Snowdrift
Snowdrift
Мария Дьяченко
Английская версия рассказа "Сугроб" для уровня Intermediate. Evening, snow and a strange boy with frightening thoughts. Why is he saying all this? Why did he start this conversation? Finding himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, the main character finds himself in another world, full of mysticism, fear, eerie illusions. Will he be able to get out of the battle with the invisible enemy as a winner?
Мария Дьяченко
Snowdrift
My phobia started a long time ago, in a way I wasn't expecting. I guess that's just how it is. You live your life as it should be: a light-hearted boy, not thinking about anything, not focused on the future, enjoying every day, the sun and random sweets. And then suddenly, something out of the ordinary happens, and you don't remember how it was before.
Now, I guess things are pretty good, all things considered. It's been ages since I moved south. I live a pretty simple, quiet life, as far as that applies to my existence.
In short, I'm afraid of winter. Or rather what it brings: snowdrifts. Probably sounds silly or at least funny, but what can I do? My personal thing. Of course, this is not the life I dreamed of when I was a kid. I thought I'd grow up to be a pilot, or at least something close to one – an aeronautical engineer or maybe a dispatcher, but it didn't turn out so well. I'm about to turn thirty, and I haven't even started living yet. Actually, I finished when I was thirteen.
***
It was right after my birthday, in the winter. I decided to take a walk through the snow-covered town where we lived with my mother at the time, towards the park. To me, it seemed like adults do this mysterious thing from time to time, and I thought, well, why not? So, I started doing it: walking with an expression in my eyes that said I was thinking about something else, as if there were something more to life than this very walk.
It was getting evening. Large unhurried snowflakes were falling, as if they were hanging peacefully on air invisible threads. It created a general fairy-tale impression of a patterned, barely swaying curtain, light and inviting. There wasn't a soul in the street: only me and good-natured snow, which was understandable. In the long post-New Year's holidays, everyone was at home: no people rushing from work or screaming schoolchildren. It was so peaceful and quiet.
I wandered, picking up snow with my feet, trying to look at myself, breathing in the frosty air through my slightly stinging nostrils, and thinking that it was very cold, and that and that I should’ve worn gloves. Suddenly, I saw a strange boy on a bench in the park. He was younger than me, with bright blue eyes, a face flushed with frost, and strawy, unruly hair. He was wearing a light jacket and a single glove. He looked like a gosling.
It was strange that I didn't know him: in our neighbourhood, it was rare to meet an unfamiliar face. All this, coupled with his funny appearance, made me slow down my already slow step. It was as if I hesitated, and without knowing why, I felt embarrassed by my hesitation. The gosling, who immediately pulled himself up, swung his legs vigorously, and stared at me with a wide grin and a gap between his teeth.
I immediately thought about what he was happy about on such a freezing cold day. The boy was just sitting there on the icy bench, made tsk sounds through the gap in his teeth, and seemed to be waiting for me.
– Dreaming? – he either asked or stated. It sounded like we were old mates.
I thought about it a lot later. Somehow, at that moment I didn't find this behaviour strange. It's almost like a dream when you think everything is natural when you're inside, and only when you wake up do you realise how illogical it is.
– I guess – I mumbled, intending to walk on by.
The boy chuckled again and jumped up from the bench, clearly pleased that I'd answered his question. The gosling followed me.
– I'm thinking, too – he smiled even more.– It's good to think in winter. Snowflakes are like pendulums – they calm you down.
– Listen, kid, I really want silence, – I tried to get away, but he wouldn't let me.
– That’s what I'm talking about, – he persisted, ignoring the hint. – Winter, silence, snow. I just love snow. It's my friend.
– I guess you don't have any real friends – I started to be rude, and slightly increased my step, but the gosling continued to look sincerely into my eyes, ignoring it.’That's a bit of a mouthful.’
– Isn’t the snow real? Very much so. A reliable, silent friend, always on time. Sometimes I'd like to be a snowdrift.
– What? – I laughed at the obvious stupidity of it.
Now I think I shouldn't have laughed. Some people dream of being president or a pilot – nobody minds. There's nothing special about a snowdrift. Everyone's entitled to their opinion. But then I laughed.
Then he repeated what he said without seeming embarrassed at all:
– A snowdrift. That would be marvellous! Imagine sparkling in the sun during the day and under a street lamp at night, all peaceful and quiet. It'd be great!
– Well, what if there's no lantern? – ‘what a weirdo’.
– What's the point of the moon? And anyway, when there are snowdrifts, it's so bright at night without the moon.
We reached the end of the park and turned back along another alley. Everything around us was covered with snow, half-frozen to the ground. It was falling in such a dense, unhurried shroud that it seemed to be flying from the bottom to the top, not the other way round.
– Ha, first time I've seen a kid who dreams of being a snowdrift. Are you sure you haven't hit your head recently?
The boy pretended not to hear the question:
– I don't want to be like everyone else. If I become a snowdrift, I'll protect plants from wind and frost and keep bugs warm. A snowdrift is strength, power, you have no idea what kind! – he continued to prove inspirationally.
– Oh, I can't. And to die in spring? – I teased again.
– Is there no difference when? A snowdrift at least watering the ground while dying, and you will die – what's the use? Plus, don't forget, next winter the snowdrifts return – eternal life.
– So it'll be different snowdrifts. Last year's are already gone.
– But that's not a fact, nobody cancelled the water cycle in nature.
– But listen, a human being is a living organism, with thoughts and processes, and a snowdrift is just water, – I continued, kicking the snow with my foot and not believing that I was seriously discussing it at all.
Meanwhile we walked back to the bench where I had met him. He was about to turn back into the park, but I stopped, intending to go home.
– Isn't a human being a water? The form is different, but the essence is the same, – the boy persisted, taking off and putting on his blue, ragged glove. – And there are no more thoughts in another man than in a snowdrift, but it is not that useful, but how much harm!
– Still, it is better to be a human being: one has a will, an action. But a snowdrift does not direct its life in any way: it fell out, where it fell out, and lies humbly waiting for someone to shit in it.
– The snowdrift simply understands the inevitability of shit in our lives. As if it doesn't exist in the human world. It's full! But about falling out, where you fall out: ‘You get worn and torn in the place you were born’, have you heard that? People also fall out where they fall out, and most of them have been around this place their entire lives. Even if you've gone far away, all in white sneakers and asphalt, the town is still with you forever, right here,– he tapped his temple. – I wouldn't like that. The snowdrift is free and lives as it wants without all these conventions, – the boy tsked loudly between his front teeth again, looking thoughtfully at the treetops.
– What a fool! You can't seriously think a snowdrift is better than a man. A man can become anything! I'll definitely become a pilot, I'll fly everywhere. What about you? A janitor? – I asked with a sneer.
– What do you mean? Wow! Who have I been talking to for an hour? – he said, nervously. – I’ll become a snowdrift, I'll come to you every winter. You'll see! I'll be just like you… – at these words, the boy jumped up from his seat and bolted back into the depths of the park, as it seemed to me, angrily swiping at the snow.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «Литрес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=71811622?lfrom=390579938) на Литрес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Мария Дьяченко
Английская версия рассказа "Сугроб" для уровня Intermediate. Evening, snow and a strange boy with frightening thoughts. Why is he saying all this? Why did he start this conversation? Finding himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, the main character finds himself in another world, full of mysticism, fear, eerie illusions. Will he be able to get out of the battle with the invisible enemy as a winner?
Мария Дьяченко
Snowdrift
My phobia started a long time ago, in a way I wasn't expecting. I guess that's just how it is. You live your life as it should be: a light-hearted boy, not thinking about anything, not focused on the future, enjoying every day, the sun and random sweets. And then suddenly, something out of the ordinary happens, and you don't remember how it was before.
Now, I guess things are pretty good, all things considered. It's been ages since I moved south. I live a pretty simple, quiet life, as far as that applies to my existence.
In short, I'm afraid of winter. Or rather what it brings: snowdrifts. Probably sounds silly or at least funny, but what can I do? My personal thing. Of course, this is not the life I dreamed of when I was a kid. I thought I'd grow up to be a pilot, or at least something close to one – an aeronautical engineer or maybe a dispatcher, but it didn't turn out so well. I'm about to turn thirty, and I haven't even started living yet. Actually, I finished when I was thirteen.
***
It was right after my birthday, in the winter. I decided to take a walk through the snow-covered town where we lived with my mother at the time, towards the park. To me, it seemed like adults do this mysterious thing from time to time, and I thought, well, why not? So, I started doing it: walking with an expression in my eyes that said I was thinking about something else, as if there were something more to life than this very walk.
It was getting evening. Large unhurried snowflakes were falling, as if they were hanging peacefully on air invisible threads. It created a general fairy-tale impression of a patterned, barely swaying curtain, light and inviting. There wasn't a soul in the street: only me and good-natured snow, which was understandable. In the long post-New Year's holidays, everyone was at home: no people rushing from work or screaming schoolchildren. It was so peaceful and quiet.
I wandered, picking up snow with my feet, trying to look at myself, breathing in the frosty air through my slightly stinging nostrils, and thinking that it was very cold, and that and that I should’ve worn gloves. Suddenly, I saw a strange boy on a bench in the park. He was younger than me, with bright blue eyes, a face flushed with frost, and strawy, unruly hair. He was wearing a light jacket and a single glove. He looked like a gosling.
It was strange that I didn't know him: in our neighbourhood, it was rare to meet an unfamiliar face. All this, coupled with his funny appearance, made me slow down my already slow step. It was as if I hesitated, and without knowing why, I felt embarrassed by my hesitation. The gosling, who immediately pulled himself up, swung his legs vigorously, and stared at me with a wide grin and a gap between his teeth.
I immediately thought about what he was happy about on such a freezing cold day. The boy was just sitting there on the icy bench, made tsk sounds through the gap in his teeth, and seemed to be waiting for me.
– Dreaming? – he either asked or stated. It sounded like we were old mates.
I thought about it a lot later. Somehow, at that moment I didn't find this behaviour strange. It's almost like a dream when you think everything is natural when you're inside, and only when you wake up do you realise how illogical it is.
– I guess – I mumbled, intending to walk on by.
The boy chuckled again and jumped up from the bench, clearly pleased that I'd answered his question. The gosling followed me.
– I'm thinking, too – he smiled even more.– It's good to think in winter. Snowflakes are like pendulums – they calm you down.
– Listen, kid, I really want silence, – I tried to get away, but he wouldn't let me.
– That’s what I'm talking about, – he persisted, ignoring the hint. – Winter, silence, snow. I just love snow. It's my friend.
– I guess you don't have any real friends – I started to be rude, and slightly increased my step, but the gosling continued to look sincerely into my eyes, ignoring it.’That's a bit of a mouthful.’
– Isn’t the snow real? Very much so. A reliable, silent friend, always on time. Sometimes I'd like to be a snowdrift.
– What? – I laughed at the obvious stupidity of it.
Now I think I shouldn't have laughed. Some people dream of being president or a pilot – nobody minds. There's nothing special about a snowdrift. Everyone's entitled to their opinion. But then I laughed.
Then he repeated what he said without seeming embarrassed at all:
– A snowdrift. That would be marvellous! Imagine sparkling in the sun during the day and under a street lamp at night, all peaceful and quiet. It'd be great!
– Well, what if there's no lantern? – ‘what a weirdo’.
– What's the point of the moon? And anyway, when there are snowdrifts, it's so bright at night without the moon.
We reached the end of the park and turned back along another alley. Everything around us was covered with snow, half-frozen to the ground. It was falling in such a dense, unhurried shroud that it seemed to be flying from the bottom to the top, not the other way round.
– Ha, first time I've seen a kid who dreams of being a snowdrift. Are you sure you haven't hit your head recently?
The boy pretended not to hear the question:
– I don't want to be like everyone else. If I become a snowdrift, I'll protect plants from wind and frost and keep bugs warm. A snowdrift is strength, power, you have no idea what kind! – he continued to prove inspirationally.
– Oh, I can't. And to die in spring? – I teased again.
– Is there no difference when? A snowdrift at least watering the ground while dying, and you will die – what's the use? Plus, don't forget, next winter the snowdrifts return – eternal life.
– So it'll be different snowdrifts. Last year's are already gone.
– But that's not a fact, nobody cancelled the water cycle in nature.
– But listen, a human being is a living organism, with thoughts and processes, and a snowdrift is just water, – I continued, kicking the snow with my foot and not believing that I was seriously discussing it at all.
Meanwhile we walked back to the bench where I had met him. He was about to turn back into the park, but I stopped, intending to go home.
– Isn't a human being a water? The form is different, but the essence is the same, – the boy persisted, taking off and putting on his blue, ragged glove. – And there are no more thoughts in another man than in a snowdrift, but it is not that useful, but how much harm!
– Still, it is better to be a human being: one has a will, an action. But a snowdrift does not direct its life in any way: it fell out, where it fell out, and lies humbly waiting for someone to shit in it.
– The snowdrift simply understands the inevitability of shit in our lives. As if it doesn't exist in the human world. It's full! But about falling out, where you fall out: ‘You get worn and torn in the place you were born’, have you heard that? People also fall out where they fall out, and most of them have been around this place their entire lives. Even if you've gone far away, all in white sneakers and asphalt, the town is still with you forever, right here,– he tapped his temple. – I wouldn't like that. The snowdrift is free and lives as it wants without all these conventions, – the boy tsked loudly between his front teeth again, looking thoughtfully at the treetops.
– What a fool! You can't seriously think a snowdrift is better than a man. A man can become anything! I'll definitely become a pilot, I'll fly everywhere. What about you? A janitor? – I asked with a sneer.
– What do you mean? Wow! Who have I been talking to for an hour? – he said, nervously. – I’ll become a snowdrift, I'll come to you every winter. You'll see! I'll be just like you… – at these words, the boy jumped up from his seat and bolted back into the depths of the park, as it seemed to me, angrily swiping at the snow.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «Литрес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/pages/biblio_book/?art=71811622?lfrom=390579938) на Литрес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Мария Дьяченко
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная русская литература
Язык: на русском языке
Стоимость: 0.01 ₽
Издательство: Автор
Дата публикации: 26.03.2025
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О книге: Английская версия рассказа "Сугроб" для уровня Intermediate. Evening, snow and a strange boy with frightening thoughts. Why is he saying all this? Why did he start this conversation? Finding himself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, the main character finds himself in another world, full of mysticism, fear, eerie illusions. Will he be able to get out of the battle with the invisible enemy as a winner?