Memoirs of the Unborn
First
story
Every day I
reevaluate my life: achievements, failures. I review events. I try to approach
life philosophically, analyze the past, predict the future. And everything
seems nothing special. Sometimes it feels insufficient.
What else to fill my days with? I pour myself another cup of coffee and go to the window. The wind rustles the poplar leaves. Pigeons perch on the wires. Not a single crow in sight!
A fly darts
across the windowpane. It's flawless. I wish I had wings like these!
I sip my
coffee, observing people on the street. Everyone is in a hurry to get
somewhere. None of them even suspects that I'm watching them.
There goes
the heavily sweating overweight man rushing to cross the road. The light will
turn red soon, and cars will traverse the pedestrian crossing. Hurry up,
chubby!
Not far
away, at the bus stop, a young woman sits with a stroller. The baby inside,
snoozing quietly. It's not easy for him to adapt to the new environment.
Luckily, mom is right there. But it won't always be like that. Enjoy the
moments, little one!
And here
comes the well-groomed gentleman in a hat. Though it saves his bald head from
the heat, his attire is entirely inappropriate for the weather. Black tweed
suit and monochrome polished shoes. The crimson tide tightly cinches his neck.
The blue shirt is buttoned up all the way. He is serious and focused. So, what
if it's 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit outside! "Burst, but maintain
style," as they say in Odessa. Good luck to you, sir in the hat!
And now a
young lad is racing at full speed on his new bicycle. He is well-prepared for
the ride, equipped as needed! Shiny helmet, elbow pads, and knee pads. Hand on
the horn, as if on a pulse! May your ride be successful, young lad!
So, hour
after hour passes. Faces, colors, and scents change. The clock hands inexorably
carry me into the past.
I think
about all these people, trying to predict what will happen to them after they
leave my field of view.
But they
don't think about me. They don't even know that I'm observing them. So, hour
after hour, I piece together an endless puzzle of human destinies that momentarily
intersect with mine.
And we have
one thing in common: we are strangers, and we are unlikely to ever meet. After
all, all of this is happening only in my mind. A mind that was never born. Just
like me.
29.08.2014, Original (Russian) version
