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Category: Writing and Poetry
A man looked at him from the mirror, whose resemblance could be described as an adult, who, surprisingly, was at the development level of a twelve-year-old boy. Jo gave this epithet to himself for the simple reason that the clothes that he could find in the closet were small in size, and on his dystrophic, but still mature body, such a wardrobe looked extremely stupid. But feeling that his dog was... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Looking around - as if afraid that they were being overheard - Jo was about to tell his friend about his new neighbour, when suddenly Japhet raised his finger up. - Listen, mate, what now writing in papers! - he said loudly. With these words, apartment's owner pulled out the latest issue of The Oregonian from under the table. - Japh, you know... - Jo said hesitantly. Mister Thurlow wanted to say t... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
He met the next day as a different person. No, mister Thurlow's appearance has not undergone any changes at all - he was still a dystrophic man with consumptive breasts - but it was like a switch went off in his brain. Jo seemed to be attacked by euphoria, it seemed as if he was beaming with energy. At breakfast he wondered what to do with himself. Having outlined the plan by which he would act to... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Mister Thurlow couldn't help and laugh at his vision. The old women sitting on either side of him shuddered in unison. Jo heard the dissatisfied hiss of some tradeswoman - seems to be the one who sold fruit. But to him, tired from this day culturologist, somehow didn’t care what these uneducated broody thought about him. He didn’t try to restrain this sudden flow of fun that fell on him and laughe... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Jo was led into a small room with gray walls, where, apart from a table and two chairs, there was nothing else. The guard lightly pushed the prisoner in the back and, making sure that he obediently sat down on the chair closest to the exit, closing the door behind him. Gloomy thoughts hovered in Jo's mind. He had been serving his sentence in this prison for two whole years, and that was only one-n... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
And then the inspector seemed to have an epiphany. He walked over to the desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. There, among some maps and typewritten sheets there was a photograph, which Galbraith immediately grabbed in his hands. The yellowed black-and-white photo showed an incredibly skinny man with a disproportionately large, clean-shaven head, dressed in a straitjacket. He smiled a toothless ... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Galbraith, who was a little reassured by the doctor’s remark, asked what happened next. - And then the gynaecologist told Maurice that they would put the young lady in the ward for now and begin preparations for the operation to remove... Oh, forgot this medical term... But I remember that, according to Maurice, that man had never encountered anything like this before in his entire career. - A r... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
As the credits came to an end, Galbraith only now noticed that he was the only one still in the premises of the bootleg cinema. Stretching out to his full height, he stood up from the chair and, straightening his stiff muscles, left the dim room. The mustachioed German usher was still standing at the entrance. The inspector wanted to exchange a few words with him regarding what he had just seen. -... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
The weather was beautiful - as if there had been no rain last night. Only the almost dry puddles served as a reminder of this natural phenomenon. The view was complimented by children running along the sidewalks, ladies strolling, men walking importantly... Galbraith decided, as always, to keep himself busy looking at the signs - for some reason this gave him special pleasure. Maybe it was due to ... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Not knowing what to do, the inspector grabbed the last obvious opportunity for him. - Do you have close friends or classmates? - he turned to Delia. For some reason the girl was confused by this question. Her cheeks flushed red and she looked down. Galbraith was not a psychologist, but this reaction made him think that the girl was clearly in love with one of her schoolfellows. Finally she decided... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
They got out of the car, and Galbraith, straightening the hem of his jacket, looked around. After the urban look of the center, it was a little unusual to be in the suburbs - no tall buildings, no bright signs, no mess of cars, only rare one- and two-storey cottages surrounded by wooden fences, tall grass with trampled paths and luxurious green crowns of trees... This rural idyll was slightly spoi... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
Despite such a shock, he, being a policeman, felt that he needed to be responsible for his words to the senior rank, so, settling into the back seat, Galbraith said to the young guy behind the wheel "Rollo, fifty-five" and, trying to suppress the memory of his friend's frozen pale face, he threw his head back on the seat (much like the doppelgaenger he saw yesterday on the subway)... By the time t... » Continue Reading
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