Tag Archives: Story

the Ideal complaint

Even his corny front door, trimmed with the brown leatherette and brazen tacks, causes a vomiting reflex. The dim brazen door-plate mocks – ‘J.R. Invulnerable, Jr. Claims, appeals, statements, complaints. Fast Legal Assistance.’ Fast… Yes! I don’t demur. Today I’ll do this fast!

He is sitting at the huge oaken writing-table. The tiny man and the huge writing-table… The ugly wicked spider is waiting for his booty to ambush.

‘Do you need to compose a document or an answer to it?’ – his voice was soft like purring, and I’ve suppressed a vomiting reflex again.

‘I want to compose a complaint.’

‘Do you know my price?’

‘Yes.’

Yes, I know your price, you sick bastard… It’s tears, woe, broken dreams…

‘OK! Who is your object?’

‘You. I want to compose a complaint about you. The ideal complaint, without flaws. This complaint must be the best complaint that you can write!’

His look is turbid like moonshine. He hasn’t understood the task. Maybe my wording has been vague. I should use clearer terms.

‘Fast, scumbag! Write! You are fast, legal assistance aren’t you?’ – My S&W winks at him…

‘What should I write?’

‘Truth. Only truth. About your unscrupulousness, corruptibility… How you neglect morality for the sake of a few lousy coins every day… How you disowned yourself from our saintly oath… How your mendacious documents are destroying the basic principles of our fraternal society…’

He is writing… writing… writing. I wait.

‘What now?’

‘Gobble this!’ My S&W wishes him a good appetite.

He puts white sheets of paper into his mouth and starts to masticate. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand still…

I’m leaving this room with that tiny breathless body at that huge table. I didn’t touch him – not even a finger. The poison of his libels was enough.

The dribble of toxic, ink saliva runs down from his mouth to the expensive smuggled parquet…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

Little Red Riding Hood

Little Red Riding Hood (by Gloom82)

The awesome illustration by Gloom82… it was love at first sight. Thank you very much for your works, Anton!

– Oh, grandmother, what big pears you have!
– Stop! What is this? What the bullshit did you say?

(The wolf stares at me… Damn! I always fail with accurate quoting!)

– You should say: ‘Oh, grandmother, what big ears you have!’

(I nod. My red cap slides down to my nose. But I don’t surrender.)

– Oh, grandmother, what big wands you have!
– Are you jeering at me? Hands! What big hands you have!

(I keep silence and wait. The wolf is looking at my resume.)

– I cannot understand how you coped with your role in ‘The Green Hornet’! Who is your custodian? I should devastate him! I gauge your dramatic talent like the dramatic talent of a fruticose lichen!

– I didn’t have a big role. I was a lame ship’s boy on the ark ‘Young liches’… and a corpse on the skiff in the next scene…

– And what are you doing here?! Why do you think you can cope with this role?

– I believe in myself… My grandmother always said…

(The wolf is almost growling. The wolf is almost ready. The wolf is almost near me…)

– Stop! Stop wasting my time! Get out!

(The wolf is bending over me… and I’m wresting his Adam’s apple.)

– My grandmother always said: ‘For be it my mask, or be it your blood, red will be the last color that you’ll ever see…’

(OMG! I’m a hero! I didn’t make a mistake in this quote!!)

…I come out to the yard. This morning I see gnomes around the adjacent pavilion. ‘Snow White’. I throw away my red cap and put on a white apron.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

One little miser

One little miser lived on the Earth.

The center of his universe was an old shed. The miser was dragging to the shed all that came to his hands. Cracked sinks from the beach. Overdue cures from grandma’s aid kit. Crumpled letters for unknown addressees. Leaflets with the faces of intruders. And uncountable mixed boxes, bottles, jars and vials… Oh, Lord!

It was filling his life with sense, really!

He was gently stroking the subtle lace on a muddy Venetian mask. He was trying to read old, faded papers… (I should say – I don’t wait for something good from this story. I am nauseated by it… But I must finish!)

One little miser came out into the yard once. He had one very important matter which interested nobody except him. The sun was shining. The warm breeze was blowing… Suddenly his attention was seized by a little blue butterfly. Was it deliberate? No! A butterfly is a surprise always. What can be deliberate in a butterfly? But something stirred in the soul of our miser… He was watching the subtle and transparent butterfly that floated in the warm air. In that moment he realized that his life was dusty and dark like his shed. That he was only a miser. He was living stingily.

And then he threw into the rubbish bin all his riches. Cracked sinks without the noise of seas inside. Cures which could make you sick. Unsent letters and empty boxes.

Of course, you await a happy end now. Something like this… ‘He is waving with his blue wings and is flying with the flow of warm air…’ Blah-blah-blah… No! You should muffle it! I am not insane! He just became a lepidopterofilist. You can meet him at the flea market. You will notice from the crowd his butterfly net and his disgusting blue bow-tie…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

I was born

At that time I was a real philosopher…

I was levitating in the centre of my celestial sphere and was meditating head over heels. My reflections were stitching space like golden threads and were forming subtle intricate patterns. Nothing could disturb my thinking. Only stray stars with majestic manes were drifting by my windows and were illumining walls with a multitude of bright motes…

I was happy. I was absolutely and unconditionally happy. But my happiness was brief. Time had tugged me. I had stabbed space. I was born. I was crying powerlessly. I knew that it is a deception. I knew that it will kill all my recollections about my late happiness. It will turn all my beloved recollections into ruins. I was crying…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

a Portrait

‘Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar…’ I smiled at the portrait on the wall and threw a butt into the ashtray. It was 4.12 pm. Mr.Brainwash was late.

‘It is just the doldrums, my dear… Your artistic flair thrives; you just have to sacrifice some habitual pleasures for the sake of it.’

I would spit in his face but my good education forbids my spitting on portraits, and this ugly daub takes advantage of this fact unscrupulously! Small, funny antics can fill life with wonder…
I was daydreaming about this impudent portrait gliding down to the courtyard and didn’t hear the door creak open.

‘Good afternoon, my dear! Oh… Did you smoke in here? I told you! Don’t do it!’

Wow… He was angry. His halo became dirty-brown with yellow clots. It was really nasty. Mr.Brainwash was yelling, when suddenly I understood that this would be my last seance with him. ‘You have to sacrifice some habitual pleasures for the sake of it…’ To hell with that! I don’t want to give up my pleasures!

The first bullet was for Mr.Brainwash. The second bullet was for his talkative portrait… Sometimes a gun is just a gun!

Do you remember who said that?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

My special thanks to Cyan Ryan
for the grammar corrections and improvements on this essay!