Tales of Ghosts. Playing Another Reality. Edgar Allan Poe award

“No, no, I have to go to the office!” I said, squeezing out a smile in return.

“Your office can wait! Moreover, the boss is at the bank! Let’s go, come on! I won’t let you off so easily now!”

I wasn’t too keen on going into their flat, even though I had never been there before. I was even more embarrassed by the prospect of the upcoming conversation. A couple of years ago, when Marina and I had got acquainted, I tried to chat with her on general topics, but, as it turned out, we didn’t have really much to talk about, besides, I was afraid to say something ‘out of order’ so we ended up drinking coffee in silence.

However, she literally dragged me into the entrance.

We came in their flat. Marina invited me into the kitchen. I was looking at the collection of souvenirs on the open shelves without much interest, while she brewed coffee.

“How are you?” Marina suddenly broke the silence.

“I wonder who she means saying ‘you’? ” flashed through my head, but I tried to respond neutrally, “Everything is just as usual.”

“Vlad said that a business trip to Finland is planned?”

“Yes, but no dates have been set yet.”

We sat down at the kitchen table. Marina silently offered to clink the cups. I didn’t resist.

“And when are the negotiations supposed to be over?” she asked, taking her first sip and glancing at her watch.

“I don’t know, but probably soon,” I answered and felt a sharp pain in my stomach, once again remembering the doctors’ advice to forget about such a wonderful drink.

“Vika, do you believe in life after death?” Marina suddenly asked and picking me up, already losing consciousness from pain. “Come with me!”

The pain left me as abruptly as it had appeared. I got up from the floor and followed Marina into the living room. She stopped by the window.

“Now there is nothing to fear and lose,” she said without looking into my eyes. “Why did you need him?”

“I don’t know what to answer you…”

I knew what to answer her. I loved Vlad. Not for anything. And that’s why I didn’t care what status to be next to him. Did Vlad love me? Big question. Anyway, I never asked him to divorce his wife, realizing that he got used to her. I didn’t wish them any harm.

“God sees everything, Vika. He should have punished you both. You can’t imagine how much I hate you! However, God will forgive me! For what I’ve done,” Marina began to sob like a kid.

“What have you done?” I got surprised and, from a bad feeling, I immediately turned to Vlad mentally, “Please, come here quickly! Your Marina is going to eat me now!”

“I knew he wouldn’t leave you! Yes, I never loved him, it was a marriage of convenience, but he had no right! No right!!!”

“Calm down, please!” I didn’t know what to say in such cases.

“I couldn’t live like this! Could not! He had to lose us both!!!”

Suddenly we heard rushing footsteps on the stairs, and the front door slammed.

“Vika! Vika,” Vlad shouted out of breath, “are you there?”

Marina froze in silence, turning to the window, and I ran out into the corridor.

“It’s good of you to come!” I exclaimed.

Vlad didn’t seem to hear me, heading for the kitchen with quick steps.

“We are here!” I shouted again, but Vlad didn’t even turn around, frozen at the ajar door.

“Marina!!! No, you couldn’t!” he exclaimed without turning to me.

“God must forgive me!” she said coldly, approaching us.

I stood between them, trying in vain to figure out what had happened. Vlad turned around, slammed the kitchen door in my face, and, not paying any attention to us, started pacing back and forth down the corridor, frantically dialing someone’s number on his phone.

“Vlad, what’s wrong?!” I wondered.

“I’ve calculated everything,” Marina said, patting her husband on the shoulder. “It’s too late!”

“Is that an ambulance?” shouted Vlad, getting through.

“What damn ambulance?! What’s wrong with you?” I screamed in his ear.

“He doesn’t hear us,” Marina stated. “However, life after death exists after all.”

    May, 2002

7. Intergalactic Union of Writers

The path to my glory was easy enough, since I was incredibly lucky!

However, it all started with the fact that I was born exceptionally ugly and short. My twin sister, Maya, on the contrary, turned out to be pretty, and short stature for a girl is more of a plus than a minus. Everyone liked Maya and turned up their noses at me. No matter how much I tried to please people, to get their attention, it was all in vain. Even heavy shoes with thick soles didn’t add to my weight or height.

That’s the way I became a writer. I got myself a vest in the form of a diary, to which I trusted my intimate sufferings from non-reciprocity, but after the first rhyme that came to mind, I changed my shoes into a poet. Soon I discovered plenty of websites where one could post one’s masterpieces. As a result, after painful swings between pros and cons, because at that time I wasn’t sure yet of the excellence of my works, I nevertheless registered, uploaded a picture of some handsome man and my first verse, the “Unrecognized Genius, or The Rejected”.

Incredibly, I was instantly hit by a flurry of positive responses, including declarations of love from women of all ages, suits and calibers!

They began to invite me to events at literary associations and circles, to performances in museums, libraries, schools and even kindergartens, which at first I was naturally embarrassed, because the picture of a nameless handsome man, posted by me on the Internet, was radically different from my reflection in the mirror.

However, Pushkin, you know, was outwardly also for an amateur…

So, I got onto stage! I was applauded by the arenas! Women asked for an autographed book, composed and sang songs based on my poems, snuggled up to me in collective photos and hinted in every possible way that they wouldn’t mind getting to know me better. Anyway, there were no men in literary units, with the exception of a few pensioners and chronic alcoholics, against the background of which I looked like a fairy-tale prince. And yes, I enjoyed it! That was something quite different from being home, among relatives, or in the office at work…

Soon, a retired lady in love with me gave me a recommendation to join the Union of Writers of the City, I printed two books of the ‘chosen lyrics’, submitted them with the recommendation, to the admission committee, and… was accepted! Wow! Accepted! They said that my lyrics shocked them to the core, especially the poem “Unrecognized Genius”.

However, the second old woman in love with me was jealous of the first one and invited me to join the City Union of Writers. You may ask, what’s the difference between the Union of Writers of the City and the City Union of Writers? I still don’t understand that myself, but the old lady said that the City Union of Writers was quoted higher. So I deserved the best!

Within five years, I was accepted into all the existing literary associations and Writers’ Unions, whose headquarters were located in our city and on its outskirts, each of which considered itself much cooler than all the others put together.

I dutifully paid my annual dues. And more and more often, I received letters with nominations for numerous competitions, in which I always… won! Traditionally, each selection of my poems for any competition began with the “Unrecognized Genius”, already a 100% verified masterpiece, my calling card in contemporary poetry. And rather, in literature in general, what is there to hide, since my “Unrecognized Genius” was awarded not only the Alexander Pushkin Prize, but also won the Leo Tolstoy, Nikolai Gogol and Anton Pavlovich Chekhov competitions! Of course, I suggested the organizers of the competitions taking into consideration for prose writers’ awards my diary prose instead of poetry, but I was immediately assured that my poetry was so large-scale and profound that the greatest prose masters of the world would have been happy to give me all their orders and medals decorations!

And after these words, I finally discarded the last doubts in myself!