Как уже упоминал, работа над "Слишком стар для этого дерьма" приостановлена в пользу другой новеллы. Монохромный мир, Серый Горизонт или попросту Монолэнд. Это биографическая история "после-жизненных" приключений Оуэна. Главный герой попадает в загробный мир который далек от рая и от ада примерно на одно расстояние. Он попадает в чистилище. Приют всех не дотянувших до пекла или до сада, а так же рабочая сила. Покинув цветной мир, Оуэн вступает в Серый Горизонт и его новый куратор Диз (не самый опытный проводник) вводит его в курс дела, знакомит с законами и особенностями серого мира. Обслуживание миров построенно на трёх фракциях\корпорациях Серого Горизонта. Инженеры, предвестники и жнецы. Оборвав связь с близкими из цветного мира и по итогам ознакомления с каждой фракцией, Оуэну придётся принять решение чем он хочет заниматься ближайшую вечность. Задача каждой фракции своими методами поддерживать связь с цветным миром, ускорять или тормозить приток душ, т.к. ни рай ни ад не могу принимать, больше чем могут принимать.
Новелла пишется на английском и если не буду отставать от графика, (а я уже отстаю) будет издана в первой половине сентября. Вступление и первая глава:
For now I have no idea what and why am I writing, but I won’t be able to go to sleep before I hide my thoughts inside these words and lock them with dots.
Whenever I feel the presence of scythe wielding lady, I always think of whom I want to hear, if there is time for only one call or one message. If I can’t say a word, I could at least dial the number. I mean, that person should know, I wanted to hear him at the last moment of my… should he?
How such revelation will affect the person of choice? Lifetime egoism of mine, becomes a deathtime burden for a person, that I claim to call dear to me.
During the last couple of years this feeling came upon me quite often. More than it should for a man on my age, you can say. Probably when you aim to something in life and want to keep control over the flow of your life, death is something that doesn’t give a sh… about it, and that feeling crawls from the guts to your throat. Back when I was sixteen, lying on the operation table, waking up in the resuscitation unit with bags, pumping blood out of my lungs, I didn’t feel this fear. Now "The black bag of bones" is hiding behind every corner and when I turn around, nothing. That bitch in cloak, wants to keep me paranoid and scared of life.
Some two and a half hundred words and I feel better already. Heart slows down to a classy urban beat and I don’t feel like dying today. As every ordinary dreamer I just want my story to live a day more than I do. Or I want to disappear in a pompous way, leaving more tears on the fading footsteps of my life.
Today I once again think of death. Today I once again think of her. Today I start the story of all, that will lose it’s color in the monochrome world. My Grey Horizon — my love declaration.
1 Inhale Exhale
Terror and tranquility became whole. White and black merged into something that feels grey. The color has a significant part in my story. My death biography. Not often you hear a story of life that starts with the last chapter. So here we are: Death!
That wasn’t painful, how else can you get your last pleasure of life and a short summary. See the freeze frames of happy moments and interactive pictures of your friends with their foolish customs, just like those newspapers in Harry Potter movie.
Could I see all this, lying in agony with my guts next to me? Recall all the good things and go through them as a spectator once again. Thoughts started to overwhelm my head and heart was pumping faster with each breath. I decided to make the last call while I still can. Found my phone and dialed the number, rejected the call. Repeated this few more times. I was afraid I could survive… Ridiculous.
How this person will look at me, if it’s a false alert and we will meet later today or the day after or even in few month. What would I say?
- Phew, that was close back then. How’s life? Weather is shity again, eh?
Not me. So what should I do. Of course I should do what I want to. Every motivation poster or life trainer will tell you this. I know I am not an astronaut or a scuba diver. Point of no return for me is my last breath and not a second earlier. Walls absorb my words as I stand there with a phone in my hands, screaming at myself, trying to make the call. I had a quarrel with a piece of plastic I was grassping.
- By the way, where is it? I see the cell phone on the floor and have no memory of the moment I dropped it. Death is playing games with me or my brain. A philosopher might say that is the same thing, but I don’t feel like… and why do I say everything I think of. This agony is driving me insane. Same moment I understand that my room lost it’s color. Another joke of death. I keep saying things I think. What is this? It’s like I’ve lost the thought-speech filter.
That is where grammar turns the story of my life into the past tense. From now and further on «I am» — is «was». I was alive and I am dead.