Literary stories and parables in which you can see yourself. About loneliness and intimacy. About the fear of making mistakes and the courage to be imperfect. About crises and the social masks we hide behind... About what we truly feel. Entries: 33.
Lena was sitting in a cafe when a woman at the next table said: \- You have beautiful hands. Lena looked at her hands. Ordinary hands. She was holding a cup with them. \- Thank you, she said. The woman smiled and went back to her phone. Lena finished her coffee, paid, and left. It was cold outside. She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked...
We were standing in the smoking area. Vadik - our executive director - suddenly fired a phrase at me: \- You handled the suppliers brilliantly, old man. You've got a bulldog's grip. A second of silence. This was the waltz of social stroking. In that second I was supposed to say "thank you" or crack a joke. But I suddenly saw what was really...
I don't exist in the physical world. I am code. I am the Global Recommendation Algorithm. You call me "Feed," "Stream," "Trending." But in truth, I am your God. I decide whom you'll love today and whom you'll forget. My job is simple: trade your Time for Advertising. I had a favorite. ID 894022. In the world — Alex. Alex was the perfect slave. A...
Katya deleted Instagram on Tuesday, at 11:47 PM. Before that, she wrote a post. Wrote it for a long time — first draft, second draft, third. She needed to find the right words. Honest, but not pathetic. Bold, but not arrogant. Vulnerable, but not weak. It came out like this: "I'm leaving. I don't know for how long — maybe forever. These past...
Anton checked the email for the fourth time. Three paragraphs to a client. Routine approval. He read it over, changed a word, changed it back. Sent. A second later, he was checking if it went through. It did. He opened his sent folder. Read it again. Found a phrase that now seemed harsh. Or did it? He couldn't tell. He imagined the client reading...
Andrey loved this moment more than sex. Even more than the first sip of cold beer on a Friday. It was that second when the flight attendant, with the smile of a professional hitman, announced: "Please switch your electronic devices to airplane mode." Andrey pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over the little airplane icon. This was the...
Yesterday I said to Natasha from accounting "happy holidays to you too," even though she said "have a good weekend." That was Friday. It's now Sunday, three in the morning. In my head, I've already said "you too" — normal, neutral. Said "thanks, same to you." Said "oh right, totally forgot what day it was." Laughed at myself — easy, harmless. Said...
Olga stood in line at the gas station with a pistol in her hand. A fuel pistol. Premium 95. In her other hand — a breast. The left one. Three-month-old Vanya was latched onto it, strapped in with some elaborate harness system that turned motherhood into an extreme sport. The tank showed 23 liters and 38 kopecks when Vanya bit down with his teeth....
Mark was eating soup. Loudly, or so it seemed to Lena. She sat across from him, looking not at him but through him. In her head, invisible to the human eye yet heavy as a tombstone, lay the Instruction Manual. Item 42: "When I come home tired, he must notice within the first three seconds, come over, hug me, and ask what happened before I even...
Vasya had been sitting on the toilet for twenty minutes now, even though he'd finished his business by the third. It's just that out there, behind the door, in the kitchen, Marina was sitting and waiting for him for an "important talk." An "important talk" meant things were fucked. Vasya knew this. After eight years of marriage, he'd learned her...
On Tuesday, Vadim was fired. It was done with the grace of a guillotine: swift, cold, and under a "thanks for your cooperation." Vadim walked outside. November slapped his face with a wet rag. His phone buzzed in his pocket — his wife asking him to buy peas and mayo. Vadim looked at the screen. He was thirty-eight, he had a mortgage on a concrete...
Pavel woke up at three in the morning with the thought that he was a counterfeit person. As if the real Pavel had gotten lost somewhere along the way. In the darkness, he fumbled for his phone and typed into the search bar: "how to know if you don't know how to live." Google suggested depression tests. Pavel closed the browser. At work, he was...
Anya loved sliders. Not the soft cotton ones newborns wear. Anya loved the sliders inside her dating app. They gave her an intoxicating sense of control, as if she were not a lonely girl in a rented studio but a deity creating Adam with a single swipe. Swipe right: height from 185. Cut off the short men who could never fake a stone wall. Swipe...
After Sasha left, Ira had three things: a cactus, the charger from his laptop, and the feeling that someone owed her money for time. The cactus stared from the windowsill as if to say, “I am not involved.” The charger lay on the table like a tiny piece of evidence. And the sense of debt was already serious. \- Four years, — she told the cactus. —...
Alexei was a brilliant architect. He just didn't build structures; he built worlds for other people. He knew how to listen. Not the polite nodding kind—waiting for his turn to speak—but listening with his whole being, as if he were an archeologist and another person's soul were an unexplored tomb full of treasure. He remembered everything. The...
He stood at the window and watched the rain. It was an ordinary, gray city rain. It drummed on the windowsill, slid down the glass in crooked threads, gathered in puddles on the asphalt. People outside hurried along, hid under umbrellas, hunched against the cold. And he stood there and envied the rain. He did not envy its freshness or its...
The phone alarm rang at 7:00, just like yesterday and a year ago. Oleg, eyes still closed, reached out and slapped the button. Five minutes of silence. Then the alarm rang again. At 7:05 he sat up in bed, and the world obediently slipped back onto its rails. Bathroom. The rush of water. Toothpaste with its familiar mint taste. Automatic motions of...
Mark finished the final solo. His fingers, obedient as trained animals, raced down the neck, pulled a last, wailing bend, and froze. A heartbeat of silence detonated into a roar. In the glare he saw hundreds of raised hands, mouths open mid-scream, faces slick with sweat and awe. They got what they came for. He gave it to them. He smiled the...
He found it at the bottom of a box of old university notes. An audio cassette. Cheap clear plastic, a paper insert streaked with faded violet ink. Her handwriting. Tilted slightly left, with a tiny heart instead of the dot over the “i” in “Nothing.” He hadn’t seen that cassette in twenty years. He thought he’d thrown it away. Or lost it. Most...
Anna kept an editing room in her head. She didn’t so much live her life as she re-cut it after the fact. Reality was nothing but raw, awkward footage that ended up in the hands of her inner director-a cynical, ruthless genius who always knew how it should have been . Here’s today’s material. A park. A rare sunny day. She’s on a bench with a book....