Finally, I Felt in English...

So... 
I have already written a lot of my "little stories," expressions of what comes, who knows why and where from, to my mind, but all of them are in Russian or Ukrainian. I've never even talked about this in English by the way. But, now, as I spent so much time living in the United States,talking English everyday and studying in English, I got a burning desire to be able to create also in English. Actually, I started to think about doing this way earlier. I've been learning English since I was three, so when I started to write stories, I immidiately understood that I would want to be as perfect in English or German (I also learned it) to be able to use them for my own pieces of literature because then it would mean my success in language. By the way, my very second story was in English (the first one was in Ukrainian even though I always considered Russian as my native), but it was so simple that I would not ever show it to anyone ( I revised it several times from that time, but it is still weak). 

So, how it actually works, my creative process. Sometimes, I get cool (at least in my opinion) phrases, or words, or associasions in my mind. They literally just strike my mind, and I write them to my little notebook. Sometimes, they can be put in rhymes, or they just sound poetic. I really love the moments when it happens because it is something incredible for me. I always think that it is not atually me who creates this. I know this sounds weird, creepy, but I would not be able to create anything of this if I wanted to and would overthink it. 

Now, about this story...  SPOILER HERE 
It is about life, about the purpose of life, and how everyone decides for themselves what it is. The problem that I wanted to emphasize that in the seeking for the "point" a lot of people actually miss a lot, miss the life itself. And, frankly,the purpose of living is the life, to look and see, to listen and hear, to touch and feel, to acknowledge the existence, the world around and express one's self to become a part of the incredible world. Live. Hope. Enjoy. 

P.S: I really hope you will enjoy my work, and I would appreciate comments and critics (love them), love to discuss my stories with readers because creative writing is a dialogue between the writer and the reader. And with every reader the dialogues are different. 

The Blind Journey

“להנות”(enjoy)

Her hair smelled like oxygen. I could breathe it instead of air. I could breathe it to live. Her hair was long and silky. It would seem transparent if I tried to touch it, escaping through the fingers. I thought I knew her, with her mysterious languishing look, but I was wrong. She was never there; she was always in her own world, with unicorns and stars. Sometimes, I thought she believed more in them, the unicorns, than anything around us, than our apartment, our city, our jobs, or love and feelings, or even her own self-being and existence. Sometimes, she would be lost in her own world, not understanding whether this life exists or not and what is the purpose. She would just go with a flow and pretend to be alive. She was my lovely little Alice… and I still can breathe her scent when I close my eyes…

      It was a rainy day when nothing good could happen, but people around us seemed to be full of life even though it was a day we had to visit this cemetery of so many fates. Yes, it was a railway station. And she was leaving. We were not together for so long now, and I don’t even know what her life has been for all these three years, what she was doing… But I still felt her around sometimes. The facts that she was leaving, and I was the only person in the bustling city to let her go on the railway station, were breaking me into pieces. It meant I would never see Alice again, and she would be forever lost in her own world.

I hoped she was enjoying these years without me, and I had no idea why she decided to leave, but I believed in her, for sure. I believed in this little artsy offbeat creature even more than in the fact that the Sun rises on the East, or the flowers grow and fade. Alice would never fade. But her fragile silhouette did, through the iron entrance of the old train. The door closed, and she never looked back. I don’t know whether she even minded that I was there, whether she really needed me to do this or not. But I knew I needed this farewell to let her go.

I brought today her amulet which she left at my apartment three years ago. It hung in her hand, blown by the wind, while I watching her go. I knew that it was time to leave too, but I needed to see the train moving. The train’s roar would be a signal. There were a lot of people on the platform, all ages, all races and all genders. We were all equally miserable on the cemetery; we were all feeble in comparison to the train which was taking hundreds of people to the places miles away, or to the life which decided for us to stay.

However, my neighbors on the platform were significantly different from me. They brought their whole family here to hug one more time their daughter and sister. The kids were so sad, but they still carelessly played around, making faces to their older sister who was looking through the window. A big group of young people were laughing all the time, pretending that it was no rain at all. When the train swayed to start its journey, the old woman on the left from me started to cry. She wasn’t loud; it was nearly unnoticeable, but every second more and more new silent tears were rolling down her face. She would bravely catch each of them with her already damp from rain handkerchief. Her son was leaving today. I saw him several minutes ago cuddling her warmly for one last time. Alice didn’t even say a word when she left… I turned to the old lady in the cheap plastic slicker who was standing against the wall for all this time, waiting for any hopeless romantic to commit a soulful act of generosity… And here I was. I bought fifteen peonies, all that she had, and brought them to the desperate mother who was still motionless at the edge of the platform.

The bunch of pink smelly balls would not help her and make her son back. However, I wanted her to feel the sudden act of love from the stranger. She smiled with the edge of her thin lips. I hoped that for one second she wouldn’t feel as lonely as she was. And for one week or so she would remember the stranger at the railway station and probably smile again. I hoped that Alice made a right decision. I hoped she would not be lonely there where she went; she would not be lost in her concerns and dreams and she would, eventually, be happy…

“לְקַווֹת” (hope)

Alice sluggishly passed a raw after raw of empty chairs. She was the first to enter the carriage. She wasn’t attached to anything in this city now. She didn’t know where she was going or why she left. She just wanted to find a purpose of this mortal existence which no one could ever explain to her. She wanted to find a reason of why things happen, why she needed to perform anything in her life. She could not. Flynn kept making this delirium, senseless statements about life. He was convinced that living was a purpose itself. He just didn’t want to think about it, Alice was sure.

She opted for a seclude seat at the end of the carriage. She hoped that no one would go that far looking for a seat and no one would bother her any time. She won. Most of people stopped by the first free seat and tiredly fell on the hard plastic pillows. It got so noisy inside of room, that Alice wasn’t able to hear her own thoughts. The voice in her head tried to decide what to do further, but it had to get louder, and louder, and louder.., and she gave up. Alice started to look purposelessly into the window. It was so vivid: all the filthy fingerprints that former passengers have left; all the dead flies that were never taken out from the place below the glass. On the ground, there were some coins (dollar cents and not only) that somebody had carelessly dropped. Nobody cares about those little thin pieces of metal unless it’s up to them whether you eat today or not. Alice never cared about money…or food. There should have been something more important to live for, she believed. But she hasn’t ever found it…

The train had moved, and it got even noisier inside and outside. So many people gathered by the windows from both sides, believing that this way they could spend a bit longer with those people who were staying at the platform. As the train moved, most of the people, as a flock, rushed towards its direction. Poor parents could not catch up with the speed and stopped after a minute, leaning to their knees and breathing heavily. Alice didn’t look into the window when this whole tragedy was happening, she starred at the wall in front of her and could only hope that Flynn would not be that damn to take these desperate souls as an example and follow what they were doing.

Finally, the entire huddle relaxed and returned to their seats; the noise was slowly subsiding. It was such a pleasure to feel a fleeting moment of silence that was intervened the next second.

It was going to be such a long trip to nowhere. It was so easy to take a train when there is not particular destination. You just leave whenever you are bored, or when something catches your attention through the dirty glass. Alice didn’t have a large luggage with her, only some necessary stuff. She hesitated for so long whether to take a phone or not and eventually did, but she forgot a charger. Either way, she wasn’t going to use it. No book could explain to her what to do with her life, so she had nothing to do for this journey, other from thinking. Her mind was free but burdened by an indescribable anxiety of futility.

The train stopped. A single old lady left the train, trying to handle her heavy ramshackle cart. She was crooked by years, with tiny feet which she would firmly put one after another onto the ground. Her hair in a bun was gray and thin; her skin was wrinkled by the Sun. But she wasn’t miserable, even being evidently poor; she didn’t anticipate any help. She wasn’t lonely either. The old and hairy cur which lay against the wall had roused and came up to the lady. He warmly greeted her by rubbing his head against her legs and trying to wave his weak tail. Together, they slowly and calmly passed the deserted station through the little gate and took the trail to the closest slums at the edge of the city.  

Nobody in the train paid any attention to the passenger from the front that just had left. People were too busy chatting or pointlessly starring at the walls. No one had offered her help, no woman, no man. Alice followed her way, looking through the window, and acknowledging her hopeless thoughts on the “point.”  Alice turned back from the window when the train swayed to go. The monotonous sound of the wheels was gradually drowning out the meaningless chatting and people’s voices. Alice was completely falling into the wonderland of dreams and poignant ideas.  

The landscape changed rapidly. Instead of bustling and lively city, now, the windows looked at the huge hills of garbage and little shacks which could be barely used for living or surviving. The colors had changed from grey to brown and dirt. A swarm of little children in tatters played by the houses. The train stopped. There wasn’t a station building or a concrete platform this time. A little wooden sign emphasized the room for boarding.

A skinny young woman with dark skin and filthy hair stepped onto the ground. She looked just like a grown up child from the sword. Immediately, all the kinds left their games and circled her, trying to be the first to reach her and be louder than others. They tried to hang on her hands and look into her full heavy bags, which she was barely able to hold. The woman looked around as if she was counting the children and trying to identify each of them. The kids became silent. Then, she turned to her bags and pulled out a loaf of bread; she divided it in tiny pieces, and turned again to take another one. All the kids patiently sat around her. After she awarded each kid with an individual piece of bread, she opened a large bottle of water and poured into the children mouths to let each of them make a gasp.  

While the poor children were having their cherished piece of bread, seating on the raw land, the train swayed again and left to a next destination. A family to the right from Alice was starting their lunch. They pulled a package with toast bread, a box with ham and processed cheese. The mother made a big sandwich for her daughter first and then for a son. Then, she awarded each of her kids with a banana, a huge soft bun and small and handy package of juice with a straw. Alice moved closer to the window; she had cuddled her knees, but her back stayed straight. The smell of ham started to fill in the carriage. A little hint of wind and fresh air was blowing from the window through the slits.

The landscape changed again. Now it was a vast field of grass and plenty of trees. Through the trees, could be seen some cows, black and white, which grazed peacefully. They must have been brought in the early morning when the Sun had not risen yet. It was cloudy, but some rays were still breaking through the clouds. A young shepherd was making his way to the herd. He touched the grass and closed his eyes from pleasure, feeling an open-space, wild wind. A little puppy happily jumped over too tall spikes. Its ears, long and fluffy, had picked up so much grass waste. The train stopped by a little village without a name. Nobody came out. The wind had blown – the grass leaned to the ground, expressing all the iridescent colors of nature. And the train departed.

It had passed some more villages and small towns, not making stops in most of them. Now, it came to the perfectly clean platform, with big old clock. At the platform, a young man, who had been eagerly looking out for the train lights, was holding a huge bouquet of white roses. The train stopped, and the “fed” family left. The children ran up to the man, beginning to cuddle his legs. The mother was going slowly after them. The man gave the flowers to her and went into the train to take her luggage.

The train passed some more fields, towns and big cities. The colors were changing monotonously: grey, white, green, brown… grey… At one of the cities, a young lady in her early twentieth left the train. She was wearing a light white linen dress. Her hair was flying freely just as the hemline of her dress. Several silver rings sparkled on her long fingers. Her elegant neck was adorned by a tiny silver charm. As she fluttered out of the carriage she was caught by a fit and handsome guy, who looked like a soldier, being able to protect her fragile body from any wind.

Alice was now the only one who stayed at the train. There were some more stops to choose from, and she still had not decided what to do. She lay down, letting only her back and head stay on the seat. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the place she would want to be at now. But, suddenly, her imagination was interrupted by a strange sound around her, as if she wasn’t alone any more. It brought some anxiety, so Alice opened her eyes widely.

Just in front of her sat a centenary sage. His hair was gray and thin. His eyes were so small and covered by the several layers of lids. Big hairy grey and black eyebrows hung down onto his eyelids. His face was brown, but his cheeks and nose were pink because of the Sun. His clothes were greyish green and simple. He sat silently, leaning on his big winding wooden stick. He wasn’t surprised by Alice’s reaction. He looked at some point at the front of the carriage, though it was hard to say where at his eyes looked directly. His breath was heavy and easy to hear.

The astonishment of the Alice’s face changed to her regular carelessness. She changed her position to sitting straight and started to stare at the window again.

-                     Nothing and nobody, actually, exist – the old man breathed out. – Unless you think of them.

He stopped for a second.

-                     Only your thoughts create them and make them live. – Now, Alice turned her eyes, only, to him. – In your mind, in your own reality, they live the way you think and you prefer. It will never change.

Now, she was listening and paying her attention.

-                     The variety of realities is every bit as great as the humanity. They are unique. They are parallel. And each of us has myriad realities to acknowledge the existence.

-                     We watch; we listen; we smell; we try; we touch…. Only we, ourselves, can decide what to see, what to hear and what to feel and think. We decide on our own what our lives are and what to live for…

The man stood up, not finishing his speech and left to another carriage. Alice turned her eyes to the wall. The next stop was the last before the train would head to the depot. The train stopped at the middle of the sunflower field. Alice stepped out of the carriage and made a big gasp of air. She had herself and a little shoulder bag.  Most of the flowers were much taller than her.

The train swayed and left. A huge wave of wind affected the girl’s hair. An empty carriage was rumbling towards a new day and new souls. The passengers had left a lot of garbage inside, which would have to be cleaned and thrown away by a person who gets their small salary to be responsible for this. There were the packages from ham and cheese, from chips; there were a bunch of garbage bags here and there; the straws were rolling back and force along the carriage’s aisles. Some passenger had brought a lot of dirt. Only the seats at the back were nearly clean, and on the one seat, close to the window, lay a thin silver amulet. 

“חי” (live)

21.05.2016