Buy or Die. There cometh a time of ruthless advertising

Buy or Die. There cometh a time of ruthless advertising
Theodor Ventskevich

A story about a world where advertising knows no mercy. The life of the people turns into an endless series of fights for their money, time, and convictions. These fights may seem petty and sad, absurd and funny, but in the end, the fights are always lost. The main character invents Jack of Air for his kids – an imaginary fearless hero who never loses. Will Jack be able to help his creator after the latter gets into real trouble?

Buy or Die

There cometh a time of ruthless advertising

Theodor Ventskevich

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Illustrator CHRYSTYANRomero

Translator Igor Borisov

Editor John Manoogian

© Theodor Ventskevich, 2020

© CHRYSTYANRomero, illustrations, 2020

© Igor Borisov, translation, 2020

ISBN 978-5-4498-0259-0

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

I would like to express my immense gratitude to several people who made this book possible.

To my amazing translator and alter-ego Igor Borisov, who put this book into English.

To my editor John Manoogian, the founder and most diligent worker with the Writesaver service.

To all those who thought, or even let me know directly that this book was worth writing.

Finally, to all those who decided this book was worth reading.

Part I

Chapter 1 | Zed

“It is half past six now, and you are running late. On such a day!”

Citizen Z368AT, or simply Z, opened his eyes.

“What day?” he asked sleepily.

“You forgot?” The servant was surprised. “Forgot about your own birthday?”

“What birthday, what are you talking about?” Z frowned. “It will be only…”

“Today is your second birthday,” the servant explained patiently. “The moistening cream Newskin endows you with new life and eternal youth. Watch the miraculous effect…”

Z deftly evaded the servant’s wet glistening finger and barricaded himself with a pillow.

“Stop it!” he commanded.

The code word forced the servant to retreat. He looked at his finger thoughtfully and, frowning, wiped it on his pants.

“Let me remind you,” he remarked with dignity, “that you promised to unsubscribe from advertising.”

“I have no money for that,” Z snapped.

The servant bowed.

“I see. By the way, it is thirty-four minutes now…”

“You better watch your people,” Z replied. “They have lost all respect. Our doormat was advising me to buy better shoes yesterday. Be so kind as to remind him of his place.”

“Of course.” The servant bowed. “But, you see, it is difficult to demand discipline from others, when you yourself are falling into advertising mode now and then.”

“I have no money for that!” Z repeated and, sympathetically patting the hollow plastic back, slipped past the servant into the bathroom.

“One could think you’d ever had it,” murmured the servant as Z left.

***

Z did not like his bathroom; the “I have no money for that’ stench was the worst here. The toothbrush, before turning on, pedantically read the rules for cleaning teeth, then, even more tediously and monotonously, narrated the news and novelties of dentistry. The soap dictated the address of the nearest nail salon. The water tap never forgot to turn off the cold or hot water for a second, each time apologizing that only Santa works flawlessly.

The towel was shocked with the state of his facial skin and abundance of dandruff and never failed to remind him that a single drop of Apollo cream would have eliminated both problems forever. As well as wrinkles. And early baldness. Not to mention bad breath. When the towel groaned menacingly, “Oh, how can you be like that?” Z crumpled it up and threw it under the sink.

But the main enemy was, of course, the mirror.

“You!” it exclaimed. “Again! How long are you going to torture me?”

The reflection in the mirror was dressed in worn-out underwear and a dirty white jersey. It was unshaven, unkempt, and smelly, with reddish hungover eyes, a low forehead, and greasy, sparse hair. Sure enough, it hated everyone and everything.

“What a nice day!” Z greeted him. “You look gorgeous. How did you sleep?”

The reflection belched, scratched its crotch, and suddenly disappeared, giving way to a smart middle-aged gentleman. The gentleman had nice pink cheeks, pearly teeth, and wonderful silky curls falling over his shoulders. Despite their differences, Z easily recognized himself in both reflections.

“Right from Hairy Fairy barbershop,” explained the gentleman carelessly. “It’s right there, around the corner and to the right. Highly, highly recommend.”

The gentleman half-turned, showing his profile and shrugged his shoulders.

“The suit, by the way, is from H&M&Son,” he added. “Oxford street, two minutes from…”

“Get out!” snapped Z, and the gentleman disappeared.