что нибудь
... The yellow dim light of the room brought a lamp, illuminating the Desk with the keyboard in the deepening night.
Found the website and started the show the voice stream, so the results of the competition. Not so long ago sent to this contest for a short story, in hope to take any prize place among novice writers.
— By results of jury voting in the first place of our chart came out Victoria Paradise, with its new conception of the book — "the orgasm", written in the genre of the female detective. Follow her on instagram, do repost, and the first ten people will receive a hot copy of the book autographed by the author. And now, dear listeners, the broadcast is triggered by recording the first two just written chapters of this novel...
Okay, let's hear what it is so good, this book and author, I was a little sad that my work is unremarkable.
Put on the headphones, switching the main audio from the speakers on them.
Missed the start line, and the entry yet tinkered with the sound, and then the story captured me and I forgot everything.
The author wrote bright and juicy, nice easy style, relaxed there, there by creating expressive images of the characters, a twisted description of the action was pouring fresh river from the headphones.
Living language she, Victoria, was again and again described the explicit scenes, not hesitating, not being afraid to slip into vulgarity, and, nevertheless, avoiding sharp corners is too much of naturalism.
It was magical and fascinating, it was not clear how she reached to this depth and convexity of the characters of a detective, immersing readers (listeners) in the jungle of all relationships.
It is completely without the annoying flashbacks, no long remarks, so now it is fashionable adopted in the literary environment.
It's cool, just very cool.
Never captured written text, almost no one.
That was... that was very sad for me.
After all, can not at all desire to create such an ingenious thing.
I began to envy black envy.
The story itself was not new, and is almost beaten in every way, the usual female nonsense, but what is the presentation of the material was incredible, forcing to forget about over time.
He stretched with pleasure, flexing seacsea body to the crunch.
The speaker is a man, as I felt, and he was fascinated by the process, expressing emotions, reading chapters
The writer skillfully filed the description of the scenery, play on words and mental images, shone with subtle humour and mind in the twists and turns of the plot, noticing the fine details and nuances in the dynamics of the characters, especially in its dialogues.
She did it as if she was a witness present in the scene.
The recording heads over there said goodbye and said that the next day will be definitely a sequel, and unfortunately I took off the headphones.
The window is already dawn, the dusk faded to daytime hours.
Gotta eat a Breakfast, are you hungry, I wanted to eat.
But to the tea house, there was nothing and the fridge is completely empty, but it was not planned to fill it to capacity.
I have quite a bit of food, because two days to leave.
But you should eat these days as it is necessary, and Mats to get something made of meat. After the crisis at the hospital where I was pumped out by a cardiologist, perhaps making artificial respiration, was taken by ambulance to the hospital.
There is almost a day spent in intensive care under different IVS.
Then released, rather say, I firmly insisted on his liberation from the sterile walls of the hospital, signing the papers on the understanding of the process of removing any responsibility from doctors.
And here again, complete freedom of action.
When I heard the verdict of the cardiologist, to live a little, something changed in me, I don't know, I wanted to leave something behind.
And at that time took to writing texts.
First small and clumsy. Then became involved, along with running at night.
Running helped not to think, and to think about something important to me, for all the living. Came home and hastily recorded before the work of thought in the letters. The letter was in the files.
I had to go to the nearest supermarket for groceries.
The store was completely filled with people, buy different things for the new year.
Around the trading hall scurried concerned citizens, purchasing supplies complete trucks in their bottomless storage to the festivities.
Someone shouted loudly and joyfully over the hall — "happy new year" — somehow familiar, and swept nimble zip around, quickly hiding in the crowd buyers.
From the speakers blasting the whole store with the melody sounded bored song girls Shooter:
"... And the fireworks soar into the sky, approaching us a fabulous holiday."
Yeah, so in a fairy tale who tale, and who from the hole of the carrot.
After the entrance once housed trays of fruit.
And, too, must have thought at least a little in the fridge, pulling out an empty shopping cart from the stack.
Wow — and the mandarins are, and not as expensive, tore off a couple of bags, pastrevys uncomfortable cart for a set of oranges in a bag.
Unremarkable woman, a little ahead of me, while pondering how and where to recruit, became close to me, too quickly to choose fruit that its taste was better.
— I will not say hard whether mandarins?— asked an elderly woman approached the ranks.
— No, at the time, and, forgetting where I was, was something to speak aloud, in spite of the buyers.
"The orange balls fresh–colored tangerines lying full in a crystal vase gave off a festive mood..."
Quoting under the impression night vigil a few lines from a detective story.
— What is novel?— they heard under the ear of the young female voice.
— What?... Excuse me?
— And you my words from the new novel reproduced... explained next choose the tangerine woman, and the voice did not match her appearance colorless and inconspicuous clothes consisting of a black jacket similar to work jacket, thick tights and dark training cap, stretched before the eye, from under which did everything short flowing locks of blonde hair.
— Aah, this is... awkwardly repeated,— from the novel, a new work.
Ah Yes, now wait a minute, you are the same one...
Yes, probably the same.
"I see," and I was more looking at a random interviewee, in a random shop.
It became clear, why not pay attention to it, too ordinary and grey mouse. She suddenly raised her pale tired face from a pack of tangerines with a kind of childlike, somehow guilty at the same time mockingly looked at me grey bloodshot eyes.
Yes, eyes; they had something so secret knowledge and with a certain sadness, his eyes stood out from the General appearance, is a young and quite pretty girl, outlined with bluish circles, usually occurring from crying or from something unhealthy. (who knows, maybe kids, a job, a smashing husband)
Probably more from exhaustion and from lack of sleep at night, but not ridiculous clothes gave her youth.
She turned and went on, searching among the products.
In the bewilderment remained standing, not knowing what to do.
I could not believe my ears and eyes that met the genius in reality.
How so? why?— because it is the most common, walks among us, and something — something still not understood apparently in our lives.
She went far from me, choosing to at home from vegetables.
He followed her, stood next.
— And what will be the novel— repeated to her the same question.
I do not know. What happens, finally she chose a few fresh cucumbers, probably on salads Olivier, carelessly throwing them in the trash.
I don't like. And what will be the end, how to end the isolation?
I do not know. I think to do the kind of "Dorian gray". If you've read it, and you like the idea?
Yeah it sucks, quite suitable for tabloid fiction: the villains will be punished, and justice will prevail, as always. By the way, also I write sometimes. Recently started.
Boasted out of place, and then the tangerines she had bright clumps fell apart in the basket. She was confused, so I awkward.
— Do not worry, let me help.
— I congratulate you, then we are colleagues.
— Yeah, but not colleagues and competitors. I envy you — you write better. But not for long, tried to bite her harder.
From the speakers all sounded, or it was incorporated a second time in a row, a long song with a chorus about the story and the new year and what they are together:
"... We are next to a noisy table, today we are together, we are together, together, together..."
With whom?... with me or something, and what am I going to be happy until blue in the face?!
Will they be with me when the time comes, and at least morally.
Fuck it all, all the shit on you and everyone, just so the stupid songs they sing about "together".
I kept the basket, and Victoria was collected the scattered tangerines.
And why say that? You evil, person.
— There will be evil, if you soon must die.
She whispered very quietly, barely audible, squeezing his hand one last tangerine:
— I want to be in your place...
And how much is left,— and loudly asked, interested me.
— You live?
How to get: maybe a week, maybe two.
— It is a pity that we have not met before. I would write a novel about you .. and want to put the novel story, and the ending of another up? Want, it is possible to write your prototype?
— Why do you need? Th, inspiration is not enough?
— Yes, not enough! — she replied sharply, taking my game to "good and bad". Tightly tied bag of tangerines, looked at me, again confused, and apologetically added:
So, can I?
— And before you wrote? Is also spying on the heroes?
— No, worked out, from the head climbed. And now is not, and I don't know what to say in justification of her readers, she explained, finally stushevalas, and cringed like a whipped puppy husband rowdy.
Yes, I jumped again at the girl, turned against the entire female gender?! Why? and:
— Sorry, I really don't know how to help you, there's no time, leave in two days — far and forever.
She cringed even more.
Here I do not know how to behave with women, and do not learn.
Sorry, how to help — speak?
Whatever happened next, and our history better than death on a sandy beach. I was sweating from the heat of air conditioners, cold sweat oozing vengeance on the back. She was silent. Something thinking.
— Went on the road talk— offered it to her.
And this? Tangerines. Cucumbers.
— Yes throw. Then buy if that.
Setting an example, put the basket on the floor, and she too.
Passing through the fan exit, turned around and looked at them.
They also stray were.
These two lonely basket, among all the Christmas decorations.
As we are: an unexpected companion, her counterpart.