Писательница-самоучка. Развиваю проект “Любовь в Одном слове” и пишу истории о любви, чувствах и эмоциях в сумасшедшем современном мире – на русском и английском. Вдохновляюсь людьми, а также – искусством, психологией, театром и йогой.
Country : UK
A dedicated self-taught writer. I am developing the project “Love in One Word”: connecting with people worldwide and reflecting aloud. I write fiction stories about love, feelings and emotions relevant to the crazy modern world; I write in Russian and English. I love art, theatre and yoga and used to perform in an amateur theatre companies in London.
Love is death.
This story is inspired by my ongoing project: “Love in One Word”. The project explores the state of being in love by people worldwide – of different cultures and age groups. Therefore, it’s universal and there are no borders nor limits in the expression of love. The project proves love doesn’t have the set definition – every perception is unique and every word holds a legend behind it. For instance, death.
Do not fear death, because it is a natural way to cease a human’s life, it is inevitable. You should, therefore, enjoy your existence. You must appreciate good things as well, as put up with bad terms. You should acknowledge life and take its every lesson in – it moves you somewhere, it shows you something and it shapes you. What you must fear is the apathy. The careless nonchalance. Because the most terrible feeling is when you feel nothing – when all your senses turn numb and what has left is only darkness and obscurity. That’s when you cease to exist and death shrouds you over.
There are many forms of love in the advanced world. We create our own way without prejudices. We adjust our feelings to match the fast-pacing flow of a big city. To meet an upcoming trend of the developed society. I ask myself what does it really take to love someone in 2018? I go beyond the superficial image of a poker face and see despair. The final stage of which could be death.
This story is devoted to urban citizens with busy lives. We don’t search for love – we chose to be single. We are torn between past and future and don’t know what to do here and now – in the present. We are in the fear of missing out and yet, by constantly chasing that mysterious ‘best of the best’, we miss out on a meaningful connection. We live to the fullest. In fact, we are slowly dying.
Love is death.
Here I am – at another junction, choosing a new destination. Venturing without a purpose, leaving no trace behind. I am at the conjunction of worlds and times. The clatter of wheels and a drowsy voice of a rail announcer are the only noises of the early morning on the platform 5 in west of London. There is no one else taking a train from here. No one is willing to go to the Unknown Destination today. But me. I feel better this way. The loneliness is calming, reassuring, it comforts me. Emptiness is where I belong. I’m on the crossroads, but I rest assured I am taking the right direction. First sun rays start to cleave through the foggy air, their brightness is bothering. I put my sunglasses on and feel protected now.
“Hi, Miss. Are you waiting for a train to the Unknown Destination?” a soft boyish voice enquires.
I glance at a member of staff and thoroughly study him. I feel regret: how much did he travel in his life? Day in day out he sends off hundreds of passengers from the station. But he always stays here and will remain at the exact same place for a god knows how many years. He is a good worker: he is happy to get up at 4am every morning and talk to people, directing them to their route. He is satisfied with his life, at least he thinks so. He is still young and full of energy and his girlfriend is in love with him. He adores a smell of her body and warmth of her lips. He anticipates to propose soon and who knows, maybe with the help of his granddad’s petty heritage he would build a house for a new-born family. His memories are precious. He thinks his future is set.
“Harry”, he blinks and tries to spin me around awkwardly.
I don’t resist, I want him to remember this first and last encounter. I am happy I am departing – I don’t want to witness his dreams crash.
He beams as to reassure I will reach my destination on time.
I think it would be good to smile back. And so I smirk.
“It will not arrive until 6:30am, Miss. There is still time for a cup of a hot coffee. That dress on you is a way to light for such a chilly day”.
“I drink coffee to start my heart beating”, I snap.
“Oh, we definitely don’t want it to stop”, a boy whistles and promptly dissolves in the mist.
He doesn’t know it had stopped a while ago. I have been dead since the day I saw Adam last. Me and Adam existed in a different part of the earth – surrounded by green fields, blue sky and valuable traditions. We knew our roots. I am not ready to jump into those memories – not yet.
I take my iPhone out and white letters on the black screen inform: “2018”. A smart phone which knows anything and keeps track of my messed up life. I unmute it and annoying sounds “ding, ding, dong” explode into a dozen messages reminding me of today, of where I am and what I am. There is no present for me, however. I do not exist in it – I am nowhere to be seen. There was the past and there will be future. Absence – is my presence.
I switch my phone off – I don’t want to be distracted from myself. I am travelling from the west to the east – where it all had begun. I want to get back to the origin of my loss. To recover the death of my love. I have a decision to make…
Harry returns with a cup of coffee, “Here, stay warm. Good luck, Eva”.
I embark on a passing iron machine quickly. I don’t like trains: the weight, clumsiness and deafening grumbling. When they are slow – they barely move, when speedy – they ignore everything on their way. They automatically rush into nowhere with the hot engines and icy carriages. The vulgar humming signal informs the train is ready to move. Beep! And off we go – I am escaping London.
“Wait, how did he know my name?”
It’s deadly quiet in a carriage, I chose a seat by the window – it will be a long journey. I suppose it should take a bit longer to get to the Unknown Destination. My Starbucks drink is tasteless, but strong – caffeine helps my mind to get sober. I’d rather not – I can’t bare the pain of reality.
This reminds me of several great coffee shops I frequented in London. I love their smell and tempo and cool people popping in for a brief break. I remember how on one of those days standing at the espresso bar I glanced upon a barista and queueing crowd. Frankly, I stared to observe their moves and all I could see was the poker faces with hollow eyes. The city of joy, oblivion, power and chances gulped them. The most vibrant place deceased. A sombre city of lonely people. How did I never notice this before, I thought? It swallowed me as well. An immigrant venturing through lands forgetting what it is like to be true. I took a sip of a well-roasted coffee and abandoned my musings – I had to run to organize a conference and left my philosophies for later.
“Damn, am I talking to myself–?”
“Yes, you are”.
I still keep talking to myself – the other self. I hope there is another face who is due to be revealed when circumstances change. Perhaps, I am creating an observer and enabling her to look upon me from aside and read between the lines. Whom to I could discretely convey my purpose of being.