On the Wings of Hope: Prose (Chosen)

Bookkeeping

In this most significant for him day Artem Sergeyevich was, as they say, out of sorts. As a matter of fact, his spirit, which has grown extremely tired from a fifty-years life, was a flyer of sorts, soaring over a silently lying in a bed body, performing such sorts of air pirouettes, which would surely give a birth to envy in hearts of even the best of human stuntmen and acrobats. The body in its turn didn't show even the slightest signs of what is usually considered to be the only one given to a human life. And how hard did the spirit of Artem Sergeyevich try to bring it back to life! He even tried both slaps in a face and uppercuts – yet no to avail.

"What, did I really died?" the spirit, floating over a body, was thinking to himself. "Silently, touching and warning in advance no one, died in a dream? And for what's sake was all that, I would like to know? And where should I, as a matter of fact, go on now?"

Whatever you may say, but hard is the realization that you are still alive and standing nearby an already breathless corpse, and not every Artem Sergeyevich can easily bear with it. Having performed some more dozens of somersaults and finally convinced himself, that he is indeed a little bit off himself – at least habitual to himself – the spirit of Artem Sergeyevich silently sat down on the edge of a bed near his last vessel and got lost in thoughts.

"What did I live for – and for whose sake did I die? What was the meaning of this, so suddenly ended life, if it turned out all of a sudden that it was not the only one? What is life and why do we need death, eventually? Where have I got and what do I do now?" these and a great number of similar to these questions soared in a consciousness of incorporeal Artem Sergeyevich, and the lack of clear answers to them forced his spirit to become more and more out of sorts.

He was distracted from these sad afterlife reflections by someone's soft coughing behind his back. From a surprise, the spirit of Artem Sergeyevich made yet another somersault, turning towards a source of the sound. Directly in front of him a beautifully looking – perhaps even to a degree of how Artem Sergeyevich thought about himself some thirty corporal years ago – a young man with snow-white wings was standing.

"Ghm!" perplexedly said Artem Sergeyevich.

"And kind spirit to you as well!" the young man said in reply.

"Who are you, actually, and what's your name? And why do you creep towards me to silently?"

"You can call me as the Guide of the Other World", the young winged man replied kindly. "I was sent here to help you to orient in these, so to say, unusual for your circumstances, and further to accompany you through all necessary instances."

"Indeed! Circumstances are truly unusual," agreed Artem Sergeyevich. "I have died, damn it! And I had thought that I would live forever! It's absolutely unusual!"

"In the highest, that is, in spiritual degree," smiled the Guide. "Not every day we are given a privilege do die, isn't it? Though some people began to consider that they have been dying since own birth... So, are you prepared to move further?"

"And where shall we go, I would like to know?" Artem Sergeyevich interrogatively raised his eyebrows. "Don't I need to say a final goodbye to my relatives? I, by the way, had two children and a wife in this former world. It's very unlikely that they will rejoice of hearing about my sudden death."

"I am afraid, Artem Sergeyevich, that they won't be able to see or hear you any longer. If only through dreams – but you will have to ask for a special permission in the Department of Dreams in that case, and at present times it's seldom given to, so to speak, temporarily and untimely resting in peace ones. Therefore, we should move forward together, there is no other way. Especially when control periods for passing through necessary social instances are strictly limited. So, are you ready to go with me?"