Anna Solnova

Страна: Украина

Если говорить о моей любви к литературе, то можно считать подтверждением то, что еще в шесть лет я начала стремительно терять зрение, когда долго и при плохом освещении зачитывалась сказками братьев Гримм. И оно того стоило. Если приехать в гости к моим родителям и открыть несколько тумбочек, можно найти множество исписанных блокнотов, в которых я вносила все то, что хочу, чтобы со мной произошло. Обычно это были сказки, в которых главной героиней была я и множество моих фантастических друзей. Мои истории начались еще тогда, и вот, наконец, воплотились в полноценном произведении. Надеюсь, с моим главным героем захотят подружиться много людей, как это когда-то сделала я.


Country: Ukraine

If we talk about my love for literature, then I can confirm this by the fact that at the age of six I began to lose my sight rapidly from all that continuous reading of Grimms’ fairy tales under the dim light. And it was worth it. If you come visit my parents and open a few drawers, you will find a lot of my old notebooks, in which I wrote down everything that I wanted to happen to me. Usually, these were fairy tales, where many of my fantastic friends and I were the main characters. My stories began back then, and now, finally, they have been embodied into a full-fledged work. I hope that many people will want to make friends with my main character, just as I once did.


Перевод рассказа “Заячья гора”

CHAPTER 7

Theo left the maze without looking back. He didn’t want to think about all those bees that, once seduced by the wicked flowers, stayed inside forever. This reminded him of home, the same phony labyrinth which people didn’t seek to get out of.
Out of the blue, tears of disappointment poured down his sharp face, as if he saw his city from the other side. All that striving towards excellence now looked like a weakness in the boy’s eyes. It was so ingrained that no one could really see it. Neither the mother, who always reproached him for being imperfect, nor the grandmother, who nevertheless turned off the lights. Let alone the Mentor, a role model, who without a second thought, had sent him away! Or maybe He, the one for whom everyone was waiting year by year, would finally appear on the old balcony and quench their stupid thirst for attention?
All the grievances spilled out into the flow of steady tears. If only the people he knew saw him now, they would definitely say that the perfect boys don’t cry. Theo smirked and realized that he was tired of everything that had happened to him. He didn’t want to take out the compass and see where it would lead next. All he wanted was to take some rest.


The boy walked blindly further and further. He passed the hills, leaving his house, the caravan of pheasants, the Hunter, and the cursed maze far behind.
A warm autumn wind was blowing through the light strands of his hair, sneaking under his soiled shirt and getting lost in the tall grass.
Theo was losing his strength, so he thought that it was time to find a place to spend the night. The idea of sleeping again in a hollow of a teemed with insects tree didn’t appeal to him, and he was unlikely to build a nest as good as the pheasants’. So, it was time to take out the compass again and get on another strange adventure.
Theo took out the compass, mentally conjuring it to simply show a place where the boy could spend the night. To his great surprise, a silhouette of a train began to appear on the dial, and the arrow trembled to the right. Theo followed it, wondering where the train was going. Previously, the boy had seen such only in the pictures, and he was eager to see its real size. As Theo was making his way through the dense grass, a massive object began to appear on the horizon. Surprised, the boy checked the dial, but the picture on it became only more distinct, confirming that Theo was moving in the right direction. He came closer and, indeed, it turned out to be a train, but it wasn’t long as the boy had imagined: it was just a carriage all alone.
The carriage was located in a thicket of grass, and the rails, which it stood on, stretched out a few meters down the railroad and then disappeared somewhere into the ground. The carriage was pale burgundy, and the paint on it had cracked and crumbled in some places. It was hard to guess how old it was, so solitary and rusting.
Theo came up to the entrance, stood onto one of the steps, and pushed the door. It didn’t burst open immediately, but then it unlocked with a creak. An aroma of pastries was blowing in the air, and the first thing the boy noticed was a plate with pies standing on the floor. Only now Theo realized how hungry he was and that the last thing he had eaten was the dry grains, which the pheasants had shared with him.
He instantly jumped over the stairs, entered the room and indiscriminately chowed the food down. He tore the pies with his hands and shoveled them into his mouth: raspberry jam spread all over his lips and fingers. The taste was incomparable and very familiar at the same time. Having had enough, he noticed that the pies were similar in shape to hares’ heads. Theo froze: it was really odd because the shape of the pies was the same as his grandmother used to bake. He put together two torn pieces of dough, ear to ear, and only then looked around.
There were no typical seats, a pull-out table, or luggage racks in the carriage. Instead, there was a made-up bed with his beloved blanket. On a low nightstand was a lamp, which reminded him of the last night spent at home when a bulb in the lamp burned out. Now, as if nothing had happened, it was spreading around calm, warm light. The same wallpapers were glued to the walls, and there was an ink train silhouette about a meter above the bed, which he had once drawn out of boredom.
Theo couldn’t understand what was happening. He clearly knew that he was not at home, but everything around seemed to be real: he could walk up and touch every object. And that’s exactly what he did. He dropped the patty. And then he began to turn the whole room upside down; first, timidly, and then, like a madman. He tried to find at least some difference, a proof that it was just a trick his tormented imagination was playing on him. In a desperate impulse he pulled up the curtain, hoping to see in front of him a meadow where the carriage stood. But outside the window was an awfully familiar landscape: a playground in the yard, his old bicycle, and the road which he walked down to school every day. Theo let out an unintentional cry. His head began spinning, and he dumbfoundedly drew the curtain back, tearing the edges off. For a moment he stood still until he found the strength to jump out of the train to compare the landscape he saw through the window with what was really happening outside.
The tall grass was rustling quietly preparing for the night to fall: the crickets began to swarm in it, echoing with each other.

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