now am sitting onto bottom and eating countless regrets. I've been desired and sexy, but no of partners stayed for long... For few of nights and not much more. I'm madly ready to response with equal care, love and frankness, to give whole passion of my heart and to encircle with my charms, devoting every drop of blooming and every moment of my life. I know, my fate has turned in nothing, but I believe that I'm quite able to finish last one with true love, with something sinless, pure and holy, what can't be broken or replaced. Forgive my countless mistakes and don't be angry on past doings. I love you honestly and truly and greatly need in your response..."
Weak lady's hands have folded crumpled paper and put in envelope's embraces: "I each past day was thinking life is battle. Long stubborn struggle with fate's storm. I was believing in one force, in single dominance of power. I was perceiving this vast being as my foe, each time resisting to its will. And now I clearestly see, how deadly stupid were my tryings. I need in unity, in peace, in kindness, comfort and affection. I need in harmony, in calm, in something real, frank and deathless. Fall in love with me, life... And forgive me..."
AFTERWORD:
In Nikanorovs' swarming house is staying ampliness of fuss they're celebrating first of May: vast table's space is freely teeming with rich foods, time's body waits for to be started and faces shine with happy smiles. From one small minute to another, the head of family will bring the last fresh kvass. And here his merriful appearing.
"I've taken letter from some lady!" - has told the hero in smooth voice: "By sinful habit I have read it's full of keenly loving lines. I'm even strikingly impressed."
"Apparently, for our former dweller. We live at here for only six months. Before at here was some strange loner. Not bad, if to be trustful to realtor, but chained with alcohol in few of his last years. He has replaced in smaller flat, but I don't know where exactly..."
"Now its quite clear why he drinks... This message full of tragic keenness. Give it to Anechka, she gladly learns to read, it'll be quite useful for her studying."
"My darling daughter, come to me. We have an interesting letter and will allow you to read. It's with love story, as you like. Run quickly, reading is your passion."
"Yes, yes. I am already running up."