Mission 777 Possible. Marina Sprouz

Чтение книги онлайн.

      The conversation began. Questions poured in: where are you from, who are you. Maybe a bot, not a person? In the photo – a smiling young man resembling an Arab. The Messenger chat dragged on, I no longer want to reply, his green dot lights up again on Facebook. If he’s online, maybe he’s a real person…

      I found myself trapped. I felt it as soon as I replied to him… on Facebook. I grope the space with my hands, invisible; I’m locked in, my consciousness is locked, where am I?

      “Where am I? I’m lost there,

      Where I used to be;

      At first, I sailed everything in waves,

      Now I search for myself – through times.

      Walked to unexplored places,

      Dangerous, difficult, on paths.

      Where am I? Tell me: Where am I?

      The wind blows somewhere there…

      And at night – darkness,

      I’m lost, where – am I?

      I won’t find myself,

      Without help, and master

      Searching for myself – everything is difficult,

      But where – am I? I may find myself…

      And won’t be lured by its lies,

      Around me – no one deliberately.”

      Evening. I’m at the computer desk. Facebook. The page of the dark face that lured me into a trap. Darkness. People emerge from the darkness, dressed in black. They are not alone, they keep coming, one after another, in a crowd. Men in black are walking, and I see them exiting and disappearing, showing me their backs. They march as if heading into battle.

      Icon

      Marianna knew her colleague, Afrosinya, was a devout believer; she even wore a headscarf to work. She also knew Afrosinya often visited monasteries.

      “Bring me a small icon from the monastery,” Marianna said, approaching Afrosinya.

      “Alright, which one do you want?”

      “Any one, a small one.”

      Two weeks passed…

      Afrosinya approached Marianna.

      “I brought it, here,” she said.

      “Thank you,” Marianna replied as Afrosinya handed her a small square wrapped in cellophane.

      “It’s the Kazan Icon,” Afrosinya clarified.

      Marianna pressed the icon of the Virgin Mary with the child to herself and walked down the corridor.

      In the evening, Marianna hung the icon above her bed. The icon hung there until one moment when something unusual appeared from it.

      Marianna saw it – a light, a transparent light flowing gently from the icon.

      “Is this light for me? For me? Then everything will be fine.”

      Object in a Dream

      A huge purple contraption was in front of me. I observed it from the side. It was a flying saucer, like the ones I had seen in pictures before. There was no fear, as it was a dream. Light streamed and blew out from the purple contraption like a fan. My consciousness was right there beside it.

      777

      On July 17, 2014, in eastern Ukraine, a Boeing 777 crashed – Marianna reads in the news updates. It’s so close… Donetsk region… people died…

      The numbers 777 will continue to appear in Marianna’s life, but she didn’t know it yet…

      The Rider on the White Horse

      Marianna walks along a path resembling a forest road. Around her, dense forest, with tall trees towering over Marianna. The forest seems gloomy. She steps lightly on the ground. There’s no one else on the path. It’s as if she’s waiting for someone and walking towards them. He appears majestically, magnificently: the rider on the white horse, her prince. Marianna lifts her eyes – their gazes meet. This semi-dream is not the first time Marianna has seen this. What happens next? She was destined to meet him in the dark forest.

      It’s gonna take a lot of pain

      Marianna brought her grandmother Klavdiya to the hospital in their small town. All the regional hospitals had refused treatment; cancer at this stage was untreatable.

      Grandmother stepped out of the car, moving with difficulty. She repeated like a mantra, “Before death, one must suffer. You must suffer before you die.” Marianna looked at the old woman with pain in her eyes. She didn’t fully understand these words. Grandmother endured excruciating pain from kidney cancer, and no ordinary painkillers helped. When Marianna asked for something stronger, the doctor refused, citing unclear reasons. Grandmother died in agony. To comfort herself, they gave her drips and injections. From the pain, grandmother would rise and cry out, “Give me your hand!” Then she would lie back on the pillow, only to rise again. When grandmother died in the hospital room, Marianna stood bewildered beside her.

      “What am I supposed to do now?” she wondered aloud.

      “Bury her, Marianna! Bury her!” a confident voice nearby replied. It was an elderly woman from the patients’ ward, sitting on a bed in a headscarf, clearly experienced and knowing what to do.

      Several years passed. One thought persisted and returned to Marianna: “Why must we suffer? It’s necessary for there to be pain so that a person curses life and the fact they were born into this world. Who СКАЧАТЬ