Mission 777 Possible. Marina Sprouz

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      At home, I saw two of our relatives from the neighboring village, everyone sitting around the table. Grandma informed me of my mother’s death, Grandpa couldn’t say anything, just wheezed and sobbed, having drunk Corvalol. Of course, I didn’t fully realize it at first, and I didn’t feel the pain right away; there was Mom, and now no Mom, it couldn’t be true. And I cried a lot in the bathroom, my eyes turned into two swollen bags. I remember Mom… she was like an angel, with extraordinary eyes. Then they said she was killed. One memory remains in my mind: I was sitting next to Mom when she was still alive, and my soul was incredibly warm, perhaps this feeling a fetus feels in the womb. Her eyes were especially memorable, large unusual upper eyelids, her face reminded me of an angel and Leonardo da Vinci’s painting “Head of an Angel,” and her hands were very delicate. Like some virgin maiden hides Leonardo’s painting, and in the picture – my mom, my mommy:

      You’re tender, like something fragile and delicate,

      What are you like… as if something is in a daze.

      Vulnerable, like a virgin flower,

      Grown-up and spring stem.

      You look like a girl from a painting:

      Semi-transparent face and canopies;

      The mouth is slightly open sensually,

      As if getting ready for a trip;

      And a tired look aimed,

      Olive eyes – without falsehood.

      Vulnerable, invisible, barefoot,

      She came down from the picture – you, heavenly – such…

      I will look at the lips and eyes,

      As if they can tell you,

      About the secret of the eternal tender maiden;

      And listen to the first tunes,

      When the morning dew rings…

      The funeral of my mother was terrible. Grandpa no longer cried but wheezed, and the nurse injected him with injections right through his clothes. Grandma’s face was without tears, and Marianna’s eyes swelled and puffed up from crying. We said our last words of farewell. A stranger woman standing by the grave threw a handful of dirt over Marianna’s collar and said, “So she wouldn’t be afraid of the dead.”

      Orphan

      So, Marianna became an orphan.

      Why is it that often the main character is necessarily an orphan, or becomes one? Let’s remember: Harry Potter, poor Cinderella without a mother, the heroine of the tale “12 Months”. But like all heroes, Marianna became an orphan too.

      Amina’s Abilities

      Train. Ukraine.

      Marianna and her sister Amina sit on the wooden benches of the train, the train quietly clatters along. Amina twirls a matchbox in her hand. She places it on the bench, moves her hand, and the box slides away.

      “Wow! Show me again,” and she places an iron can on the bench.

      Amina flashes her eyes and stares intently at the can. The can moves forward, shifts.

      “Let me try.”

      Marianna tries to move the can – no luck.

      Intellectual

      I knew I would apply to medical school, but which faculty I would choose was decided by a chance encounter. It happened in the metro. My grandmother Claudia and I were on our way to submit documents to the Kharkiv Medical Institute; we were completely unfamiliar with the city. The metro train hummed, and my gaze fell on a striking man. He stood opposite, leaning slightly, with his arm on the train door. Perhaps it was his hat that caught my attention: he wore a black hat and a strict black coat, and his narrow eyes revealed a penetrating intellect and focus.

      “Intellectual,” I thought to myself, “probably a professor.” When we exited the train, he was next to us and also getting off. When my grandmother felt dizzy at the metro escalator, the intellectual kindly supported her elbow.

      “Oh, thank you so much!” my grandmother exclaimed.

      “Excuse me, could you tell us how to get to the medical institute?” she dared to ask the stranger.

      He explained in detail: we needed to exit, pass through the square, and in general, head in that direction.

      “And what’s your purpose going there? By the way, I work there,” the stranger said.

      “Yes, I’m taking my granddaughter to apply; she has no parents, and she got emotional…”

      “And which faculty?” he inquired.

      “I don’t know,” I replied, “maybe sanitary and hygienic.”

      “Apply to pediatrics, it’s a good faculty.”

      We thanked him and bid farewell to the stranger.

      Decision made! Only pediatrics!

      Exams

      It was a significant day, the day of my entrance exam to the institute. I had already grown fond of this huge city to me, the giant – Kharkiv. Today I got up early, quickly got to the institute, and just by the door, I realized I forgot my documents.

      “Where СКАЧАТЬ