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Direct letter Two (2)

Where I was born, there was an island of blue and golden colors. It was snowy and wintery. Its nature was dying. Here and there, grapes grew on the forest edges. I would pluck dry, sour bunches and greedily eat them, savoring the spicy, mouth-puckering juice.

The nature of this world hid beneath the snow from something wicked and wild. I would find lingonberries among the dry grass and stuff my mouth with them. It tasted delicious and good. But like the grass and trees, I sought shelter.

As I walked toward the sea, where it was sunny during the day but cold breezes blew at night, I encountered a man-garden. He had his hands merged with the roots of a large tree, and blue forget-me-nots sprouted from his mouth. I stood there for a long time, watching the frost settle on the man's lips. He smiled, and his eyes with pink irises looked at me as if he knew everything and wanted to tell me, to open my eyes. But his mouth was occupied by forget-me-nots, and he did not speak. In his pink eyes, I also saw flowers. Far beyond the glistening, sunlit sclera, summer reigned.

The man-garden. His hands were green with moss. People had wounded him, and his back was bloodied. Grass grew from the cuts. The man-garden.

I passed by him and smiled, turning back to bid farewell. His forget-me-nots turned their heads toward me and nodded softly. I knew I would never see him again.

Finally, I reached the sea. It was noon, and the sand was hot, almost scorching. Waves lapped at my feet, and I would retreat every time a wave tried to lick the tips of my toes. I knew that if a wave overwhelmed a person, they would never return. Waves carry people away into the sea.

Carefully, I walked on the wet sand, fearing that the air would flood me. Oh, how foolish, but not entirely baseless! The sea not only nourishes but also devours.

Between the rocks and the sea, there was a thin strip of sandy beach. I thought I would be almost happy if I met you here. You, a little girl in a blue dress, would smile at me like no one else.

I would take your hand. We would walk along the coastline together. With you, I would not be afraid of any wave.

But the delusion disappeared. The water touched my feet, and I panicked, rushing back to the forests and winter. I ran past caves where monsters lived, trampling on red lingonberries, plucking grape clusters on the go and throwing them to the ground.

It became so cold that my skin was covered in goosebumps.

I haven't seen you since we became adults. Maybe the sea swept you away? You were careless. You were always so careless, not afraid of the water. Oh, you would wade into the waves up to your waist, letting your hair flow, laughing, splashing around in the depths.

Now you walk among fish. Once, you walked among people.

And I walk among birds. Maybe among amphibians?

My dry, gnarled fingers touched pale cheeks. I passed by an oak tree, and my eyes widened in astonishment: the lifeless body of the man-garden was decaying, dusted with snow.

GO BACK HOME

Direct letter Four (4)

I rushed through the corridors and floors, trapped in a time and space of another time, like a fish in an aquarium.
I closed my eyes and found myself in the domain of the Scarlet Man. I couldn't see him, but I knew: he reaches out to me with his large, strong hands with long, sturdy fingers, and time is running out. Here, every tapestry is a time bomb.
And I rushed through the corridors.
The walls were luxurious, black and gold, the ceilings adorned with intricate reliefs, the furniture wooden and carved by the scalpel of skilled masters, with inlaid eyes, the work of man but lacking true life.
The inlay resembles the name of Procrustes. He was a giant, and the Scarlet Man is also a giant. Compared to him, I am a speck on an open plain.

I stopped by the window, barred by an invisible lattice of borders. Beyond the border, a blue abyss of another world stretched out, devouring one's gaze. The Scarlet Man's hands would barely reach through it, I thought. I stopped by the facet glass, extended my hand, thoughtlessly and confidently, and so it was, because I knew that time was ending, ending with its persistent ticking.
Minutes are like flies, especially the departing ones.

I passed my hand through the window, and a splash of shards splattered into my face, immediately covering it with tiny strokes of red.
"You should not hurt yourself," the Scarlet Man would softly and fatherly say, if he could see it. "Never should you."
But I hurt myself, and my fist piston-pumped through the window: there and back. And when enough holes appeared in the crystal, I broke off the sharp edges of the remaining glass with my fingers, throwing them on the floor. I chose the largest window in the palace, the one I could easily exit through.

And so I stepped out, hesitated for a fraction of a second, red like the Scarlet Man, but red from my own blood. I reached out my hands, grasping the blueness of the air, and leaped into the abyss between worlds.

I opened my eyes. My eyelashes were stuck together with frost. Between these worlds, there was winter, and I found myself in winter too - blue and white, with large snowflakes falling down. There was a cheerful fair, colorful tents inviting guests inside. I walked along the street, anxious and wounded, looking at faces, and saw no one naked - everyone was covered with masks.

I was afraid, but merry music was playing, and there was plenty of white, while I was the only one in red at the square.

Then I calmed down a bit, continuing on, but my path was blocked by a madman, toothless and spinning balls with his hollowed eyes:
"Run," he said. "He is close."

And I ran in circles around the carousel. Wherever I rushed, the world transformed into a colorful fair's skirt, in the folds of which I got lost, searching for the right street but falling into confetti and joyful chaos once again.