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Конкурс историй "Finish me Story: Part 2": Участники

Дорогие друзья! В очередной раз мы убеждаемся в том, насколько вы талантливы и как мастерски вы можете использовать язык. Даже не родной, а иностранный! И снова мы получаем доказательство того, что конкурс "Finish me Story", ставший доброй традицией нашего проекта www.lingvistov.ru, был придуман нами не зря. Мы благодарим от всей души наших участников и представляем все двадцать работ, которые предстоит прочитать и оценить нашему жюри. Нас ожидает тяжелый выбор! Все работы очень разные, среди них как и в прошлый раз есть и истории любви, триллеры, очерки, размышления, рассказы о семейном счастье и фэнтези. И все они невероятно радуют и вдохновляют нас! 
Скоро мы объявим итоги! А пока представляем вам список участников второго конкурса историй в произвольном порядке:

  1. Анастасия Лыбина ?

    “I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge…”

    ***

    He is five years old. His mother is sitting on the small stool next to a big shining piano. He is running in that spacious, almost empty room, laughing in his pure voice. His mother can’t help smiling looking at him. “Come here, boy,” – she is saying, - “let me show you something special.” He is quickly coming to her. Then the fairy lady is easily picking him up and sitting him on the stool. She is starting playing – and the world stops. This melody! Suddenly, he is feeling that something is being born inside him. New feelings, new emotions. Speechless, he is watching her thin fingers carefully pressing the long keys. How could a melody absorb his soul and his mind? It was just a melody! Little boy is sitting in tears, but he is not noticing it.

    He is 10. He just came from the church. It was raining, so his clothes are wet, and sometimes a big cold drop falls from his hair to the floor. He is sitting on the stool, and now he is tall enough to touch the golden pedals. He is nervous, his hands are shaking. He is slowly raising them. Unsure and insecure, he is gently touching the keys, stroking this cold and long material. He has never been a good pupil. He has always tried to wriggle out of the music lessons because of his childish games. But there is one melody which he can play with his eyes closed. He is taking a deep breath. The sun is shining; a little breeze is softly blowing. The flowers, bended to the ground by the rain, are ready to stand up again and reach out to the sky. The little boy knows that when he plays this melody, his mother will be here.

    He is 21. A soft playful voice is whispering something silly but ridiculously important. He is feeling a delicate touch of her curl on his cheek. And he has never been more happy in his life. It was not “just another stupid love story” which you can read about in books with gaudy covers. He met her on the sunny day in the most unusual place for the young modern lady – an art gallery, and since then she has been his sun. Her voice could wake him up from his most deep thoughts; her smile could make his heart skip a beat. She was his last hope in that crazy world… But it was she who broke it into pieces. One day she just walked away. If he could see her again, just watch her smile, just feel her in his arms again!..

    Music stopped. A man shook his head and looked around in wonder. In rage he hit the table and screamed. He let himself go again! Never again, never again… He grabbed a coat and ran to the street. To people, to be with a crowd! To be just a usual citizen who is walking on the street and has a normal life! He slowed a little and followed a crowd. He believed that it could help him to clean out his mind, to relax and keep on living. He walked in fear, hiding in his big black coat and shaking. Again and again he halted, because his feet didn`t want to bear him. He stopped in the middle of the street. He finally made out his mind. 

    He came home, put out the gun, with a shaking hand he started a little music box, pointed the gun to his temple and pulled a trigger. Red blood painted walls. Only sounds of the music box were breaking the silence in the empty room. The music box started hissing, and in the moment everything was gone. 

  2. Борис Догалев ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    It happened twenty years ago. I was a law student and she was a beauty. I think that was her only occupation. It’s beyond doubt that she could live without knowing any need solely because she could attract the opposite sex like a magnet (and that she could, my dear readers). She didn’t have long legs, flat stomach or protruding collarbones: isn’t it what’s considered beautiful nowadays. Open FB and you’ll see I’m not mistaken. The girl of my boldest dreams was sensual. A mop of flaming hair. Huge green eyes. And milk-white skin. The skin that seemed to have a texture of a finest cut of silk. I met her in the library. She was hiding between the rows of faceless books trying to find something or maybe trying to get away from something. I didn’t care. My goodness me, how the world turned black and white the very moment her red hair burned the retina of my eyes. She was incredible. I think I even stopped breathing. The girl though preferred the company of books and by all the evidence thought me transparent or even non-existent. I was the wall, the shelves, the window, the other people. That was probably what infuriated me. I felt my intestines burn and bile make its way to the taste buds of my tongue. That was probably where it began. And she, to be honest, did not help the situation by ignoring my feeble and croaky “Hello, I’m Josh.” Without even looking up, the witch closed the book and left me. What a bitch.

    I recall these memories and in them we dance the blazing dance of tango. She knew what was to come. She played with me. At least she believed so. Did she presume I never noticed the gestures, nods and smiles? How she as if subconsciously ran white fingers through the copper river of her hair? The delicious movement of her thighs? The way she licked her lips when they got dry? Why all this if not to seduce me? In a month’s time I knew her every gesture. I even think I could almost read her thoughts, so familiar was her body language to me. The girl occupied such an important place in my life, that I felt that I began to be her. And at times like these, when the person you love does not love you back (the traitor!), you stop loving them and you start wanting to be them. Not my words unfortunately. Some Japanese eccentric with homoerotic preferences wrote it a century ago. I only have lived through his wisdom. She never had breakfast. Almost every lunch was spent in a small French caf? 413,5 feet away from the girls dormitory. She loved coffee with three lumps of sugar in it. She had a flaky pastry that disintegrated between her fingers and disappeared within her lips. Most of the time her only companion was another freaking book. I found out she adored Americans, especially Kerouac and all the beatniks, and was getting bachelor degree in philosophy. And yes, she loved Wagner. I heard the melody so often every time she went past me, wearing tiny headphones – two black drops closing earholes and a thin wire disappearing in her pocket. The muffled melody that travelled through the air together with the soft smell of H&M Wildwood Flower and golden threats of hair. She was left-handed and her left hand had three freckles between the thumb and the index finger that formed a perfect triangle. One of her eyebrows was shorter than the other. And she had an old scar right below her right buttock. The ingenious research revealed that she had received it at the age of nine falling on a piece of glass after her step-father pushed her down. Her smile was made unusual by one tooth sticking out a bit ruining an even row of pearls. She preferred to wear old-fashioned dresses and boots without high heels. And everywhere she went in those boots, Wagner followed her. And so did I.

    I know what you’re thinking reading this and looking around. Perhaps there’re officers and maybe paparazzi. But don’t worry, I made it perfect for her. I had bought the things she loved, I had prepared everything carefully beforehand so that she would feel nice and cozy and smiled. I made her smile, did you know that? Have you seen the gramophone? We danced, finally, just like I had imagined. She is not a good dancer. That’s the only new thing I found out. A bit lifeless, I’d say. But she smiled. And danced to Wagner.

  3. Лена Черноморченко ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.
    The memories surrounded me like a flock of butterflies and I just watched them slowly flying. They were so different and similar at the same time. Exciting and terrifying, kind and evil, bright and dark.  If memories really were butterflies I would like to catch few and keep them in a glass bottle. In that way my favorite ones could stay with me forever because some parts of past - impossible to forget or let go. They are too beautiful, too incredible and just too clear. There are feeling like it happened yesterday and also will happen tomorrow, and just always going to happen to you.
    So I was just listening this music and remembering my life from its beginning.
    ***
    Everything started in my early childhood when I was about six or seven years old. Most of this time seems so vague but even then some events, images and features of persons are still brighter than others. The first item in this list of memorable things my mother playing an old black piano.
    She was a powerful, strong woman. Though not as much strong as some kind of cold. She was discreet and quit one, who hated pointless twaddle and didn’t really talk much. But when she did, she had a lot to say. Her opinion was always taken into consideration. You can easy understand you were in trouble if she uses her severe voice. My mother never got mad, only disappointed.  And it was in thousand times worse than being mad.  Only one her look, when it was full of contempt and mockery, can hurt you more than any kind of arms.
    But I need to say, her eyes were simply beautiful, blue and bright matched with summer unclouded sky. When she was happy I could seethe sun inside of them, and when she was sad it changed on frightening darkness with storm and lightnings.
    I loved, hated, admired and was afraid of my mother. I had so much different feeling towards her and was too small to understand them, it confused me. Also I was jealous her. I was jealous because of music. It was her only passion and weakness and sometimes it seems like only true love. I honestly don’t know what she loved more than her piano.
    One day, mother, as usual, was playing on it in the living room.
    This room was big and spacious, colored in mostly white.

    Daylight spilled in a narrow stream from the gap between the curtains, over the floor and the furniture. I stared at it for a few long minutes, listening to the wind’s rustles behind the windows. I watched my mother focused breathing and prepared to the playing.
    She lifted the lid of the piano and a weightlessly running her hand above keys. She pushed one ivory key downwards, slowly, so that only made a soft thud and no note. She closed eyes and let her voice out through fingers
    “Is something happened? “ mother asked quietly, not even turning.
    She knew I was here. Of course, she knew. 
    I decided to come closer. My shadow fell across the keyboard as I leant on the curved edge of the piano, blocking the sunlight so it formed a halo behind my head. Mother was momentarily distracted, hands froze. The music sopped. Then she blinked and looked back down at her hands.
    “ I want to learn to play the piano, “ my answer seemed to surprise her, but she tried dnot to show that.
    Actually, it surprised me, too. But words came out from my mouth themselves.
    At this moment silence in room was so tangible, you could even touch it.
    “Well, it’s strange to hear such things from you.  Are you sure? “
    “Yes.”
    She had lost in thoughts for a moment.
    “ Why?”  question was sounded.  
    And I truly didn’t know why. It was undefined feeling of need that bursting in my body.
    I took a deep breath, smelling some mint, sunlight, and the scent of wooden piano
    “ I just...” pause, “ I just want to understand why it makes you so happy. Will I feel the same? “
    She raised both eyebrows and smiled kindly to me. Her smiles usually a rare thing to see but they are sweet and warm, and full of heart. My mother never was a woman who used fake smiles.
    “We will see, “she just said.
    “Also, “ her smile encouraged me and I decided to ask, “ can you play this melody that you played so often before now?  
    “What a melody? “ She frowned.
    “ Lullaby.”
    “Oh, your lullaby. “
    She kept silence for a few seconds and I waited for some reaction. Then she showed on place next to her with hand, inviting me to sit. 
    She composed this lullaby for me when I only was born. It was my favorite one. I didn’t know exactly why she stopped play it. Maybe because of busyness at work or she started to think I too grown already. One way or another, I missed it, like important part of my life disappeared and left only emptiness. This melody had strange power that can carried me away in different, wonderful places. I could saw stars so close and flied in the sky with feeling of cold gentle wind on my face.
    Meanwhile, mother started to play. That day lullaby reminded me about the sea.

    I imagined beach and there was nothing on the horizon, no gulls in the sky, only an empty stretch of cove and the silence of the setting sun. Everything listened. Each beat returning like ripples as the notes fell from the piano and onto the sand, spinning and sinking into the white foam. It was a bit lonely but also the cheerful sounds like laughter after tears, they absorbed by the forest and the little shells on the sandy beach. I imagined how the sea changing when she played. The high notes were light enough to become invisible airborne, drifting in the ocean breeze. She calmed the waves with murmur of melody and they started to sing too.  
    Mother lulled the sea to sleep and everything stopped. Strangely, I wondered if she could felt it all.
    “ I wish I could play this melody. I wish I could keep it with me for forever.”
    “ I will teach you, “she promised.

    ***
    There were a lot of the piano lessons. I tried to do my best but it always was not enough.
    When mother played, her hands moved like water over the keyboard. They were pale and smooth, with long fingers. Exactly perfect for any musical instrument, but with love only for the piano. When I played, I looked like a clockwork machine, trying to keep my fingers curved yet relaxed at the same time. It simply did not make sense. There was no set technique, like, say, shooting a gun. It was uncontrolled things connected with emotions, passions, and everything this kind.

    But I finally understood complications of mother’s character. All her coldness and
    calmness were so obvious to recognize.

    She was like a puzzle, an enigma wrapped in silence and music – and all this melodies showed her emotions more plainly than anything. And when she was playing me some nocturne, poignant, poetic, and beautiful, it making me felt a yearning that I couldn't define.

    ***
    Once she played a short sequence of notes, slowly. Frowning with concentration, I copied her notes stilted. She played each one as if hitting a target, the sound too loud braking of the parquet floor. She looked at me fixedly.
    I scowled.
    “ Just don't say anything,” I said warningly before playing the sequence again. And again. And again. It was beginning to lose what little rhythm it had. Mother shook her head, and I paused.
    We continued in this fashion until I had committed almost a minute's worth of melody to memory. It was all very impressive, really, and she smiled at my triumphant expression when I played the whole song through, without break. My notes were still mechanical and I sometimes missed the right one – but it was better than the failure mother had heard on the first day of our lessons.
    “Are we done yet? “ I asked, trying to look bored- though can’t handle the smile.
    She shook her head, gesturing for me to put hands back on the piano.
    “Patience “ she said.

    ***
    My parents were so unlike each other.
    But somehow it felt right. He was sensitive and she was sensible. They perfectly complemented and corrected one another.
    When mother was particularly indulgent, she would play for father fickle impromptus, cheerful and light. When she got annoyed, she would play Beethoven, or Prokofiev if she wanted to pull father's nerves. When he was tense and tired from work and business, she would look at him over the top of the piano and play Brahms like a soothing caress. In moments like that I noticed that mother tended to smile a lot while she was playing, a small, beautiful thing at once expressive and somehow personal.

    ***
    It was rained when my mother died.
    Like nature wanted to play something for her for once. Said thank you.
    I was fourteen years old and never weared a dress before her funeral; didn’t like all this girlish stuff.
    "Silence affects everyone in the end." – was written on her gravestone.
    When I offered this quote, father very doubted.
     - Isn’t it too ironically or something? – he asked me, - And sound just like kind of threat.
    - She liked a good irony. And it’s not threat… It is warning, you know. Sing until you can’t do it.  Play until silence will affect you. – I answered calmly.
    He looked unsure but  agreed with this choice.
    The house seemed so quiet without her playing. The whole world seemed so, so quiet without it.

    There were only two state of living for me. Waking and sleeping. I had lived in a dream, a dry grey world that turned and turned and couldn't stop. The only time when I was awake was with the  piano, playing out words that needed to be said amongst the overwhelming silence of pointless conversation. Piano, a constant, faithful friend that always here for you.
    My fingers get used to keys. I finally felt it, music, I found what always been searching for .I wished mother could saw me playing like this; with all that passion and power.
    I played everything that knew and could play.
    Except our lullaby.

    ***
    A month has passed.
    I sat at the piano in the living room as father came here with notebook in hands.
    “You know, “ he said, gestured at the piano, ring on his finger flashing in the sunlight, “ always so depressing. Play something happy, for a change.”
    I shot him an evil look over the top of the piano, the music not pausing at all.
    “Ah, come on, “ said he, waving a hand. He was reclined in his usual chair against the
    piano.
    “Why always the Chopin?”
    “ It is not Chopin, “ I answered and amazedly stared at him, stopping playing.
    “It sounds like him,” said farther stubbornly, smirking, “ with this terribly tragic notes.”
    He wiggled the fingers of his right hand for emphasis.
    “Terribly tragic notes? Is this how you can describe Chopin’s music? “ I asked, mocking him.
    He smiled at me and said nothing.
    “And this is a man, who married a woman obsessed with playing his compositions, “I suddenly broke off myself like said something indecent. 
    Farther froze for a moment in his chair.
    “Yeah, she would rolled eyes and you know, gave me that her - why I said “I do” instead of running away – look. “
    “And also would call you an idiot.”
    “Hey!” he cried.
    The look on father’s face was so ridiculous. I felt something forgotten burble up inside chest. I didn't know what it was until it was too much to keep away and I threw back my head to laugh, silent and exhilarating, and then he was laughing too.
    Mother said once she fell in love with a dad because his laughter was better than music.
    “Play something happy, “insisted father, tossing the notebook onto the piano so it skidded on the polished surface and dropped onto the keys with a blare of discords.
     I scowled and placed the book back on the stand. My impromptus had the tendency to be rather melancholy – I found it difficult to play something happy, it barely touched my soul. It was like lying, almost. Up until now, I had always played for myself and myself only. Mother never carried about the choice of song, only about the way I played. I didn't have to worry about what people liked to hear, because didn't play for an audience.
    But father looked at me with begging eyes and I gave up.
    “You know, “ said he, still smiling, “ silence is golden and all that. But honestly.”
    I chuckled. Music came.
    It was sunny and imponderable like wings of butterfly.  It seemed to light all room. I enjoyed playing it; fingers touched the keys calmly, gently.
    When I finished, father applauded to me. We smiled to each other fondly. 
    “See! “he addressed me a replica, “It was simple.”
    Then I shook sleeves dramatically instead of answer and began playing the first notes of the Moonlight Sonata; loud and stately and -
    “Morisa!” exclaimed father, face contorted comically. “ No! Stop! Have mercy, no Beethoven! “

    ***
    One more month later father found me in the living room at the piano again.
    “It’s time, “ said he, “ I called a taxi.”
    We were moving from house to a new flat. Father got a good offer so he changed the place of work.
    Without a word, I pushed away from the piano, silently making my way around the chairs by the window and out of the room. Once the door had closed behind me, I let myself sag against the wall paper, the texture of it familiar and embossed under the pads of my fingertips.  I came to the window, a black clock stood on the windowsill. We didn’t take it with us they seemed too belong this room. I felt strange sadness. It was my mother’s house even after she had died, and it was meant to be ours with father. Most of furniture already absented, now everything here was almost unrecognizable. Something were at grandmother’s house because didn’t placed at flat.
    Father showed in a doorway. He looked at me holding old wooden clock.
    “They say, it's lovely,” said he, “Paradise, you know.”
    I answered nothing. He always was a dreamer.
    “I hear that there's land for miles around, fields of flowers and grass and woodland. They say the sky is always blue, and you can see all the way to the sea on a fine day. She surely will like that, won't she?”
    “Believe whatever you want to believe, dad.   “
    He sight.
    “What are we going to do with the piano? “ I asked him.
    “ What do you mean, darling? “
    “The piano. Will we sell it? Keep it at our place or at grandmother? “
    We avoided this conversation for too long. Father looked confused. He drowned deep in thoughts for minutes and answered, quite, almost whispered.
    “We definitely won’t sell it. We can keep it with us, if you want. But I better will buy you the new one. What point in this piano without her? “
    I knew he was right.
    “ I just need to say goodbye.”
    After those words I came back in the living room, my father didn’t follow me.
    I ran my hand over the lid of the piano.
    I know you miss her.
    Everything seemed too dead here. Windows and mirror were curtained waiting for new masters.
    I decided to played lullaby.
    After taboo for this melody for so long it was like taking a breath, full of fresh air and strangeness. I changed the music, half way through, because the piano was still nervous being open. It did not want to dance, and it did not want to sing. Like it knew I will leave it soon. Though truth be told, the piano hardly sang; it whispered and hummed like a child too shy to speak out loud; I stopped and stand up to take off cover from windows and opened them.  The wind was not really cold, simply unpleasant. It made me shiver a little through my light dress. But sky was beautiful. I always felt myself strange when looked at it. «Too much sky is like too much freedom», I thought unwittingly.
    ***

    This house wasn’t bad just new.
    New view from the windows, new people who are waving to you from the opposite side of the street, new paintings on the walls. The new scent.  Earlier it was a wooden piano, mint, something homey and cozy and the perfume of my mother, with a shade of flowers and the sea breeze. Now scent was impossible to determine. Probably, he had just appeared. But it was clear that there will be a scent of our new life. This house going to be our home.  Some time – that what we needed.
    Dad brought a new piano to me. It was white and beautiful. It was only mine. I liked it and hoped it will like me too.
    ***
    Sometimes I missed her too much.
    When it was just sadly grey on the street and raining or when I played something so good even she would like it. When I saw sky alike color of her eyes. When I dreamed and dreamed of her.
    In fact, she never left me. There are always these little things which were reminding me something about her.

    ***
    I was walking down the hall to exit. It was my first day of the last year at school. The classes were over so I was thinking about coming home and -
    And then just… It’s was awful! More specifically, there was the suddenly sound of the piano being played - badly. The high notes stuck out like hammers, the left hand out of time, accidentals everywhere like frost in summer, strange and jarring. I winced.I was standing in front of large double doors of polished oak. I slipped through the gap between the doors and tried not to regret my decision too much when it clanged shut behind me.  There was high ceilinged room, full of sunlight and terrible music and dark parquet floors.There was a yelp of surprise and a clatter as the boy in the far end of the hall leapt up, knocking the piano stool over.
    “What are you doing here? “, he asked. 
    I watched as his eyes snapped to me and then away again, a pink flush rising on cheeks. I glared some more. If I had been killing a piano so fluently, I would have been mortally embarrassed also.

    “No. What are you doing here?”, I said calmly, “Who was teaching you to play the piano? Bears?”
    I raised eyebrow and waited for the answer.
    “Okay, it’s pretty rude and I will ignore it.”
    “That’s means – bears. ”
    “ Books! I did learn out of books.”
    He didn’t look angry, just confused. This embarrassment suited him. I looked over light room; his black short contrasted with it visibly.
    “Why do you care?”
    He looked at me with question in green eyes. They had wonderfully rich color like apples or freshly cut grass. I had a sudden wish to paint with it all the walls in my room.
    “I don’t. Just wondering who here are killing the piano with such a passion.” – I simply said.
    And then just walked away. I heard like boy called me to stop, but I decided to ignore it.

    ***
    I didn’t know why I came here on the next day after classes. But the story repeated again - there was me, light big room and awful playing. In this time, I was quiet so the boy didn’t notice me. Doors carefully closed after my back making no noise.
    Couple of moments I watched him and then asked myself who can play worse than this boy. And suddenly I knew answer.
    Me.
    Me, when I only learned to play.  When I was just a machine and not even close to being a pianist.  
    He glanced up at me. And -
    And he smiled.
    “Now you are starting to scare me. Maybe tell me your name or something? I am Harry, by the way.”
    I felt a strange warmth flooded through my body.
    “ Morisa. And you need a good teacher.”

    ** *
    Then it started.
    I knew that Harry was the new one in our school and he always wanted to play a piano.
     He had a strange accent, maybe French.  It sounded nice.  When he talked you wanted to listen but not only because of pronunciation.  His voice had power. It was colorful with intonations and emotions. It was kind and charming and sweet like cotton candy .He said once, he wanted to become a comic or actor when he was a child.
    I liked to listen him speaking.
    He liked to listen me playing.

    ***

    We sat together at the piano. I tried shifting to the left a little more.
    "What now?" asked Harry.
    I  placed his right hand on the piano, curving his fingers over each key in demonstration. I looked at Haryy expectantly.
    "Look," Harry started indignantly, "I know how to-"
    I elbowed him in the side.
    "Fine!"

    Harry curved his fingers onto the keys, wrist rigid and stiff as a mannequin, looking triumphant when all fingers were placed dead centre on the right keys.
    "I have perfect posture, alright?"
    I wanted to bang his head into the piano. Harry looked shifty.
    I shook my wrist to show how relaxed the hand should be. Harry frowned and shook his own wrist, which promptly returned to its original, sculpted state. Perhaps this hadn't been a good idea. It probably wouldn't be nice to clobber Harry over the head, but I had a sneaking suspicion that teaching him how to play the piano was going to be a long journey.

    I took his hand in both of my own, ignoring the way Harry tensed at the touch. I tried to bend Harry’s fingers, get them to relax and loosen. His hand was very warm in mine, palms rough, skin tanned on the long, long fingers-pianist fingers. I thought that could fall in love with Harris’s  hands.
    "Morisa?"
    I let them go. 
    “ Let’s start”, I said.

    ***
    It was our third date.
    We were at my place, having dinner and just talking about different things.
    I smiled and just -
    “What?”
    He blushed a little.
    “When I see you smile it’s feels like staring into the abyss while I stand on a high cliff; and then appeared feeling when I want to jump there… I mean, in a good way! You don’t know why you want it. You just want.”
    It was silence. I didn’t know what to say like all words disappeared. I looked at him trying to show how I felt.
    “Play for me something special.” he asked.
    At first, my head filled by names of different composers. I could play Chopin. He is always special.
    But it was so wrong.
    Special.
    So I played. 
    I touched keys with tender, like I didn’t want to hurt them. I tried to say them that everything all right; that Harry can understand.  Music flew in room, completing it. Music danced with the drapes, going through window on the street. On the freedom.  I let it continued its way. I saw music breathing fresh air and  playing with fireflies. I saw it alive and magical.
    I looked on Harry.
    He could saw it too.

    ***
    It was a hard day. Hard and awful.
    Sometimes it happened. You not only can see but also felt the angry of whole world focused on you.  There are storm in your mind and everything seemed was made to be broken. You let yourself drown on the bottom of the ocean; let waves to burry you body with gentle. All that left – wait for a new sun rising.
    And that day was exactly like this for me.  I wouldn’t show my emotions but was too tired. Though anyway it’s did not make sense. Harry knew me perfectly after all this years.
    I was lying on the bed covered in a soft blanket.
    “Is something happened?” – he asked.
    I didn’t answer.
    “ Something happened.”
    I took a deep breath and stared at the pictures on the wall. There were family portraits of our parents, some photography from school and college and big picture of sea painted by my good old friend.  From all our collection of photographs there was the one that I liked the most. In that day we were having a picnic at the woods. Oh, this time of dates and first confessions. We asked random stranger to take a photo. Harry smiled on it so bright and sincerely. When I see him smiling like this I know he is happy. And if I the reason of his smile that’s makes me happy too.
    “You won’t talk to me, I see. Well…”  

    He came to the piano that standing in our room and sat on chair in front of it.
    I looked at him with interest but somehow I knew what he is going to play.
    His fingers touched the keyboard and the music came.
    “Close your eyes, “he said, “and tell me where are we.”
    Lullaby.
    I smiled. Music surrounded me. I breathed it in and breathed it out. This music always keeps me safe.
    “We are in the wood,” I started and closed my eyes. “There are long trees, which closed all the way for sun to shining. Short green grass, soft and fresh. I am feeling warm wind.  Sky is clouded; clouds remand me about ballerinas in tutus. We are laying on a red cover and holding hands. You are smiling. I pressing my ear to your chest and listening your heartbeat.” 

    ***
    We named our child Melisa.
    When she was ten years old she already can play the piano. Melisa liked Mozart and fruit tea with pineapple. Her voice was subtle and melodic. She liked to sing. Especially, something from Jazz. Her hair was ginger like flames of fire. Melisa was so alive and bright. She seemed like she was a light herself.
    I loved her.
    First music that she learnt to play was my lullaby. When I heard like she played it, I felt myself amazingly happy and calm.
    I knew it will keep her safe the same as it always keeps me.
    ***
    My  lullaby. 
    Every time I played this music I did it like the last time.
    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. But I felt it.
    The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    This music just never stopped playing for me.

  4. Дарья Мурко ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    Our memory is an amazing treasure. Our past is a special world. Our past is an old city which no one has not been living for many years. But you can go back there at any time. You can walk along the quiet and lifeless streets.   And you can memorize again and again moments that happened then. Sometimes you return in this city yourself but sometimes city captures you and doesn’t get out of it. Sometimes a person men which lives in this city of the past doesn’t try to live another way.

    I hardly remember my grandmother. She died when I was ten years old. I remember only her dry hands, soft wrinkle cheeks and magic voice. It was very special. I liked to walk with my grandmother. She told me tales and stories. One fine day she told me very striking story – story of her love.

    I was eight years old. I was restless and nimble child. Nothing could keep me on the place. Nothing except grandmother’s stories. On that day the first snow fell. We went for a walk in the park. And I began to beg for her new story. And she began to tell…

    - I met him when I was very young. It was very magical. We met on Christmas Day. I believe it is a holy day. I immediately knew he was special, he would change my life. So it happened. Our romance was like fireworks. It was bright, saturated but very fast. I have often thought it was only my dream. I was happy with him very much. But two months later he was gone. At first he just came to me less often but then and at all stopped coming. I could not understand what happened, because everything was so great. I decided once he was tired of me I should not be imposed. And I let go of him, although I still loved him. I was madly in love with him. I knew that I already could not live without him. And I decided to wait for him as long as necessary. 

    - Grandma, how did you know that it is your love? - I interrupted her.

    And grandmother continued to talk…

    - When you think you're going to die suddenly comes salvation. He became my salvation. He really saved my life. I felt how much has changed since his arrival. If one day you want to cook for a man to breakfast lunch dinner, wash his socks and iron his shirts, to create comfort at home and raise children know it is love. Love is the most powerful thing in the world. Because of it, people are thrown out of windows, jumping off a bridge into the water freezes and even change themselves. Everything is for the sake of love.  You should know this.

    - Do you really never saw him again? - i interrupted her again.

    - Do not hurry, you'll find out soon...

    Many years passed. I became an adult. A Dutchman loved me. He was funny and preposterous. But I'm tired of being alone so we decided to get married. But I again remembered my first love on the eve of the wedding.

    I have not forgotten about him. But that night, I again remembered everything. And I broke up with the Dutchman.  He was disgusting to me. But soon I found out I was pregnant. I was not happy because under my heart was living the child of an unloved man. In spite of everything I gave birth. To my happiness, the son was not like the his father's unfortunate Dutchman. And I called his name A.  What was the name of my beloved man.

    As the years passed. I lived alone with my son. All my love I gave to him. I'm very proud of them. He was the only meaning in my life. It was he who brought me back to my A. The son was fond of hockey. On that day, he had a big game and I came to cheer for him. There we meet again. I looked at my love and could not believe what had already passed our life. many years ago we were kids, and now we have adult children ourselves.  But at the moment we do not even say hello. He then called me and asked for a meeting. When we met, he kissed my hands and knees and asked for forgiveness for his mistake of youth. And I forgave him.  In fact I loved it even more. Since then we've never parted.

    - So, you were only happy in your old age? - I asked her.

    - O, no, - said my grandma - I had a very happy life. Because not everyone can experience such a strong love. But I perceived it. What could be better?  Remember, love - the most expensive and the most important thing in our lives. It must be protected in your heart otherwise your life will be meaningless.

    Two years later, my grandmother died. But these words I remember well. I touched my stomach.  I am happy because in me the baby's heart is beating. My baby is from a loved one. I just realized my grandmother was right. Love is the greatest happiness in life ...

  5. Людмила Худобина ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.dream01

    Dream catcher. Here I see myself as I child, dreamy girl with no worries, willing to live. To live as I would like to do it, in my own childish way. What was that song about? Can`t remember. It was so long ago, like if in other life. When have I lost that childish view of the world, where even the ugliest thing could touch my heart? Where is that independent spirit that made me climb the walls, look in the future with hope, make friends with every living thing? Where is my trust in people around me? Is it all lost? Lost as that song that touches the back corners of my heart. Have I changed that much since then? No one can tell. Even I don`t know the answer… And only sparkles from the time of my ignorance can bright my present.

    Origin. I think it has started at that time. Yes. When I was 3 years old, when my first nightmares came to torture me. Subconscious fears that reflect my reality. Why my worst nightmare was about a Big Bad Wolf, who came under my bed to steal me? I have never thought of myself as an insane person, but why am I so afraid to sleep without light? Even now, when I`m 21 years old. Don`t I know that there is no one in this darkness? No one can hurt me in my own room. Except for my wild imagination. What was that song at that time of first fear?

    Nemo. The song of my childhood has two shades: the bright one, which made my heart beat like crazy, and the dark one, that made me feel like Nemo. Yes, Nemo was my name. Most children preferred to listen to their own beautiful songs, created by their own hearts, or to share it with close friends. Why was my song, my melody my dream so   unnoticed? Was there any reason why other children were not able to understand me? Sometimes I ask myself: no one can understand your melody even now, so what was your problem with those children? People are so egoistic in their own ways. They try to play with you, to make you their toy, so why would they try to understand the music of your soul? Have YOU yourself ever try to truly understand others? Liar….

    Oath. “Here and now I oath to subdue my Superbia, my Invidia, my Ira, my Acedia, my Avaritia, my Gula, my Luxuries! All seven Sins will not have a string on my heart.” Do you remember that oath that you have given to yourself at the beginning of your adolescence? Did you manage to live according to it? No? Why, I am not surprised.

    Tragedy. Why must I be such a throb-hearted character? Haven`t I learned already that people around me are two-faced in all meanings of this word? No, I keep making the same mistakes. No wonder that I lost my music in the cacophony of this world. This tragedy has the sound of crying woman that tears my heart apart. I try to close my ears, to hide under the blanket, but it doesn`t help. This crying will always engraved in my soul. And in the melody of my adolescence, where I lost my childhood.

    Loneliness. So again, I`m alone. Being in anticipation of something tremendous for 15 years, already, I just found out one day that there is nothing around me. Friends? Family? Love? Oh, come`on, dear one, you don`t have any of this. Just be reconciled to this very fact. There is no music there except some lonely violin trying hardly to impress itself. Let`s just hope for the better.

    Oasis. Yes! Here it is! I found my oasis in this enchanting, full of live and vigor melody that was presented to be by my first CD player. The slightest turn in tempo, the most simple accord, the most gentle word in a song. All this was capable to make me laugh and cry, feel anger and happiness, to dream and create. Oh, what an intoxication was it for me just to lie on the carpet with a small player in my hand (not so small, actually) and just to listen to people crying something in earphones. And this time added some nice chord to my song.

    Obedience. Yes, I will turn off the music. As you wish.

    Kaleidoscope. Bright colors. All is swirling around me. School. University. Work. Boyfriend. So many aspects of a simple life of a simple girl from a simple family with simple wished and dreams. How to add fit everything in 5-minutes song?! I need to get rid of something. Just to forget and never remember. And this was the time when I forgot the first thing in my life. When is my mother`s birthday, by the way?

    Believe. First year at the university. So many hopes for the bright future. You want to be a web-designer? You want to have a family and four children? Moreover, how about living in Germany or England, for example? Hahaha! Yes! All this will come try! I just need to wait! Wait again for something good to happen. And now I need to work hard.

    Anthem. How old am I now? 25? 30? 40? Maybe even 50? I don`t remember. Everything has become so grey, so standard, so…boring. Yes, boring! Where is the life I wanted to live? Where is the oeuvre made by my hand? Where are those four children? I ask you, where? And what has happened to the melody of your life?  You`re so old, but you have nothing to remember. Nothing to live for.

    Control. Control is everywhere, you see? You are controlled by your mother, by your husband, by your child, by your boss, by your friends, by your lover. And only you yourself don`t have control over your own dreams and wished. Bye, bye, beautiful. You have completely forgotten that precious song. Now you need to help other people to not to repeat your own mistake.

    Keeping. It was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial. The lively Do of your early childhood, the frightening Re of my Big Bad Wolf, the lonely Mi of my adolescence, the bright Fa of my favorite song, the obedient Sol of my consciousness, the swirling La of my belief, the grey Si of the Athem for my loss. All this is here, in me. I haven`t lost it completely, just stored in night dreams. And now, when I`m so extremely old (80, I think? Need to ask my grandson…), I can just sit in my armchair and travel the years of my life, trying to decide, whether all this was worth living such a boring life or not.

     Just do not look back… You and only you can change your weaknesses. Overcome your sins. Apologies to those whom you have hurt. Don`t be a person who hates yourself. Can you hear me? Can you hear your own melody? Please, just listen to it again, find it in your heart. It has always been within you. You have just forgotten about this small and innocent sprout that needs some sunlight. Or it will die. And you will become like most grey people who live just in order to live, not to create something breathtaking and fragrant. Forget all regrets and just be yourself. Create your melody from bright colors of love, friendship and hope. Hope for the better. 

  6. Жанна Фомина ?

    MUSIC FROM THE PAST 

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial. And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of life and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    As soon as I closed my eyes, I found myself  standing in that room, as if it was in reality. So many years had passed since those days, but for some unaccountable reason my memory didn’t revert to them. But now, when the melody intensified by the memory a hundredfold scarcely reached my ears, I was powerless to resist, so the vivid pictures of the faraway events flashed out before my eyes, as if they were thrown on the screen by an invisible projector, cutting the pitch darkness of a cinema hall with an iridescent beam of light.

    The room was my children’s room. When I was nine, it didn’t matter to me where to live in. But fortunately my parents were quite seriously concerned about the comfort and the coziness of their only son’s bedroom. And especially was my mom. It was her idea to place my bed next to the window, so that the rays of the rising sun, making their way through the silk curtains, could touch my face warmly at the moment of my awakening. And the crystal balls hanging down from the chandelier shed hundreds of tiny sunlight spots, that gently floated on the walls and the ceiling. They were especially active at warm days when the window stood thoughtfully ajar, so that the fresh streams of air were circulating around the house. In days like that, when I woke up, I would often view the walls. Since I was seven, different creatures began to appear on the soft surface of light green wallpapers, living their own fairytale lives. That was my dad’s skillful hands, that enthusiastically depicted them, using paint tubes and a brush.

    Here was a rabbit family, who lived near a chest-on-chest and brought books from nowhere magic lands to a bookshelf, and several eagles with knapsacks on their backs, who were looking down on me genially and comfortingly from the ceiling. They rushed to school through the window, while I was trying to keep pace with them, going out through the front door. There were also lots of different wild animals gathered together next to the desk, always willing to help me with my homework. A little bear that had appeared here since kindergarten was still holding an alphabet book in its paws. An old turtle with a long beard, was still rolling in front of itself a long scroll covered with basic grammar rules written on it. A few monkeys, hanging down from the ceiling, held a whiteboard in their prehensile paws, where I noted down my plans for a whole week with colourful dry-wipe markers or just drew sometimes. Every birthday of mine a new creature had always appeared on the wall, and my dad never failed in taste. So in time different little people began to appear instead of cute animals. A few divers were just behind a fish bowl, a policeman stood guarding a piggy bank, and superheroes were set next to the drawer full of comics. Happy as a lark, I was tearing along the street from school with a good mark in my school record book, as I was sure that tomorrow or the day after it something else was likely to appear on my bedroom walls. My dad had never stopped to amaze me.

    How often all these pleasant little nothings of life lifted my spirits! But they were doomed to come to an end one windy and cool morning. It was drizzling outside and from the ground floor, that was just beneath my room, I heard my mom shouting. And that was weird. My mom and dad could sometimes get fussy, when they were behind or when they were busy with some important event, but they never argued. But this wasn’t the first weird thing of that morning. When I sat in my bed, I found several large boxes close to it with some of my stuff  hastily packed. Among them I noticed some but not all of my clothes, most of my textbooks, notebooks, a few favorite toys and a half-disassembled bicycle. I was already about to put my construction set soldiers and toy military equipment in the box, but suddenly the door opened and at that very moment the most pleasant sounds flooded into my room from the living room beneath. That was my mom’s favorite song. Gentle, caressing the ear, it used to be turned on every time, when my mom was in happy mood. My parents loved to join in with the singing, and I always joined them with my squeaky childish falsetto, though feeling very uneasy.

    However, no one was singing that day. I lifted my eyes up and was so confused to meet my mom's eyes being red from weeping. She helped me with the soldiers and we packed them together in silence. Though I was nine, I knew when it would be better to ask no questions. My parents used to explain me everything, when the time came. Dad was already waiting downstairs in half-deserted living room full of pleasant familiar sounds coming from the CD-player. He didn’t give me a smile and that was also strange, as smile exchanges had become our morning special greeting ceremony. Dad was serious. He stood near a huge trunk with a big hiker's bag on his back. Most of the things had already been packed and put in his old van. Other things, that we had to leave, were mostly junk and trinkets: old books, a few empty photo frames, vases and pots of flowers. Everything was put together at the doorstep. It was so odd to go away from the place where you was born and brought up to the sounds of music that my mom loved most, and watching how she tried to rub away pearls from her cheeks on the back of her hand. It was hard for me to leave my room with dad’s drawings on the walls. Somehow I felt I might never see it again.

    Our neighbors houses were either empty or surrounded by cardboard boxes and motor lorries. That day I failed to know what had happened. The car gave a deep roar and sped us away. Mom turned on the same song via the car stereo. That was my last memory.

    I took a deep breath and realized that I was back to reality. Practically nothing was seen around, as the faint candle flame was unable to provide with much light. In one hand I held a pencil over the paper, and in the other hand I was nervously twirling the only battery of those, that I’d kept since my childhood. My partner was sitting next to me on a guard post bench. I couldn’t see him, but I felt the smell and his quiet breathing, as my nose got used to understand the slightest smells and my ears got used to distinguish the faintest sounds. Even my face could feel the slightest air vibrations caused by the movements of his head. Today was our turn to guard the entrance to the surface. Except for curious kids, a guard should not also forget about young people, who also were able to make bold attempts to get out. It seemed some of them were likely to abandon the settlement, plunged into the darkness and never came back.

    Ever since the ash clouds had covered the sky, our previous life changed. I’m not the right person to explain the matter. I’m only a humble old man locked underground since my childhood. Nothing do I know about the outside life, except the only thing – there is nothing left on the Earth, that I can recognise from the days when I have woken up in my bedroom. No gentle light to touch my face is there anymore. So our duty is to prevent everyone from going out, as no one is allowed to get to know the world of  formidable nightmare and unknown danger, except for these gloomy, but safe corridors. Though I’m not sure if it made sense.

    The melody was still echoing softly resounding through the concrete vaults of a huge building, that had been an underground shelter some time ago, and now it was our common home. Notes were carefully went after each other, moving hesitatingly in the darkness. Perhaps somebody turned on the CD-player and started to waste the battery charge very unreasonably. But no matter what, I was grateful to that man. He helped me or maybe someone else to remember the beauty of the previous world, that we had lost. Who knows, perhaps it’s still the same lying safe under the impenetrable cover of darkness, dense and soft like fabric. And maybe after several years or more, the Sun will struggle through the thick ash clouds again and will generously and joyfully endow the ground with light. And we all will see the green foliage again, and the transparent depths of rivers and seas. And the hares will hop in meadows anew under the daylight. People will rebuild their houses on the Earth surface, will settle down to married life again. They will learn how to smile and laugh again, how to draw everything they like with the brightest colors.

    But I don’t know whether I will see it again. I’m not sure whether anyone will see. And if people see, will they be ready to appreciate the light? Would not their eyes rebel against the sunlight, so that people would have to hide away in the shadow?

    I dunno what I’m writing all this for, scrawling with my pencil on the paper scraps and wasting my last candles. Maybe I just want to find out whether I can write and that the funny bear from my childhood memories with an alphabet book in its paws wasn’t there for nothing. The light leaves our settlement and many of us have already got used to live without it. I wish I could send this scratches to the past, to someone, who could change everything for the better.

    I’ve decided to give my last battery to the player’s owner, that is still pleasing my ears with marvelous sounds, as if coming back from the past and bringing a bit of brightness into my lightless life. I guess, music can brighten up souls even the most  gloomy ones. It can save us from the complete darkness. I believe, it can.

  7. Марина Толопило ? 

    The Invention

    The door suddenly opened. A man with disheveled head turned to it.
    -  Oh, this is you! - he happily recognized his visitor. -  I was waiting for you!
    He hastily came to man in a business suit and shook his hand.
    -  Yes, I was informed, Mr. Petarky. - The visitor took his hand away. - What is a rush?
    -  Rush? My dear Mr. Globow, I have discovered something terrific! - He began running in a small room of laboratory. - Oh! This is going to turn upside down the whole world!
    -  Yes, yes, I’ve heard it last time, - the man didn’t share his enthusiasm. Globow trashed chair and sat down. - I have very little time, so speak only to the point.
    Mr. Petarky deeply breezed and started with a lector tone:
    -  World is full of variety and differences. But! What do we know about color? Almost nothing. Color it is something simple, understandable, and complex.
    He raised his finger. Mr. Globow rolled his eyes.
    -  Mr. Petarky, I’ ve told you...
    -  Yes, to the point. This is what I’m doing. Have some patience, please. Where was I?... Ahh... Well, people can mix colors, they can even make some new tints, but nobody could add colorability until now!
    -  Colorability?
    -  Yes! - Petarky clapped his hands cheerfully.
    -  Mr. Petarky, I hope that it is some stupid joke.
    -  Why? - the scientist was shocked.
    -  Because people can make things colorful even if they were colorless!
    Globow was angry. He knew that the new sensation by Petarky is nonsense, but he couldn’t imagine such rubbish even in his worst nightmare.
    -  No, no, Mr. Globow they only add some colors. We haven't changed properties of the matter. Now I can make things colorish and colorable!
    -  Colorish? - Globow raised his eyebrow.
    -  Let me explain you. Water is colorless, isn’t it?
    -  Ahem.
    -  If we add something colorful, it will get its color. Without adding any colorful substance it cannot obtain it. Due to my invention we can change this property of water and make it yellowable.
    -  Yellowable? - Globow screwed up his face.
    -  Right! But this is not all. A paper - it is white. Somebody likes white paper, somebody prefers more stylish. So, we can influence on its properties and voila! It is beautifulable!
    Globow stood up and came to Petarky. He was thoughtful.
    -  Now I see that the case is much more serious I thought before.
    -  Of course! - Petarky happily agreed.
    -  Mr. Petarky, how do you attitude to vacations?
    -  Vacations? Now? It is impossible! I have to stay here and continue my research...
    Globow put his hand on Petarky’s shoulder.
    -  My dear Mr. Petarky, I believe that you absolutely need a rest. We want you to be workable, hearable, thinkable, validish, and even good sensish. Is it clear for you? And as far as I’m bussyish and having a lot of crazyish scientists in our institute, I’m leaving you. Tomorrow you are going on vacation and after two weeks I see you here. Ok?
    -  Ok – scientist agreed gloomily.
    -  Have a nice vacations, Mr. Petarky!
    -  Thank you, Mr. Globow.
    The door was shut. The disheveled head of Mr. Petarky drooped on his breast.
    -  Mr. Globow perhaps dislike yellow. I had to tell that it could turn to greyable! He always wears grey suits... but grey water it is... ew.
    He continued murmuring to himself and packed.

  8. Олег Гергель ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    It was a warm summer of 2013 when everything was so pointless to us, happy and free, together again and being divided soon. It was the time when nothing and nobody could disturb us, because there was nobody and nothing to us besides this small town which would remember our story and would tell it by the spirits of our steps on its paving stone. It would tell our story by the green of the grass which was the best place to lie under the sun and by the wind blowing in the parks which have heard our most important secrets.  And all these colors, sounds and remembers compound together in one melody which penetrates our whole life like a red thread. This melody is an embodiment of our feelings, devotion, insanity, farewell, desperation, expectation, meetings, splendid summer moments and again farewell. This melody destroys and keeps us alive, it will never be forgiven and never be forgotten, it will forever be the best and the worst period of our lives. It is the melody of our love. And even all the seas between us do not seem to exist at all. These sounds will never stop until our hearts stop; they will last until the last who knows us forgets us, because these are the memories that will keep the melody strong and alive. And I am the happiest man in the world just because I have this melody made by you, which gives me your light silhouette in the darkest days, which gives me the will and the power to wait and want, which makes me who I am. This melody is everywhere, this melody is inside me, this melody is…Me… This melody has gone forever.

    I came to myself. Drank my cold coffee with sweet sugar in the cup and salt tears on my lips and cheeks. Turned off the radio, packed all the necessary documents and stuff in my case, put on the raincoat and went out of the house with a strong belief… With belief, that we will make a new melody.

  9. Алла Застрелкина ?

    The music of our hearts

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial. And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge. 

    I could`nt believe that I can hear it again… With the help of these sounds I remembered her, the woman who I fell in love for a long time ago, the woman who I have been loving since that days…Our first meeting was very strange. When I was twenty I went to the camp, when I have seen her I understood that I love her… She wasn`t very beautiful, she had a special beauty…I looked at her, and I understood that my life won`t make a sense without her any more…
    We and the others were waiting for opening the doors of the camp. I went to her and said as fast as I could: “Hi! My name is Boby!” She felt embarrassed and told me “Nice to meet you, Boby! My name is Allie.” It was the first and also the last moment when I decided to pick up a girl… =))
    And at that moment the music started to sound… It showed us that the camp is open now… «Welcome, dear students, welcome!»-greeted us the voice after the music finished. We entered to the camp and our summer started. During the month all our big company of students was working with projects, was entertaining the children from the camp, was staging the events and we did`t forget to relax. Once I invited Allie to dance, she was unbelievably beautiful and I finally understood that my heart was on her hands…The story of our love begun to gain momentum.

    We were young and happy, but once she felt bad and she was taken to the hospital. I was so sad! I went to the city, bought some fruits, sweets, took my favorite book and went to the hospital. She was happy to see me again, but the window separates us, the doctors were afraid that I can catch a cold too. I was citing hear all the evening, and all night. We wanted to be together everywhere, I didn`t want to leave her. We understand that we love each other and when Allie felt much better I proposed her: “Marry me?» She was shocked by that, we said «yes»…

    We-me and my Allie spent some good holidays in that place. Today we are the family, we have a big house and two children. We love each other and the music from that day continues to gift us the memories and it goes with us through all our happy life…

  10. Анастасия Денисенко ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    -    Can I help you?

    -    Excuse me?

    -    It’ time you made order, mister.

    -    Oh, yes… I’m sorry…erm…Could I have a…erm…a hamburger and a Coke please?

    -    Sure. Your order will be completed in two minutes.

    -    Thank you.

    Here I am. Standing at the center of McDonald’s, holding my burger and a bottle of Coke. “It’s time you made order…” Gosh. I look like an idiot still standing here. I won’t  be surprised if someone will tell me that it’s time I got my sit or even got out of here. And it’s all the music! I still remember the tune, even though that I heard it only once in my life.

    I was standing like this, the only difference was that I was not holding neither burger nor Coke. I wasn’t even standing in the McDonald’s. I was at university and it was the first day when I saw her…

    But let me acknowledge everything from the very beginning.

    My name is Julian and I’ve always hated it. My mother is a History teacher and that is the reason I abhor History. I also detest Caesar, just because his name was Julian and my mother could not think of something more suitable for me.

    If you can think of a person that is very unlucky but still pretends to be happy you can clearly imagine me. I cannot particularly remember all the incidents that occurred in my life, but I know that the number of them is a lot bigger than rooms in the Buckingham Palace. 

    At the day I was born the electricity in hospital went out and it was the lucky accident that I survived. Still, it was the first step to my “very lucky life”.

    I was the youngest and the least clever pupil in primary school. I guess, those were the reasons why I had no friends. While others were playing outside after lessons I was going home with my mother who always told me that I should study hard to do well in university.

    And I did so.

    After I finished school I went to the best university in our small town. The High School of Medicine. And it was the place where I met her. 

    - Hey man, be a lil more courteous.

    - Sorry?

    - Stop starring at her,  dats it.

    - Oh, erm… I didn’t mean to… It was… erm…It was a happenstance.

    - She’ll never have a look at you,  July, bear it in mind.

    But she had.

    It was the dinner time and everyone was having their meal in the university dining room. It was the incident when I overturned the salver with my meal on myself. Everybody started laughing and pointing at me and my shirt experienced the taste of chicken soup.

    She was there at that time too. Moreover, she was the only who helped me, asked if everything was all right. Nobody understood why she did that, and still nobody can understand. I reckon even she didn’t know the reason for such behavior. After all, it does not really matter.

    From that time we became friends. 

    Actually, it’s not the right interpretation. I fell in love with her at a first sight, but she was rather easy-going and could see only a friend on my place. But I was over the moon to be her friend. I’ve never thought that I can be so happy. She made me feel so good as I’ve never felt before.

    Sometimes we went for a walk after classes, time after time we went to the cinemas and cafes, we watched films, ate ice-cream, I was telling jokes, she was laughing and I was smiling with a pleasant smile of happiness, the first and only occasion of happiness in my dull life. 

    Now she is gone. And my life became so nonsensical, as it was meant to be. 

    Maybe it would have been okay, if one thing didn’t happen. I loved her with my whole heart, and one day she began to realize it.

    She was so cute, driving her car, I was sitting near, looking out the window. I cannot clearly remember, where we were going, but I can remember the tune of that old song that was playing on radio.

    Suddenly, she stopped the car. We were alone on the road, going somewhere. She turned her pretty face towards mine. She was nervous. And still I can remember her green eyes looking straight in my soul, her lips, trying to tell me something I will never understand. She was so close to me. Even now I can feel her warm and unstable breath on my skin. She was so close, and I felt her lips on mine… I was far away from the car, from the road, from the town, from the reality. And the only thing I felt was my love near me and the song playing quietly. My dreams came true. But I wish they didn’t. 

    It was the last time I saw her.

    And here I am without her with a hamburger and a bottle of Coke. Mane years passed, but I don’t know what I’m living for now.

    I have a good job, little flat and huge emptiness inside my soul.

    And I wake up every day with the thought what I could have done to preserve my love.

  11. Карен Шагинян ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    I heard this music at the first time when we together with my wife Laura were at a desert island near Madagascar collecting information for London University of Biology on new type of insects that had been discovered a half a year ago and were quite dangerous for people as they were carriers of malaria. We were waiting a baby at that time, actually she was at the second month only, so our plan was to come back to London before the toddler came out, but not everything in life goes as we want. It was quite difficult to identify that new type of insect among others( the whole island was full of them) and we spent approximately 3 months catching them and studying their peculiarities, trying to find something helpful in creation of a vaccine. As soon as the work was done, we send a telegram to our colleagues from Madagascar Biological University (or MBU) to pick us up as soon as possible. We have already found a name for our unborn child, even two names: one if it’s a boy and one for girl.

    In a week a small ship came to bring us to Madagascar, but, unfortunately, we weren’t lucky at all. Suddenly a storm began, and the waves were so big that it was completely impossible to near the island. People on the bought were local, so may be that was the reason why they send us a small boat with food and equipment, they just new that storms there don’t stop after a day or two or even a week. The boat was brought by a flow which was coming from the side of an ocean to the shore. There was food and a lot of useful things there and among them there was a record-player with a few vinyl records. We had a primitive generator in our so called home, so we had electricity. But we had no idea to listen to music as the storm was becoming stronger and we needed something to do. I brought all from the boat to our bamboo hut and hid the boat in the forest. Just after that a rainfall started. All we could do was to sit and wait. Two days of unstoppable rain the situation became worse or became the worst it could ever be. Laura felt bad and at first I thought that she was coming down with flu (as it happened for several times during our expedition) but then the symptoms of malaria showed themselves. Day by day she felt worse and the moment came when she stopped recognizing me. I spent all days near her praying a God to save her. One day I was waken up by her voice whispering my name. She asked me to sing something, but, frankly I’ve always been a bad singer and I just didn’t remember any song at that moment. But her insistent voice reminded me about that record-player that I had brought from the boat and in five minutes the generator was turned on and I was looking for a song to put. When the choice was done I came back to her to be sure that she would enjoy it. She was smiling and her eyes were strange, strange enough to scare me to death. Something unknown and infinite was inside them. There was a sunset, a sunset in the sky covered by rain and a sunset of her life. I tried to hold back the tears but all my efforts were in vain. The Love of my whole life and my unborn child was disappearing. Looking at her for these last minutes I felt that my happiness was going away, I was remembering all pleasure moments of our life together and when the feeling of happiness reached the peak  in me she gave a short smile with a look full of love and tenderness and closed her eyes. At that time the moon appeared and the song was still playing :

    “…No spell that I could cast would ever bring you back too soon. But still I search for hidden answers, underneath this faded moon
    The view from here should soothe my soul, even shed some kind of light
    Because I know the sun is shining, on the other side of night
    …”

    I woke up next morning and the sun was shining brightly, it wasn’t even a trace of that storm. I wanted all things that had happened last night to be a nightmare but it was a reality. The cold corpse of my wife was in the hut and I was sitting at one place like an angry stupid child for the whole day.  Next day the ship came to take us to Madagascar. I decided to leave my Love on the island and two men helped me to make a grave. Then I came back to London and all I was interested in was the creation of a vaccine from that new type of malaria that killed my wife (this work at least kept me away from bad thoughts). I’ve finally finished the vaccine and, as a result, it saved a lot of lives.

    Many years after I was invited to a conference devoted to different types of malaria that took place at Madagascar. I was expected to give a speech about the vaccine I’ve created but due to the storm that started as suddenly as it did last time we decided to postpone the conference to the next evening. So, I woke up next day with a thought that I have the whole morning free. I decided to go to the beach and it was something strange in the sun shining brightly. While gazing at waves I came back in my memories to that desert island and Laura and heard again “…No spell that I could cast would ever bring you back too soon…” than I saw a boy offering me to buy lemonade and realized that I was still on the beach spending. I bought one bottle and then understood that the song didn’t stop playing “… But still I search for hidden answers, underneath this faded moon…” it was that song again and I saw a young couple with a tape recorder lying at the sand embracing and looking at each other. Everything became clear, the meaning of the song, the meaning of my life and the meaning of life of all creatures on the planet. The main thing was to be happy, be happy every moment and every second share this happiness with someone else. Everybody have to do this and then, then to go away. So did I, I was happy staying with Laura and a part of her and our happiness was still inside me, and

    “…No spell that I could cast would ever bring you back too soon. But still I search for hidden answers, underneath this faded moon. The view from here should soothe my soul, even shed some kind of light
    Because I know the sun is shining, on the other side of night
    …”
    море

  12. Гульназ Хабибуллина ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    I got blind after a long time of being sick. At that point I lost any interest for life. Because I couldn't see the world any more, I couldn't see the beauty, the changes of the nature. 
    Once when I was taking a walk in the streets I heard this music again. This very music that has been living in me all this time and has been playing in my mind over and over! I felt like I could see again. Yes, I can see, even with my blind eyes... It's not just a melody, it's a remedy. It has awakened all the nerves in my body... No, not just my body, it has awakened my life.
    Now I can tell how beautiful it is today outside. I hear and I see better than anyone who can see! With this music I remember the past, see the present and feel the future.

  13. Александра Каравай ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge. This bridge conducted me to my great distance, therewhere could wake all sensations love, assistance, understanding. The music spreaded during the air changing all around. There were a melody with the clear words, but the beauty of the melody did not give to understand the words. The words merged together with the sounds, that  could pull the heartstrings. The heart favourably knocked in time of music. The music reminded a meeting that was peacebreaker a little peace of mind  my existence. After  this meeting a world was great and own. This music was most own! We were dancing  to this music and could begin  nearer as if the notes of this song. The notes resounded in our souls and hearts. The music took away our bodies and souls to an unforgettable lovecountry. There were  conducting the bridge between the past  sensation and the future feeling. The beginning of this lifeway  on this bridge to the future was the charming, unforgettable melody.  

  14. Дарья Баранова ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    _____________________________________________________________________________________

    I met him ten years ago. My friend made ??me go here. It was the first time I heard about this group. We went to a concert. Jane (my friend) love concerts very much. She likes this energy is a huge number of people connected one song, people who have hearts beating at the same rhythm in these moments. But she couldn’t go there alone! I must go with her!

    This group was not widely known at the time.  I thought that it is they write a bad music. But when HE came on the stage and started to play.... I realized that my life has changed. Yes, I fell in love with him at first sight! A tall young man with blond hair and sky blue eyes....

    After the concert, my friend Jane pulled me behind the scenes. I was very surprised when security guard let us through. When we suddenly burst into the dressing room boys are scared. Of course! Two girls with smeared ink in rumpled clothes and suspiciously happy.... We danced the whole concert in the front row, and it is strange that we were still alive. So, the rumpled clothes only are, perhaps, the best result for us. Well ... I think boys remembered us)). They decided to invite us to a caf? that was near the club where boys played. Of course we agreed. At the cafe, we discussed the concert. We asked guys about their future and their dreams. Learned a lot of interesting things. In the end I still dared to ask Jacob (it turned out that beautiful blonde named Jacob) where I can take the disks with their songs. In fact, I have never seen them in music shops, but that was the music I liked and I wanted to have their songs. Jacob has promised to give me the discs like a present.

    As it turned out, the disks were only reason to meet one more time. We started dating. I'm head over heels in love with him!

    We were called the most beautiful couple, and I think it was true. What things we did together! We were flying on a parachute, were at sea, traveling a lot... Jacob began to take me with him to concerts in different cities. Jacob wrote songs about me. He wrote a beautiful song about our first kiss. It became “our” song. Jacob was such a wonderful person! He is very kind, intelligent, caring. When it’s necessary, Jacob is always very serious. But in free time he can get up so unpredictable crazy and funny things! It was very comfortable with him. Of course, we often argued. But we always had a peace and all bad things were forgotten.

    Two years later we got married. It wasn’t very surprising thing. We had a wonderful wedding. But... When we sat in the car to go to the airport.... We bumped into another car ... Jacob could not walk.... He became disabled.

    It was a very difficult period for us. Jacob fell into a depression. For half a year our young family could not begin to live a normal life. I had only one way to get Jacob out of a long depression. Music. I presented him a guitar.

    It was surprise for him. But when he saw it… His sad gray eyes began to fill with life. Music has been the most favorite thing in his life that he loved more than the other. Appeared that a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that I loved so much in him. There is appeared the most beautiful color in his eyes. Sky Blue. Jacob started to play “our” song…

    ‘I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.baby

    I never thought that the music can help me to feel these feelings. These so different feelings! You can feel the fear, love, faith. It can wake up the faith in your broken heart. It can raise your enthusiasm, the desire to do something, or to calm down, think and relax. Music can wake up a lot of different memories. If you are listening to a happy song, you would be in a good frame of mind. And you remember the best parts of your life. The best moments, the greatest successes in life.

    But if it’s a sad song, you will be in a bad mood. You will remember all their failures, difficulties. You will sorrow.

    But all of these are important! And sad and funny must be in our lives. Because if we would have happy moments in the life only, we will not safe and remember them.’

    We now live a wonderful life. A few years ago Jacob started walking. Doctors said it was a miracle! We are happy. Our family has become larger. Now we have three small children. One girl and two boys. Jacob loves to play with them. And I love to look at them.

  15. Валерия Клюева ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    And it’s like I’m twelve again. Dandelions are everywhere and Ray Bradbury has written this part of my childhood. It’s summer. I can smell the pancakes from the kitchen. It’s been four days since my aunt has returned home and I have nothing to do. Except books. There is a place in the yard where stands our old wide bed – you can jump on it as long as you want. You can lay down and watch the bugs on the roof of the garage.

    And I’m singing. It’s a summer song with quite simple words “La-la-la, la-la, ta-da, ta-dam”. And sun is smiling at me.

    I have this book – it’s blue and smells like summer. At the first page there is dedication – my godmother presented me when I was three. “The Chronicles of Narnia”, I can read. It sounds familiar. Pictures all over the book. I have seen it before. Definitely.

    It is midday – siesta time. The reading time. All the magic happens in my head at once. I know this feeling – like you have found something perfect, totally yours. I know for sure – like all the white alcoves with ladies sewing the handkerchiefs and the gentlemen in wigs among the rose bushes, like blue dresses and the pictures of my mom playing piano.

    The summer is only beginning, and I go into a basement to take a jar of jam. In the evening I will be sitting in the kitchen and watching fantasy movies or reading “Harry Potter” books and eating jam. Just from the jar. With my tiny fingers. And nobody will stop me.

    And all the dragons and all the knights will live in my imagination since then and forever.

    I will try to incept it the Narnia through the wardrobe or sit next to the bookshelves trying to pick next book and continue the journey.

    And the very next day that magic in me will grow, will be spread on my whole village, and I will notice the tree which is the boundary of the fantasy world. I will walk in the dark musical school and see the scenes from my books.

    And then I stopped the song and took the tape out.

    It was dark and cold in my car. But I knew that there was home somewhere in this world and I could get there. There was jar of the jam – I knew this for sure. And I still could eat this jam just from the jar. With my tiny fingers – they are still childish. And nobody would stop me.

  16. Лада Сергеева ?

    “A trace of remorse”

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial. It was our song…

    I turned around to see where that memorable melody was coming from and saw a little girl with short curly blond hair and devastatingly blue eyes, which sparkled like two bright stars in the night sky. A touch of concern ran through my mind. It could not be true, I thought to myself. I was just daydreaming, as always…Or could it really be her? My Emily??

    And once more I opened up a road into the past and spanned the years like a bridge. Exactly 25 years ago she swept me off my feet. A divine creature, she turned heads everywhere she went. But I was the only lucky one who had the right to call her “mine”. We have been together for 6 months when I was absolutely sure that she was the one I have been waiting for all my life… We married and immediately set off for Napa Valley in California. She has always wanted to visit Aetna Springs.  Leaving Utah I wanted to get there as fast as possible and took the shortest way through the U.S. Route 50 highway.

    An even flow of cars was slowly moving on slippery road in the dark. A stream of raindrops was merely pouring down on the roof of our car, tapping its’ enchanting song for 2 hours in a row. We have been on the road for a long time and I was getting seriously tired. I switched on the radio to cheer myself up and started flicking through. Emily, who had fallen asleep when we were passing the border, now opened her magnificent eyes and smiled at me.

    “Why are you smiling?”- I wondered beaming back.

    “Just because I see you” – She replied.

    She was as sweet and charming as an angel. I couldn’t help kissing her. The road was empty. I unfastened the seatbelt and leaned to her.

    “Watch the road, Ben!”- She yelled out loud. I turned my head and saw the headlights of an oncoming truck which blinded me. It seemed like I was frozen. A hit, a scream, a knock…and darkness… An immense darkness, which sank me in…

    I don’t have a clue for how long I was lying unconscientiously. I opened my eyes when I felt something mild and pleasant was going down my face. It enveloped me and immersed in a weightless state of gratifying drowsiness.  A flash of lightening illuminated everything around and I saw myself surrounded by high dried yellow grass. I raised my head and looked around trying to spot my wife. A tiny crooked creature was lying near me. I couldn’t make out who it was. Clothes were burned up and torn. I crawled to it and bend over to see the face of a miserable thing. It was all in blood and I couldn’t recognize a single trait, but I still hoped it wasn’t my Emily. I touched the neck of a person and saw a golden heart keychain I gave my loving Emily when we only started dating. There were no doubt any more… I shook the poor body and cried:

    -Emily?? Emily?!

    No reply followed… I put the body down and dropped myself near shuddering and sobbing when I heard an audible sound. I tensed my hearing and became all ears. Through loudspeakers of the turned upside down car was playing our song…

    In these day and age I have already forgotten the feeling of being on cloud nine. I have unlearned how to look on the bright side too. And it seems like I haven’t had a whale of time for ages. I was a wet blanket ever since she left. Always so full of beans, with a dreamy look in her eyes and a beaming smile she kept me going…And all I have now is a trace of remorse and a slight glimmer of hope that someday I will see her standing by our Creator and smiling at me just because she sees me… 

  17. Оксана Шмакова ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    I just stayed. I felt my heart sank... I felt shivers on my skin and within my soul. Pictures of the past succeeded each other in my mind.

    For me it was not just a melody. I heard the voice of the father in it, I saw his features in it. With every note memories was penetrating into all my being like a sweet poison. Emotions were running to my throat, spilling hot and salty tears.

    I remembered my father and me staying up till the dawn talking and discussing the  eternal things of this world. He told me about his travels, and I listened to him with my open mouth forgetting about the time. He often told me about my mother, drawing her bright image on my heart. I didn't know her. She passed away when I was mere two years old, therefore I was brought up by my dad.

    We were the best friends. I had no other pals apart from him. I was always mocked at school because of the fact that I was poor: my clothes were often wiped and faded, shoes were old and worn. I always sat at the Desk alone at the lessons at school, watching  the whole class whispering and laughing when they looked at me. That was the reason for my bursting into tears behind the school. I sobbed violently...sobbed till the weakness. And then I returned to class with eyes red from crying. Every single day I was looking forward to the evening, to the moment when I would see my dad, when I would find myself in his strong embraces which would be able to warm my lonely and sick soul. After all the lessons I ran home to my best friend from that unfriendly world...

    There was a heavy rain in that autumn day. Dad was very sick, therefore I called on the chemist's. We hadn't got any extra money, so I bought some medicine for him for the money which I had left from my three days'  lunch. When I came home, I heard that melody playing on the radio in the living room. It was the favorite dad's melody. So, after having soaked to the skin, I ran to the bedroom where the father was lying. I came closer to him holding  the medicine in the arms. I came closer...

    His pale hand dangled from the bed, and there was foam on his blue lips... I stood in the doorway. I felt dying with every second. I heard some tinnitus. I don't remember how the bells which I had bought, turned under my legs. I don't remember how I stepped on them and cut the feet so that there was blood. The only pain I felt was the heartache.  I set with him in an embrace until the morning choking with tears. I couldn't believe that now I was alone...alone in that cold world. Couldn't believe that now there was not my dad, there was not his warm heart.

    Since that time I have not heard that melody. And today, after ten years, the memories came to life with its notes. And now, in these already matured eyes  emerged the tears as it was ten years ago, when I was 14. I raised my wet eyes up to the blue sky, smiled and whispered, 'I love you, Dad'.

  18. Ярослав Гурбанов ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial.  And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge. 

    The summer was piping hot. I just graduated from high school and preparing for university entrance exams. My parents decided that the best rest, combined with preparation for exams  will be ten days family cruise on the Volga River by river motorship. We are housed in cabins, quickly became acquainted with the surrounding public and cool air was fresh and gave courage to all tourists. It so happened that a very nice girl joined to our dining table at the restaurant. Anne, as she introduced herself was traveling alone and so we were happy to keep her company.

    Holding hands, we walked around with Anna riverboat, meeting dawn and sunset, admiring the unique scenery of the Volga, take the opportunity to stop the motorship in different cities, often photographed laughing and fooling around like kids. I elated her spontaneity  and smiling and even in some kind of spiritual intimacy which apparently only arose in my mind.

    One day, we watched the sunset, traveling waves standing on the deck in the evening. We do not pay attention to the rest. We kissed, her hair tangled, uncurled in the wind and we talked and talked about love, faithfulness and happiness. Cheerful music could be heard from the restaurant, tourists drinking cold champagne, dancing, joking. Motorship shone lights but we were like in another dimension. Anna told me then that she is happy to give love and be loved.

    But what is interesting! During the trip I was haunted sublime and spellbind sounds of music. Every time I went up to my cabin, I could see the restaurant hall. There are burning candles on the table and on the piano. Beautiful and majestic woman with elegant fingers played the piano this melody. And I realized that only art and music give a person invisible wings open up a second wind and carry him far, far away!

    Cruise is running out to end and our motorship stopped for a rest on the sandy banks of the Volga. Tourists jumped into the water, Anne also swam and sunbathed. I walked away from the river-side and plucked a huge pile of wildflowers for Anya. Then we put them in a vase in her cabin.

    For some reason I could not sleep all night. Motorshipl stopped at the town of N. It's dawn. I went out on the deck, the city slept. There was silence around. Calm, a few passengers got on board.

    Suddenly, I see Anna running down the ramp. On the move she throws wild flowers in the Volga. Not quite a young man meets her. They exchanged pleasantries and, for some reason, he calls her by Svetlana... Then, they get in the car and drive off ...

    At this point, I felt bad and ashamed, my mind was terrified, as if I was falling from a high cliff.

    I read somewhere that King David had a ring on which was written: "It will pass." Those were the words I needed now, flashed in my head. I do not remember myself, and as time passed, but I was able to go to university - that's good. And now, walking along the promenade or sitting in a summer cafe with a cup of coffee, I look after the departing ships, remembering that, unique and enchanting music of the past.

    - Excuse me, can I sit down next to you drink coffee? - Said a pleasant female voice.

    - Yes, of course, have a seat,  - I answered.

    Our eyes met, we got to know each other. This was the same girl who played the piano my favorite tune. Life is sometimes pleasant surprises, which then become destiny.

  19. Дмитрий Бородин ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial. And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of life and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge. I re-read the passage. Sweet, but I wanted to express my feelings in a different way! Yeah, one can say I get used to write to solid magazines like “The Watch Dog” and “The Daily Post”. I closed my laptop, swallowed the leftovers of middling green tea and went out to the street. It was late fall, kingdom of sleet and cold wind.

    We agreed to meet with my friend M. in O ?Corner ?s pub. I was a bit late but I can bet M. will be late for at least half an hour – at least some things stay constant in my life. While waiting M. I ordered a pint of pear cider and started looking around. Sometimes you might meet very nutty people in British pubs, though I suppose it’s fair for every single pub in the world. One may reasonably ask what is so special about it. We meet such people...I meet such people and write stories. Writing such stories is my passion. Those always based on someone real, though plot itself is a result of pure imagination. M. literally rushed into the pub, his face was red and happy. “Third in a week” he winked “not the best, but she will be in top-5 this month for sure” he raised his hand “Wait, wait, wait, I need to grab some drink first.” He stood up again and moved to bar tender. After some short arguments with barman M. gave him his credit card. While waiting he started flirting with a blond girl on his left. She didn’t seem so interested, so I thought that at least this girl will be safe from my friend ?s lechery. M. took huge glass of hot spicy-wine, whistled something to blond girl and came back to our table. “At least she will bump you” I made a sip “If she does, I pay today” he looked at me with some sort of conspiracy. “So, my friend, are there any news from Bored-to-Death Kingdom?” We talked about the last girl of M., some common friends of ours, work and then I shared my problem.

    Wynter is beautiful 22-years-old creature living one the floor above me. Thanks to thin walls I found out that we have the same music tastes, none of us watch TV and my imagination did the rest. I fell in love. I saw her 3 times within 2 months, all those times she was wearing huge headphones and wasn’t paying attention to world outside. So, how to catch her attention? One might get an impression M. cannot take this life seriously, well, he can, in some rare cases. So we tried to make some sort of a plan how to win a heart of beautiful Wynter. Best suggestion of M. was to hire a private detective, then figure out some places she visits... So, I decided to stick my original idea to write a letter. M. only added that I can through it with a stone at her window for guaranteed result. Bloody child.

    By the way, leaving, the blond girl put a napkin on our table without saying a word. She even didn’t look at us. All of a sudden barman put a 50-shot-set on our table. In response on my wick explanations that we didn’t order anything like that, but barman just smiled, looked at M. and left. “Man, today is Thursday, I do not..” No wonder we left O ?Corner ?s after midnight. My wallet appeared to get lighter, my head appeared to get heavier. Weather was nasty. I remembered my trip to Saint-Petersburg last year. M. took a taxi, while I decided to take a walk; fortunately, my apartment was just few blocks away. Fresh,

    cold air helped a bit to cope with alcohol, but I was still pretty drunk. Isn’t it the best time to write about love and immortal feelings? I made a cup of tea and opened laptop – “full of life and vigor melody” - gush, I’m not in my mid-thirties. I deleted the whole passage and spent 5 minutes thinking about Wynter. Half an hour later I put a last dot and closed laptop without re-reading. Time is to sleep now. My last thought and first dream were about our first date with Wynter.

    I woke up something about midday. Still a bit hangover I brought my body to kitchen in order to make a cup of tea and craft some breakfast. Rest of the day I spent doing some routine and only in late evening I opened a letter, which is supposed to become a first brick in fundament of my eternal love with Wynter. I was proud of myself. Good work, well done. Especially a piece drawn my attention - on a Sunday morning where we wake up late and I drag you to a coffee shop by a lake, just so we can watch the ducks glide across the water. I will buy us a newspaper and warm hot chocolates. I will even let you read the comics first. After slight corrections I went out to buy an envelope. Half an hour later it was in her mail box with my name and flat number on it.

    We have a tradition with M. – monthly every first Friday one of us chose what we are doing this evening. Today was turn of M. and we went to a gay club. Every experience is experience he said. I suspect it was all about his phantasies about threesome. Well, it turned out that experience was unforgettable, so unforgettable that I will hardly ever share these memories with someone. So I came back next morning. On my way I checked my mail box. Empty. My heart started bleeding. Then I saw that envelope is still in her mail box and hope rebirth as a Phoenix. Without changing I felt asleep.

    Someone was ringing my door; I woke up in pain and opened. There was standing huge, brutal-looking guy with bristle. First, I wanted to ask what a hell he is doing in front of my door at, wait a sec, 11 in the morning? But then I saw my letter in his hand. My letter. Next wish of mine was shut the door and call a police. He looked at my t-shirt with sticker of LGBT-club on it, and then we looked at each other. I was about to start my explanations when he said in deep voice “I read your letter and..khm..I’m not” he was about to say gay “I just conservative, you know. Sorry, mate” Well, at least, he will not punch my face. “By the way, my name is J. I moved into couple of days ago.” He felt awkward. I could understand that. J. left and I was still standing there alone with my letter. My own letter is only one thing left from Wynter. My heart started bleeding. Again. As I always do in times of depression or vague situations I went to a book shop in front of my building.

    It was called “Beginning”. Such an irony I thought. And then I saw her. No, it wasn’t Wynter. Her name was Spreeng. She helped me with a book and was smiling all the time I was there. I ran out of the shop with book choice in my cold hands. She was amazing. Next time I should... no, that’s wrong.

    I came back and asked if she would like to take a cup of tea with me after work. Take it easier. 

  20. Алена Шулика ?

    I never knew I would ever hear that music once more. The music that could wake every nerve in my body, that could make me wander down the years that were gone forever. It was not just a combination of sounds, forceful and dreamy; it was like turning the page of a photograph album, where every sound, every subtle change in the tune possessed a great moment of trial. And once more I opened up a road into the past and that enchanting, full of live and vigor melody spanned the years like a bridge.

    Everything that was in the past appears in my memory as a black and white movie. Strange thing, you know it wasn’t like that but all these movies about the past century actually have a great influence on your imagination.
    I always wanted to work in the movie industry, but it never happened to me, and only thing that still left is music that has to be a part of my life everyday and every moment. Starting from school when you have to learn a poem and the best way to do it is turn on the music and learn your poem according to the melody. Then while growing up you realize that nothing can express better your feelings than music. I don’t know if it’s good thing or bad to have all your memories connected to specific song.

    But this quite melody has been attached to my feelings that I thought have been forgotten with a time. It came far from my childhood and music became louder, stronger and more powerful as farther and deeper I went to my memories. I used to think that I had happy childhood and I still believe in it, even tho my mom always start crying when I’m saying how happy I was. She cannot imagine and understand that as the only thing that she remembers is live in poverty without ability to give your children what they need and deserve.

    My story is not that original but is more real and I am sure a lot of people could say it did happen to them and it is their story.
    I think the start point of it is when I was born and even more important where I was born. I was born in a country that doesn’t exist anymore, but did have such strong effect on all generations that were born there that it is hard to forget about it. When I was a child I could not fully understand what happened to me, just now when I know and understand everything it does impress me as it did to other adult people.

    So, since I was born I did have my own personality, as my mom says you can see a character of the child of the first year of his life. Been so little I already knew what I want and need, and it was my brother. Someone who can be always near who understands you who loves you no matter what and the main thing for me who I can care about. Knowing that my

    mother gave me that present, and it did change my life. The way I remember my childhood is private house, a lot of fruit trees, my brother and that roses garden that we had. Most of the people could call it nostalgia, but it’s not what I meant and I will explain it later why.
    As I was saying the main thing is where I was born. As older I became is better I understand how actually it can change your life and how much important it is. Beside all that problems that government can give with all that corruptions it does make one good thing, such is changing your character turning you to the machine I even would say fighting machine in case if it’s a person with strong character . I learn how to work hard, how to do something that you might do not like to do, but you have too, more than you learn how to start like to do what you do. It is just amazing how it works. You have so many stereotypes, that everyday change and rule your life. And time is the main ruler. Because everything has to be done in time, school, university, job, marriage, babies and I think there is even a special time to die. If you are not following the rules you are not a part of this society, otherwise the same society will remind you about life rules.

    In the end you start appreciate those lessons that life gave to you, but there is still one question, is it actually worth it? I do not live in that country any longer, and I was lucky to have an opportunity to change my life. I am still very grateful for everything that happened to me and all that tears and pain are gone but not forgotten. I am just wondering why, why we have to be broken to become stronger and better? Is it actually really works this way? To work so hard just to survive, to believe in all lie that government feed you with just to feel safe? There is no right answer, the same as right decision, but at least everyone has choice and the main thing to choose something and make it to be right.

    Memories and feeling will be always together, and it’s a good thing to have lots of them just to feel that you are alive. To have something more that you remember, not just movies that you can discuss later with your friends, but your own life. No matter is it was bad or good memories because in the end you will not be able to see the difference. Only thing that you can evaluate is who you became. And now when I heard this music, all my memories got together with all pattern of the feeling. The strange thing that when it happened to you to have this moment full of everything with this special song on the background you actually do not have a story on your mind, you have a big mass of flashes covered with your emotions and dreams, mixing the past and the future... 

Имена победителей, а также наши отзывы об их творениях мы, как и раньше, решили опубликовать отдельным постом. Мы уверена, что наш восторг от представленных работ, их необычности, вашего воображения и умения творить при помощи английского языка разделят все читатели! 

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