Mission 777 Possible. Marina Sprouz

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      It seems the sun’s rays shine in my eyes, I awaken…

      Marianne had not fully woken up yet.. Before her mind’s eye appeared fire and pages.

      Among the flames, the Tablets appeared…

      And in gold, they opened to Marianne…

      Like petals, the pages unfolded, Piercing her consciousness with Holy Scripture.

      Marianne sees ancient writings, They burn before her eyes and within, Calling out in an unknown language, Runic symbols flickering.

      The spirit of Ancient Egypt is embedded here, Similar to the Phoenician language.

      The Tablets of Commandments? Torah?

      There is an answer.

      This Covenant calls out with fire in the soul.

      It is a core that nests within me, It reflects in my eyes with spirit, The inscriptions are engraved in gold, And in God’s language for all times.

      The Tablets fade slowly from the screen,

      Like a phone fading, disappearing.

      The last page dissolving,

      Showing me the bottom edge of a flaming…

      Tram

      Semivetrinsk. Marianna is at the tram stop. Soon, a small, red tram will arrive. She overhears a conversation between two women nearby.

      “Oh my God, did you see… see? It ran over a woman this morning!”

      “No, it was a man,”

      “But they said it was a woman.”

      “How could it be a woman if it was an old, blind man crossing the road…”

      “Under the tram, oh my goodness…”

      “What happened?” Marianna approached the women.

      “A tram ran over a man this morning. A woman was driving the tram, maybe she didn’t see… and it ran over him,” one of the women replied.

      Finally, the tram arrived and Marianna boarded.

      In the tram, Grishka quickly jumped in. He’s a man who’s been mentally ill since childhood. He wears a tilted ushanka on his head, a dirty satchel hanging behind him; whenever there’s a tram, he’s right there. He gets on every trip and stands next to the tram driver, or walks around with his crooked gait, legs like wheels, swaying from side to side.

      He’s like the guardian of the tram, or rather its master – the spirit of the tram. It was just his luck to look away when the tram hit someone, Grishka didn’t notice…

      Slaughter a goat

      Alya lived modestly, alone with her daughter. Marianna was friends with her. Alya was a good girl, originally from Kuban, somehow ending up in Ukraine. Marianna still remembered her late mother shouting:

      “Alya, go pull weeds!”

      Upon returning from school, the girl hurriedly shed her uniform and started pulling weeds in the yard. The dog barked from its small, dirty kennel, and Alya always told Marianna:

      “Come in, don’t be afraid, I’ll hold the dog.”

      Alya’s house was small, a shack painted blue on the outside, with cracks.

      Several years passed. Alya had a daughter but never married. Maybe karma played a part: her mother raised her alone, and now Alya was struggling alone with her daughter.

      Marianna visited less frequently now but loved Alya dearly. Alya was kind, smiling, cheerful, sturdy, with a large round face, almond-shaped eyes. When she laughed, she tossed her head and laughed loudly, with a snicker. Alya had a slight lisp, but it didn’t detract from her charm. Today, Marianna was visiting Alya.

      “Marianna! I wanted to tell you… next Sunday, I’ll be slaughtering a goat,” Alya said.

      “A goat?” Marianna asked.

      “Yes, a goat. Make sure you come, around evening, about eight o’clock.”

      “Why? What are we going to do?” Marianna inquired.

      “We’ll roast the meat, sit around. You must come! I have excellent wine.”

      “To be honest, I’ve never eaten goat meat, or nutria.”

      “Well, now you’ll try it! We’ll have some drinks, sit around…”

      “You drink tea, go ahead,” Alya nodded towards a greasy cup on the table.

      Marianna watched as the coals crackled in the stove and picked up the cup, bringing it to her lips.

      Sunday arrived. Marianna remembered that today was a significant event for Alya: she was slaughtering a goat. Alya seemed prepared and was expecting her. Oh well, time to go. Marianna began to dress.

      Walking along Alya’s broken street, with potholes and scattered charcoal residue, Marianna saw Alya’s house. She entered through the door. Inside, it was warm and smelled of wine. There were guests… Leshy sat near the stove, there was also Alya’s friend, and Alya herself.

      “Come in, sit down!” Alya greeted.

      There were traces of the banquet on the table: pieces of blackish-colored fried meat, pickles and glasses.

      I must be late, it’s in full swing here… (Marianne’s thoughts).

      Marianne silently sat down on a chair, assessed the situation: looked at Leshego, his eyes were burning green excited light. Alka was also in rage, either from drinking or from the accomplished slaughter of a goat.

      They must have fucked all over the place. I wonder if Alka fucked with Lesch …? (Marianne’s thoughts) – and Marianne looked intently at the cheerful Leshy. They were all in a state of, how to say it… Marianne saw it: in ecstasy, in an excited high.

      Alka poured wine into Marianne’s cup, and as if not noticing Marianne, continued to get high.

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