On the Wings of Hope : Prose

New Age Threshold. Part II

V.V.P. : - Pray tell me, Fyodor, how are you?

Fyodor : - The fate has stacked us with glue!

V.V.P. : -  Oh yes, I see … and that’s fine then! Shall we watch events once again?

Fyodor : - Or we can simply talk a lot … and share what’s going on and hot!

V.V.P. : - The spring is coming, snow’s no more …

Fyodor : - And once again my spirit soar!

V.V.P. : - How is the height? And what’s the speed? And is the sign in heavens lit?

Fyodor : - I have no knowledge of my height … Yet speed increases own grade …

V.V.P. : - I am so happy, poet-friend, that we for now are in same band!

Fyodor : - There is no reason now to flatter … to wake up sleepers - so much better.

V.V.P. :- Through verses telling of the things, and waving own hands like wings?

Fyodor :- Of wondrous times we are still ringing, and bird from skies to us still singing, with each her song we know bit more, so let us learn her hidden lore.

V.V.P. :- We are together - I am glad. Let’s once again pour the flood!

Fyodor :- Strange flood’s approaching worthy nations … enlightenment that’s and inspiration!

V.V.P. :- Heed our speech, my watcher, then. Life’s closing circle once again!

Fyodor  :- The altitude does differ, though. Away from fire shadows flow.

V.V.P. :- Without fire life is dark.

Fyodor :- So let’s give watcher at least spark. A river of times is flowing in spring for them to awaken in eye’s blink.

V.V.P. :- Awakened warriors we’ve got! What’s their numbers?

Fyodor :- Quite a lot?

V.V.P. :- I guess there could be more of them?

Fyodor :- Someone preferred to go in lam.

V.V.P. :- We’ll fight alongside ones, who’ve come.

Fyodor :- And make the viewer silent-stunned.

V.V.P. :- Let’s go, oh camera, go live! Ivan is going on the strife!

Fyodor :- Ivan in going in the sky just like a fighter on the fly …

V.V.P. :- He's fighting now with prejudice!

Fyodor :- But have no feathers, just us, guys.

V.V.P. :- And add the wings to absence list - but still he’s sky apologist.

Fyodor :- He’ll gain those in Thin World rather and bath himself then in the ether?

V.V.P. :- It’s hard to be like Angel, guy, your soul must be on the fly.

Fyodor :- True wings are granted by the God?

V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us the funny plot!

Camera together with Ivan (or maybe Ivan together with a camera?) rush away from film- making studio, winding on corridors for a long time, evading on its way from scurrying here and there employees, who are at the sight of camera (or maybe Ivan instead?) quite unambiguously smile and concede roads; then, finally, flies by at the opening door on a fresh air. It’s clearly visible how a camera then turns by a semicircle, speeds up and starts winding through capital’s streets, having risen by level of the third or fourth floor of houses in order to evade side effects of possible collisions with even less ambiguously smiling lower-walking passers-by. After about three minutes before televiewers a scene of recently build up shopping center opens up, and camera, having accurately entered in formed at opening of entrance doors armholes, finally freezes as though in indecision state.

A picture of truly epic scale reveals before the audience : entire hall, as far as the look suffices, is full of people making a din and scurrying-about here and there, on backs of which pairs of wings of white, black, pink, green, orange, gray, gray-brown-crimson-in-a-speck colors are fixed. Lots of girls do coquettishly try on themselves the next pair of wings, gracefully flaunting in front of mirrors; as if in revenge some young men try to pinch them from time to time for these very most newly acquired wings; here and there exclamations of type “And do these white ones fit me well?”, “And those pinkish I’ll present to my girlfriend!”, “In them you look more like a devil!”,”I welcome thee, Emo-Angel!”, “Gimme two!” and the like. The picture intrigues and bewitches one greatly.

Fyodor :- What are they doing there, my!

V.V.P. :- The wings of Angels do they buy!

Fyodor :- Like them they want to look at least, and have engaged in fair’s feast?

V.V.P. :- Everyone desired so when Ivan was on the go!

Fyodor :- They search for wings as if guru?

V.V.P. :- And cry aloud “Gimme two!”

Fyodor :- There are wings of color black?!

V.V.P. :- For those whose soul’s on wrong track.

Fyodor :- And even those of color pink …

V.V.P. :- It’s quite an honor, don’t you think?

Fyodor :- You’ve got a humor in the stock! And what is that?

V.V.P. :- It’s winged dog!

Fyodor :- And even horse these wings has gain?!

V.V.P. :- Pegasus flying in the rain!

Fyodor :- It’s sort of miracle as such …

V.V.P. :- I do agree, so don’t you touch!

Fyodor :- Ivan’s no doubt, lucky one!

V.V.P. :- And more skills are yet to come. He’s our curiosity with all verbosity!

Fyodor :- I am so happy for that man! Flying’s is part of Divine Plan.

V.V.P. :- Into the Garden we will go … the road is shining with new glow.

Fyodor :- Someone will enter, others not. The battle’s getting more hot.

V.V.P. :- I pity those still doing crime. Just like American marine …

Fyodor :- How USA is living, yes?

V.V.P. :- Ivan, show us this teaching mess!

As if having found second wings, let it even be somewhat artificial, in reality, Ivan in unity with a camera and his great desire leaves chock-full pavilion with Not-So-Angels and sharply soars up to the clouds. For a short instant the camera appears to be blinded by beams of a rising sun, and then the audience can behold for some time gentle curly-headed cloudlets-lambs and flying by flights of pigeons. Then all of a sudden the camera dives down, cutting clouds and having frightened off the next flock of totally not guilty of anything birds, and depressing in the monotone picture reveals before televiewers.

Wherever you look - everywhere there are dilapidated and almost depopulated cities with rickety houses and beaten-out glasses, through streets of which  winds keeps walking and rolling goodness know where from brought tumbleweed and other not taken out from fire chestnuts. From time to time through this or that street some figure rushes on, bearing a faint resemblance to human, yet by its habits and appearance more resembling Neanderthal men. Sometimes silent abuse comes off from Ivan’s side, along with advices to be cleaned from “this burial ground of stinking macaques” as quicker as possible. The picture, revealing before televiewers indeed partly reminds a cemetery, in which survived ones didn’t still manage to put things in order yet, or are already totally incapable of doing so independently. It all forms a feeling as though this continent was recently visited either by a huge natural disaster, or not less destructive by its consequences social act of terrorism. The picture depresses and leaves extremely burdensome impression on Soul.

Fyodor :- Who are these? Some sort of monkeys?

V.V.P. :- Sir, look closer, these are Yankees!