Heroes of last years

 Stories about children, stories about children, stories about children

Heroes of last years.

    I returned home, for a long time the forgotten streets, old, invariably grey houses, eternally dirty sidewalks and everywhere a growing grass. There was such sensation, that time here  has stopped also fifteen years which I was not, have passed in these places not noticed,  and   I have changed only.

The sun shone brightly, the warm breeze soft impulses played with wormwood tops, trying  to bend them to the earth. The breeze was still too young, and all struggle was limited to easy rocking of small stalks. The extreme spring flies happy and happy everywhere flied that the winter at last has come to an end and has come it is time awakenings , the world lived a new life and all around has been impregnated by love fluids. 

I have exhaled and have again inhaled a full breast fresh May air.

- YES, beauty what, -  I have thought.

Having thrown out aside smoked "jamb", I have started to feel, that "grass" to me have sold  that that is necessary. Here, it seems the whole eternity, I did not play about drugs, but today me something spodviglo on this obscene employment.

I have sat down in the car and have switched off music, the door has been opened also I enjoyed paints and nature sounds.

Gradually a fog obvolok my brain, and in a head plots from the far childhood when the carefree little boy I ran on these  twisting  paths began to emerge   .

  Me covered …. Paints became more sated, pleasant dryness has appeared in a mouth, the sensation of carefree happiness and a pacification  have run on my body invisible currents. I have plunged into the childhood ….

   Familiar places, got from pantries of my memory, memoirs and  bright images of last years. Here I at ten years' age, with a stick in a hand,  with friends to run along the river, freedom and recklessness in our heads.  We do not think that with us will be and that waits for us, this instant is important.  Us nine persons: Kinsur – the ringleader, is more senior us on one year, the Wild boar – the guy of uncertain age eternally sitting in colonies, and for the summer escaping from there, Kostja - my friend from one house, two brothers - "ouzels" Misha and Dima, for a year are more younger us  Bodune, Vova from the next house and the Hernia - the silent imperceptible guy, the brother of the Wild boar.

All of us together rush on  a boundless field, in the same May day as well as today, with that only a difference, what is it was twenty years ago.

 We run naperegonki to the breakage, the very first runs  Kinsur -  the funny and cheerful fellow, it had a tremendous talent of the story-teller and the inventor. If he started to tell histories  all of us went for a drive by the ground from a laughter, keeping for a stomach. Later, when we have grown up,  he before all has learnt to play  a guitar and very first of us has overslept with the girl, it always for us was an example. In many years it becomes the GAI officer, to marry before others  and at it to be born a daughter, we did not see years five …  

 Somewhere away from all the guy runs, I learn it on bald bashke is a Wild boar.  How much I remember it, it always went bald, as in colonies such rules. Them in a family was - three brothers but  one mother,  and here fathers at them brought up    were different. They lived  at the first entrance, very poorly and often  put on in my old clothes  which mum gave them. He never was able to read and stole everything, that only came across under a hand. From it we have much heard   baek about prison, but it  was trusovat and consequently never was in authority. We have ceased  to communicate with it in years fifteen, about its destiny I remember only that have again planted it for small theft …

 We continued to run to small river naperegonki, the grass was still short and  the earth sprung under our feet. Ahead of all brothers - "ouzels" Misha and Dima ran, they have overtaken Kinsura and tried to define the strongest among themselves. They always ran very quickly, and nobody could catch up with them. After four years them will plant for theft of a paint from a school warehouse,  in prison they  will stay for four years, and through three after clearing, in drunk fight, the senior will kill younger …

 Most slowly for us runs Bodune, he was born with defect of not developed hand, paternal is eternal kompleksoval. Its run  is clumsy because of the big weight. It  was not allocated among us when to it it was executed eighteen  years, it have planted for room theft, in prison it have lowered, that with it now I do not know …

 To me on a neck someone jumps, from a push I fall and I turn over, it appears Vovan, the dark-browed little boy from next devjatietazhki. In years seventeen we began to communicate, that  were in the different companies less  , then I have learnt, that he has been killed by knife blow in heart  the juvenile girlfriend who was jealous it.  

 I try to rise and there and then on a bum  I receive a strong kick, the rage fills  me, I see a back of the escaping offender  is Kostja. It, as usually, has thrown out the next dirty trick. Kostja tries to escape from me,  but he runs  not so quickly as thinks, and here, practically on the bank of the river, I catch up with it, strong blow between shovels I knock the offender  down. Having fallen down on the earth, I continue to kick  with his feet.

 In ten years we practically simultaneously uedim from our small town,  and it in twenty six years becomes the candidate of sciences and the general director of the large company. I witness on its wedding and the Godfather of the daughter... 

We  stop ashore, nobody dares to come the first into water, not looking on hot weather, water has not completely got warm yet. Our choice falls on the weakest, the Hernia which under loud shouts and laughter flies from coast to water appears it . From water to be shown its offended physiognomy, we six together look at  the wet  companion who gets out on coast and covers  all of us with a string of obscenities …

I already badly remember, when we have lost with its touch, but precisely I know, that years through five or  seven, this silent, thoughtful fellow, with eternally sad eyes, will die of a tuberculosis.

 Stories about children, stories about children, modern writers

Yours faithfully Alexey Belkov