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Fonts by «ParaType»
Cover designer Arnold Vilpo
© Vlad Vas, 2018
© Arnold Vilpo, cover design, 2018
Life regularly brings us so much of unexpected, and the most of it is unpleasant, and sometimes really terrifying, taking away all our strength and breaking us. And then, when we appear in an extremely desperate situation and suppose that it just could not been worse, we have take much harder trials and tests. Only when having lost everything, we start understanding and being aware of the real values of life, of what is significant and what only lasts for a certain time period.
ISBN 978-5-4493-9480-4
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Breath in is a drop of life. Breath out is a particle of death.
There is nothing between them except for the numerious scenarios and options to choose, and that choice you have to make every moment.
Any result received is a kind of examination taken in the process of studying the subject, which is viewed through the one’s in the lens of consciousness, and a causal link between the created and the tidal wave of the situation.
Life suggest its own options for death, and the death confirms the choice once it is taken.
In loving memory of my grandmother Maria.
Introduction
Life regularly brings us so much of unexpected, and the most of it is unpleasant, and sometimes really terrifying, taking away all our strength and breaking us. And then, when we appear in an extremely desperate situation and suppose that it just could not been worse, we have take much harder trials and tests. Only when having lost everything, we start understanding and being aware of the real values of life, of what is significant and what only lasts for a certain time period.
This story, so sad, that it can be even called a tragic story, is about one ordinary young man that does not differ from us in any way. He could hardly be noticed in the crowd due to his extraordinary appearance. There are thousands, or even millions of people like him.
But if you only glimpsed on what’s happening inside his soul, his consciousness, then, for sure, you would not remain indifferent. He constantly faces the difficulties that cut ground from under his feet, the grave losses, but it is not because of usual human absent-mindedness, but because of the tests and trials waiting for him: the death of the dearest, unjust accusations, prison, loss of his belongings and many other backblows of fortune that can bring any person to insanity, despair and, perhaps, even to the unwise disposal of their physical body, life…
What have happened with him and how he will finally act — will agree with the situation or take everything under his control and will leave all the grief aside, or maybe he will become so faint, that suicide will turn out to be the only reply to all the questions of him?
This will be told in details and in order while you turn the pages of this book.
1. Bridge
Night, November, and the weather there corresponds to the season — small drops of never-ending rain fall from the canopy of heaven, the air temperature is still barely above zero, the roads are wet and slippery, a little bit yellow from the sadly street lights, and the bright colors of the mighty city glyph far away.
“What a high bridge…” said the young man, slightly raising his voice from excitement and amazement, stepping over the fence separating the sidewalk from the roadway with the car parked next to it.
Carelessly stepping into the puddles, paying no special attention to them, he approached the railing, blocking his path into the cold stream of water from the procellous river, about twenty-five meters below. A fall from such a height if doesn’t kill right away, it will surely make a cripple of someone, and this will make self-rescue very difficult, taking into account the temperature of the water and the stream current. Even for a professional swimmer athlete, this is an almost impossible test with the less than minimum chance of survival.
The man about whom the story began, belonged to a middle-aged people, whose face is hard to notice, to make out, even with a great difficulty, only his silhouette and dark short hair were provided. He was of medium height, athletic build. Raising the collar of a black short coat, the central figure of the story was squinting from the rain, caught in the wind, flying straight to his face and running down his cheeks. Although it did bring him some discomfort, it didn’t disturb or worry too much. Inside him, and in this whole situation, there was some mystery, a certain dolor, sadness, and a huge bunch of lean questions.
“And what a beautiful view opens from here… A wonderful place to part with the world and life…”
2. Acquaintance
But first, let’s get acquainted. Let me introduce myself: my name is Harry. For thirty-six years I have been living on this beautiful Mother Earth, and this is a constant soul searching, a searching for answers to daily questions that arise.
My life was not simple, sweet and facile, I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth, rather with a wooden one, and then on my forehead. But my life was very colorful, vibrant, rich, it repeatedly threw me into the very abyss, but still did not allow me to be bogged down to the end, as if mocking me or trying to teach something new: worldview, feelings, relationships, understanding, values, and etc. There were many ups and downs in it, happiness always wandered somewhere nearby, but very often avoided me, I could hardly manage to catch hold of it, like a kitten running after a sunbeam.
Perhaps it’s better to start everything from the very beginning and we will move consistently, I will try not to miss anything, and also to tell what exactly made me come here.
So, my family was ordinary, I would even say, that it was the average family. In general, everything was as it should be, at least so it seemed to me at that time. Mother drank regularly; I have no brothers and sisters. I never saw my father, and if I did, then, probably, at such a small age that I did not even remember.
Mom, on the contrary, I was humbled to see every single day. Very often I would like not to see her, at least drunk, but I was left without this happiness. As they say, we do not choose parents, but I still assume that they are chosen for us somewhere above even before our conception. It is determined with precision when and into which family we must get in order to complete the certain tasks assigned by the Lord to gain the power of the soul encased in the locked chest.
I think, they send us with definite goals, either to improve the family we fall into, or not to spoil yourself and with all the terrifying things around not to come apart, but, on the contrary, to become stronger, better and kinder. I think so now, but then nobody explained it to me, there were no such assistants, at least not in my locality, therefore it was very often difficult and painful, because I had to learn via trial and error.
I did not have childhood as such. I did not go for a walk to the park, to the sea, to the zoo with my parents; I did not visit attraction, of course. I did not even attend kindergarten. I played at home with empty bottles and with watchdog named Jack the Ripper — the best childhood friend. Our main game was to find a safe place, so that our mother’s drinking buddies wouldn’t beat us, and the search for something to eat. The place where we
