STOLE THE PRESIDENT

I’m driving a familiar district of Minsk city, but feel so anxious, like something is gonna go wrong, but what exactly – I can’t understand. A terrible secret that is haunting me. I pass a familiar intersection and notice that there is a mist and fog everywhere.

It turns out that I’m in a place familiar to me from my childhood: a small creek that meanders at the bottom of the ravine. Autumn with a withered grass. I’m getting to the edge of the ravine and starting an avalanche of earth and small stones, quickly go down to the river. There is nobody near.

Feeling seeks increases. I see a lying man beside the grass. Well-dressed, but his suit is soiled and torn. He looks helpless and afraid. This is the President. And I understand that he is afraid of me …

Failed to comprehend what’s going on, I examine myself and suddenly notice a gun in my left hand. I feel its weight … I recall a pneumatic gun we shot from this summer hike.
I understand that it’s not a real gun, trying to tell him this, but the fear in his eyes is genuine. And he infects me with his fear. Now I understand that something bad has happened. What if it’s serious?

Throwing the gun into the grass. The President still lying in a ridiculous position, trying to talk to me using Diplomatic inventing phrases. But I can’t move my tongue. He extends his hand. I hold out my palm to him. He is crying. And my tears came. I feel his warm and moist palm …

I am leaning over him close-close. And he says to me, as someone who is very, very dear, whispering in the ear: “Why all this? What do you want? “- And looks at me with eyes full of tears of despair. I can not hold back the tears, like being at the priest’s preach, start to mumble something like, “I miss the air, I can ‘t realize all that is inside me, I just like a prisoner …”

And I feel that we have a very-very frank conversation going. I feel that we understand each other even without words. The President, in thought, in all seriousness, again began to whisper things like “I can employ you in my administration department, you’ll get house, an appropriate status wife, etc…”

And then I understand that I’m losing connection. I imagined this picture of myself in a not mine future … And the president continues to speak … And I understand that this is just a bluff, he is playing for time, to make me listening to him.

Again there was a feeling of anxiety. Suddenly his son appeared, right between us. He kneels before lying father and begins to cry. The President begins to calm his son and asks him: “Tell me, dear, what would you have done with your friend-betrayer?” – And he casually glanced in my direction. Son frowned and cried out: “I would have killed him!”
I understand that this is not a joke, and even doubt whether it is a dream …

Invisible hands grabbed his son and pulled out of the river ravine that suddenly turns into a funnel, which usually remains from the shells. We hear the sound of gunfire. I understand that there is a war. The president does not look scared. Now I’m beginning to fear him. I do not see, but I feel that I was targeted by invisible weapon, but where and how much of them – is unclear.

The president has already spit on the old frankness. From somewhere above him leans an assistant and said: “We have noticed that the first journalist appeared there. We must get out quickly before it is too late. ”

They disappear. I was alone in the funnel. The smell of burning.

And suddenly I realized what I’ve done. I imagined my elderly parents, how disappointed would they be to learn that their son was a criminal. Imagined the faces of my friends and acquaintances, who secretly laughing at my actions, yet not dare to stand up to defend me …

I felt my hands behind my back, and they snap the handcuffs …

Then a journalist- reporter with a microphone jumps right into my funnel. The brown suede jacket. He stands half-turned and smiles maliciously. Start asking all sorts of provocative questions. His eyes are tricky. I looked like a well-known ideological commentator from TV.

I am silent and can not say anything. My tongue seems dumb.
And he is jumping in front of me, quips and rejoicing that I have caught. I feel anger, this anger toward him. Trying to hit him. In fact I have nothing to lose. But nothing happens!

Wake up … night … it turns out it was a dream …

Nemedved Written by:

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