Were not were

© Alexander Kolosov, 2023

ISBN 978-5-0060-3369-6

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Accident

It happened at the end of summer, at noon, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, when there was no one on the road. An old jeep, bought on credit, loaded to the eyeballs with all sorts of things, under the guidance of a well-worn lady who anxiously fussed about her junk, had an accident: a frivolous new Volvo flew into it, driven by an uncontrollable young blonde. The accident shook the woman, tired of living, like a hurricane of an apple tree: in broad daylight, getting hit in the ass with all your might is the same as losing your innocence in public – all her plans for the future instantly crumbled to the ground and shattered. It hurts and it’s embarrassing. It’s impossible to talk about the back of the car at all – tears and tears. And now, in hot pursuit, returning home, the injured party tells me all this in person, and I correct her.

– You see, a real blonde drove into me.

– Are you envious?

– What? Because she’s a whore!?

– Why did you decide so?

– Because it contains the owner of a car dealership. He immediately followed her!

Maybe it’s her husband?

– Ha, she herself said that she ran away from him: she quarreled, got into his car and pulled off.

– Love! Asisyai!

– Stupidity! One stupidity. She, consider, stole a car, drove it without documents.

– That is, she was in a state of passion.

– And he just came to excuse her from the criminal case.

– So he loves.

– Ha! Why love her? Gets out, so long out of the car…

– Not long, but high.

– Ha! Well, high, doll!

– That is beautiful?

– Ha! Well, beautiful, but painted!

– That is, a natural blonde?

– What are you all clinging to words! All so overdressed, in black glasses, her nails and lips were painted black, in a black dress, and even in expensive tsatsks. Pale as death. As if from the other world showed up here.

– Not from that, but from the higher. And not light, but society.

– Ha! What kind of society, if she can’t even speak, but only foul language? Why!? Why is everything for people like her and nothing for others like me?

And now I have nothing to answer. Because I don’t know – and really, why?

Maybe it was really funny

A man sits and just chokes on laughter. He is asked why he is laughing, and he, swallowing the words, answers:

– You won’t understand.

It turned out that he was mentally ill.

It’s a pity. So no one knew what he was laughing at. Maybe it really was funny?

Author

He was the most remarkable personality of his generation. He lived as if the world around him did not exist. He wrote about what he did not know and so poorly that it was already becoming interesting to read. Critics eagerly awaited each new book of his by cannibals who wanted to feast on a fresh delicacy: everyone was curious if he would be able to surpass his former self and write something even worse. He did not notice his enemies and envious people, which drove them to extreme fury: not on purpose, but simply because he did not know that they existed. An amazing disregard for the reader has always been credited to him. Readers paid him the same. His prose among them enjoyed constant success as kindling for stoves and fireplaces. They joked about her: “Literature with a twinkle.” He claimed that he created our world at lunch, between soup and meatballs. It took him about seven hundredths of a millisecond to do everything about everything. As an indisputable proof of his authorship, he cites an irrefutable argument: the world is too imperfect to be the work of someone else – there are extremely many inconsistencies in it. At first he did not attach much importance to this, and then he began to be burdened by it. There were too many extra people around. He despised them, considering them the fruits of his imagination, but they pestered him like flies or horseflies on a summer afternoon. And as a result, he disappeared. Could not resist. He vanished into thin air in front of everyone. Just between soup and meatballs. And now we have to clear up all this porridge that he brewed, but did not manage to properly cook. Don’t start something if you don’t know how to finish it. Especially such troublesome business as the creation of the world.

Infernal public utility

It turns out that for more than a decade, an absolutely outstanding person has been at the head of the legion of janitors and locksmiths in our city. Although, if you look closely, it’s more like a little man: the creature is slender and almost ridiculous in appearance. By the name of Biryukov. But this is only an appearance. His appearance is the most remarkable. One might even say fabulous. He looks like a negative character from some old Romm’s movie fairy tale. The nose is hooked, the ears are upright, the teeth are crooked, and the eyes are angry. Under his strict guidance, the municipal services of the city are struggling with every season as with another weather disaster: it’s raining – guard, it’s snowing – guard, the sun is shining – also guard. Even the reconstruction of the central streets that has set the teeth on edge – which is certainly a full guard – is also the work of his unstoppable pens. Truly, not a man, but some kind of Koroviev from the retinue of Satan himself. The most incredible rumors are circulating about his past. The most exotic – he is the former head of the Lefortovo prison. If this is true, then it becomes clear where he got a downright demonic ability, if not an anomaly, akin to Kursk, with just a glance to ignite any object that he looks with anger: after all, in Lefortovo, they say, the gates to hell are hidden, which were built during Stalin’s time by People’s Commissar Yezhov, and they are vigilantly guarded in case of an emergency evacuation of the entire Kremlin. Because of this damn anomaly of Biryukov, the former mayor Luzhkov stopped wearing hats. Luzhkov will come every time to some communal meeting to catch up with the janitors, and Biryukov give his hat with a glance, and set it on fire. Each time there was one continuous embarrassment. Again, rumors spread that it was not without reason that the mayor’s hats were on fire, I suppose he stole something, since the hats were on fire. Luzhkov had to get an asbestos cap, although, according to rumors, it pretty much rubbed his bald head. Because of this, they say, Luzhkov burned out: he wore the wrong headdress. He was dismissed with the wording: “Not on Senka’s hat,” but Biryukov remained. It came in handy for the new mayor, who goes without a headdress at all. Fundamentally! He now organizes parades of garbage trucks at Sobyanin and manages the organization of traffic jams. Very successful in this matter. Whatever he undertakes, any business he burns. Neither give nor take – hellish communal worker. Although, if you think carefully, then what else, if not like this, should be in our “best” city in the world – the capital, no more and no less, but the Evil Empire itself.

Antivirus

Suicide Bank

All who wish to commit suicide now have the right to open an account in a special bank, which guarantees the realization of their desire to die quickly and painlessly. At the same time, they sign an obligation that their bodies after death become the full property of the bank. The bank takes them apart and uses them for transplantation, making good money on it. Everywhere social advertising, such as “save the life of another and give your own”, or “your contribution is a contribution to someone else’s life”, finally, “bring life to the altar of the fatherland.”

Death is no longer perceived as a necessary evil. Euthanasia is welcomed by society, and people perceive each other as a means to help each other. Transplantation is ubiquitous. People are divided into those who parasitize on others, striving to live as long as possible by changing organs, and those who sacrifice themselves, not wanting to live long, wanting to die young and beautiful. A new religion will arise – the transformation of Christianity into a new Stoicism. A new attitude towards a person will become clear – he will become the main value in society, because his organs give life to others, a kind of spiritual and bodily vampirism will triumph.

What is life like in such a society? What goals and values do people profess? What do they live for? Suffering and pain in such a society are declared the main evil: crucifixion is forbidden, as a symbol of suffering. The main goal of man is proclaimed – the enjoyment of his existence and narcissism. It will truly be a world of universal prosperity, where the cult of free will is at the head, from sex to death. Hyperegoism and respect for someone else’s will will lead to the fact that children and parents distance themselves from each other from the first years of life.

Headless

Ivan lived. Not that he was a fool, but many considered him a jerk. He said that the Mother of God appears to him in a dream all the time. Well, it is and is. Who cares, tell me? Yes, but in what form! And she always appeared to him in a short red dress with a deep neckline right down to the navel, with loose hair and high-heeled leather boots. And everyone was invited to dance. And he kept refusing, until one day he took it, and agreed on his own head. And she swirled him in a dance. Has swirled. So, he completely lost his head from happiness. Clean. And in the morning he woke up, went to wash himself and sees in the mirror that he really doesn’t have a head. The body is there, but the head is gone. Died to hell. And how he sees himself now is completely incomprehensible. Some kind of devilry, God forgive me. He was scared, of course. Jumped out into the street and let’s scream. Say, save, help, lost his head! The people ran and surrounded. Everyone is surprised. They touch. They check. The police formed. She dispersed everyone with batons as participants in an unauthorized rally, and took him to the police station. As the organizer of the provocation. There he was tortured for a long time, where did he go. And then they let go. Investigator him, you see, compassionate caught. He explained that he did not have one head. And that without a head, they say, a nice person, you can easily live. So even better: no need to shave, wash, go to the hairdresser. And that all bosses, forces, authorities and thrones also have no heads at all. And nothing, thrive. And what he takes for their heads is all an illusion. Solid masks show. This is how he lives now. Ivan, our fool. Headless. As everybody.

No problem

In a society of victorious corruption, building and coordinating without money does not make sense. In a state that has completely rotted under the burden of cynicism, the main drivers of the economy are only bribes and personal enrichment of the participants in the economic process, and the ultimate goal is kidding your partner: in addition to economic benefits, this also gives the beneficiary moral satisfaction. Those. like they’re all bastards. And this excuses personal meanness. And here I am, imagine, I know one developer who decided to live honestly. Not because he has any moral qualities. Because the money is gone. For bribes. He loudly declared to everyone that he would live according to the law, and not according to concepts, like everyone else. And what? His building permit expired and he began to renew it. I submitted all the documents in one window: a simple formality, because the permit had already been issued once on the basis of all these documents, and was refused. With such wording that if he continues construction, then only under a different government. Now he thinks where to find the money. For a bribe. To like everyone else – to live without problems.

Without dancing

In the choreographic school, in the fifth year of study, a parent meeting is stormy. The teacher leading the meeting, blushing and embarrassed, announces to the parents that from this year they will expel future ballerinas according to a number of criteria for reasons beyond their control. Parents lively react to this, worrying about the future of their children. After all, each of them wants to see his daughter as a star of the corps de ballet. Especially in the Big. One stubborn mother loudly demands to explain by what criteria they will be expelled. After all, her daughter regularly goes to all classes and diligently studies. The teacher, burning with shame, announces publicly that if, for example, her daughter grows breasts of the fourth size, then they will be forced to expel her, because. You can’t dance with breasts like that. “Yes, if she grows breasts of this size, we will take them ourselves,” mother is surprised, “With such breasts, she herself will settle down. Without any dancing there.

Without skulls and outrageous

In his youth, my father was a very original and liked to shock others with his behavior and appearance. He wore a beard and mustache, dressed in some unimaginable rags, in his dorm room he painted all the walls, floor and ceiling black and always received guests by candlelight, holding a real human skull on the table for final chic. Neither stand nor take, but a kind of Prince of Denmark, playing a performance in front of ungrateful spectators called “melancholy dulce melody”, which, translated into a public language, means only “melancholy pierced my heart.” Among his guests was my future mother, a woman not only beautiful, but also practical, who appreciated the acting potential of her father and took patronage over him. First of all, she told him to shave, because the beard and mustache prevented her from kissing him. And then, step by step, she dressed him in a particular suit and forced him to wear a tie, returning ordinary people to society, for whom a chicken is needed to lay eggs, and not fight over the problem, which comes first – a chicken or an egg. When I was born, my father had no choice but to accept his fate, try on the role of a father and live the rest of his life, thanking his mother for giving him a son and saving him from false illusions to change this world. The world is already good enough to just live in it. Without skulls and outrageous.

Immortality

When we met, he was in a state of half-life: everything human in him had not yet completely burned out, and the remnants of his personality eked out a completely miserable existence in the company of words and alcohol, otherworldly plots appeared from him like scab gold, denouncing him in a shroud from the memories of his former lives, and he stole plots from all his interlocutors, real or imaginary, and smeared them like butter over a thick layer of loose syntax until he became famous. Now he, bronze, stands on the boulevard and pigeons shit on his head. Such is the price of immortality.

Demons

The most incredible things sometimes happen in the cemetery: after all, it is a meeting place for the living and the dead. Obliges. A crowd of village women went to remember their relatives on parental Saturday. They even hired a priest on such an occasion to serve a memorial service right in the open air among the graves. So that everything was in order. And when he began to incense and proclaim, two hellish faces looked out from behind the tall uncut grass among the gravestones and rickety crosses. They were clearly seen by everyone and were speechless. The faces have disappeared. The priest crossed himself and tried to continue the memorial service. And again, have faces here and there. Right out of the ground. And they are clearly coming. What started here. Some are screaming. Others are crying. Pop is silent and only shakes his beard. And the demons in the grass and among the graves flicker and get closer and closer. Finally, the priest could not stand it and launched a censer at one of them with a cry: “Get lost, evil spirits!” and hit. There was a screech and a black pig of fair size rushed past them to hell. And then the second one. For company. It turned out that they were piglets from the nearest yard, which got used to the cemetery in search of earthworms. True, the priest still does not believe and claims that it was he who turned the devils into pigs with his censer. This is what the Orthodox faith does!

Saucer

One girl decided to give her sister a cup for her birthday. And I didn’t think to buy a saucer for her. She showed her gift to her mother, and she said to her: “No one gives a cup without a saucer. Your sister won’t understand.” “It’s nothing,” the girl replies, “I’ll put 1000 rubles in her cup. Instead of a saucer. When the girl gave the gift to her sister, she at first seemed indignant, but looking into it, she immediately calmed down and said: “Okay, the cup is also okay. Thanks for that too.” In the evening, the mother asks the girl: “Well, did your sister like the gift?”

“Yeah,” she replies, “but she especially liked the saucer for the cup.”

God’s Punishment

Bryansk has been quarantined. And the traffic police had a financial crisis. The money is over. Due to the fact that motorists have disappeared on the roads: so contemptuously the state dubbed those eccentrics who are ready to take risks in order to travel by private vehicle. Nobody has been on the roads for a week now. Except city buses. There is no one to take bribes from. And this is very embarrassing. For the State. There is a striped wand, there is a form, there is a “brick” sign, but it’s not clear what to do with it. The value of attributes of power has been reset to zero. And you want to live like before.

In order to earn at least something, the traffic police patrol stopped at the entrance to the grocery store and tried to fine everyone who wanted to enter it. For breaking lockdown. As they say, if there is no reason, then you need to create it. Only from the very beginning the idea did not work out. The patrol collided with grandmas. And grandmas are still that force capable of resisting anything. The very first old woman pretended that she was deaf and blind and did not see the police. The second patrol swore. The third beat them with a stick, calling them fucking pioneers. The fourth one was the trickiest. She handed the police 200 rubles and demanded: “Well, since you are in power, don’t let me go to the store, take my money and buy bread, milk, sausages, a kilogram of pasta and sweets. I love sweets and tea.”

The police were taken aback and answered: “Yes, this money is not enough for what you want to buy.”

And the old woman, insidious, scoffs: “And you add yours. You are the government, you must take care of the people. So pay for the difference between what the government promised us and what we are actually given.”

The police did not answer the old woman. They got into the car and left, cursing to themselves this damn people, who are not a people at all, but only God’s punishment.

Ladybug

As a child, it was perhaps the only creature that I was told not to offend. So to speak, the principle of “do no harm” in action. A small red beetle with black dots on its back. He had to be carefully put on his finger and wait for him to fly away, repeating: “Ladybug, fly to the sky, bring your children bread.” The first sincere request, almost a prayer. I believed that in the clouds near the ladybug there really was a house where her family lives. This belief in a miracle remained for the rest of your life, despite the fact that everything around you turned out to be completely different from what you imagined it as a child. Only now, instead of the beetle that you released into the sky directly to God, you need to go to church together with everyone, light a candle and sing: “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and bestowing life in the tombs”, believing that this will help and something in our lives will change. For the better. And maybe the truth will change. And may God keep us from ourselves and our rash desires.

No more friends

Two people meet and one says to the other:

– Tell me, as each other, but honestly, what do you think about my work?

– To be honest, I’m not happy with him.

– You’re not joking, but in all seriousness you think so?

– Well, yes, you yourself asked to tell the truth.

I didn’t think you were such a bastard. I didn’t expect this from you.

So tell the truth after that.

They are no longer friends. But he could lie, a fool, to his friend and would live as before – not noticing each other.

Bigger than God

He is ill. Or, to be more precise, it had a parasite in it. Something deeply alien, foreign to him, nestled inside his body.

It entered him in a dream. How it happened, it was no longer important for him, but what was important was only WHAT was now mature and growing in him. Something that lives off his body, his thoughts, his life force.

He was often tormented by mood swings, when an unbearable blues was suddenly replaced by hysterical fun and fits of unbridled rage, which he could not, and did not want to control. What lived in him against his will was torn out, and he realized with horror that he was ready to die, if only to free himself from the presence of a stranger in himself.

And finally it happened. He gave birth. He gave birth to something that he had never seen in his life. One fine day, or rather, one terrible long dark night, his offspring crawled out of it. One only, but what!

Baby, the little one that he had nurtured under his heart for the last nine months: fed with his own blood; grew out of my mind. A monster, more beautiful than Frankenstein’s homunculus, born of Mary Shelley’s sick fantasy. A bizarre mixture of insect and plant.

But children are not chosen: those who then bury their parents. A child can only be proud of. And he’s proud. Now. Because father. By my son. A son worthy of his father. Son equal to God himself. Bigger than God.

The fight for longevity

Petrov was told to take care of his health. If he wants to live long. And keep a diary. Self-monitoring of blood pressure. Every evening at the same time he had to measure it, and write down the testimony. Here he sits, so serious, focused on his longevity, he measured the pressure and wants to write it down. But the pen does not write. He shakes her. Does not write. He knocks it on the table. Does not write. What he just does not do with a pen. Does not write. As if to harm him. So, the poor man, he got nervous that his apoplexy was enough. Here they are, the fruits of the struggle for longevity.

Future

What will the world be like tomorrow? I can definitely answer – the same as yesterday. And in a week? The same as today. And in a year? With a high probability, the world will remain the same as it is now. The only difference is that you may change something in your environment: buy a new phone; update your wardrobe; change jobs or move to live in another country. But all this will not fundamentally change your life. And the world you live in. The future will not come. The future we all dream of. And we dream of a future that will be fundamentally different from the present in which we live. A future where everything is possible: immortality; panacea for all diseases; general prosperity and the absence of poverty; gaining omnipotence.