The apartment was silent, the voices behind the wall have already subsided, the sun was motionlessly staying in the sky, the wind was not moving the branches, the hands of the clock were firmly standing at one place. I was not waiting for anyone that evening, and no one was waiting for me. Suddenly my phone rang and I picked it up. It was God. He did not know what to say to me, and I did not know what to answer, we were wanting to sympathize with each other, he so wishes me happiness, and I so stubbornly do not want to notice it ...

He said he would call back and put down the phone. I looked out the window and brewed tea, I so faith in him, and he, probably, faiths in me, someone still faiths in us ...

It began to get dark and a silent night slowly came. My tea became cold and I set it again. We are quickly getting used to all bad and avoiding all good. We are thinking about one, and doing just another.

We all are alone here, it unites us. Everyone is bad, and everyone tries to make worse for others. We are always waiting for help and refusing, if suddenly getting it, we are keeping silent, when it is necessary to speak, and saying a lot, when it is more appropriate to remain silent. Time streams independently of us. Nothing depends on us, but we depend on everything - on the authorities, on the weather, on our own thoughts. We have to do a lot of stupidities for becoming even a little bit smarter.

A car drove past outside the window, having illuminated the space of the room with the shine of the headlights, we also are here only one flash in the bosom of history, a moment only, we will not improve anything and will not improve ourselves. We do not like any changes, especially for the better. Therefore, we are not changing ourselves. Even without having anything, we are afraid to lose it. That's why still are losing.

We go to nowhere, justifying it with goals and motives. We are waiting for tomorrow, which will be the same as yesterday, and surprising with the latter, when it comes. We think, that it's better not to think, and promise not to make promises. We say goodbye and count the days before the meeting and meet again for to say goodbye.

The wind is howling in the chimney and wobbling the wires. Only its sound interrupts the stupor. We so rarely began smiling, smiles turned into smirks, ridicules. Their sincerity, their admiration and carelessness were lost. We forgot, why we are here.

The rain started. It left traces on the window and soaked the earth. The road became looking like a small river. We write our own destiny ourselves, but afterwards we refuse to read it and hide it from others. It's easier for us to say, that everything is good, than to understand, what is wrong.

The sky became lighter, and the stars began to melt. The silence is thinning, the morning is filling with fog. Everything is simple, but sometimes there is so hard to understand it. Sometimes we do not know, what we want, sometimes are afraid to admit in it.

It was already morning - time to go somewhere, I must remember only, where this time. Again no one will call. Or someone will mistake the number and still will call. We began to fear each other, what to say about understanding. We do not understand even ourselves.

I got ready and left. The city was unusually friendly and quiet.

Maybe he was calling, but I was not at home. Or maybe he just had no time. Or simply did not want to call. Never mind.

I have waited for the bus and drove off. They say, that phones are aimless ... And I really was wanting to refuse from using it.

He will call back ... The main thing is to be at home such time. Eh! And I already was not waiting ...

The sage sighed and fall in thoughts . He looked at the traveler and lowered his eyes. The sky was smooth and clean, and the clouds, getting lost to the horizon, were trying not to obstruct visibility.

"So what?" - repeated the traveler, looking at the old man.

The sage began: "You was wanting to find out what God did not say to people, you were asking if there were any secrets. Everywhere there is something inaccessible to simple eyes, God too could not be completely sincere, not because he wanted to deceive you ... just ...

God created the world and people, they correspond to each other, God created feelings for people, he opened all for people, except for one, a sense of happiness, he did not create it. It does not exist."

"What, how dare he!" - the traveler stamped his foot and pushed the old man: "Are you saying, that our God is a liar? He urged people to be happy all the time, knowing that it is not possible? This is worse than sadism."

"Do not get excited, I understand, it's hard to believe in this, our God is not a liar, it's not so, I'll try to explain to you. Happiness is impossible in itself, it do not exist, it's a false feeling, like a hallucination or a desire for something unconscious. People have a lot of feelings - love, hope, loyalty, freedom. God called them to live right, not to fall down. Everyone sees happiness in his own way, everyone chooses what is most important for him, there is no unique universal happiness, that would make everyone happy." - the old man fell silent.

The traveler also was not knowing what to say.

"Look at the sky" - said the sage: "There they want you to be happy, all these people, all these stars and planets are only for this, if only they would be able to make you happy ... We do not want to see it, we do not want to be happy, we want God to come and give us something, that will be everything, not even knowing, that such thing does not exist. "

"How to live now without happiness?"

"How can you live ... you used to live without it somehow, I did not take it from you."

"We were believing in the best, we were believing, that happiness is possible."

"You were happy neither before nor after, why did you decide, that you would be happy someday, if I did not tell you this. And why did you decide, that you will not be after my words?"

"Happiness ... it's a lie ..."

"And if God had told you, that he himself does not exist, would you believe him?"

The traveler started thinking.

"Does not the idea of becoming happy attract you? Do not you think it's romantic to do for yourself that even God could not do for you? Would you like to become a god for yourself?"

"How could I?"

"Is not it that God just was wanting from you? Did he tell you to be happy for your sufferings?"

"It turns out so."

"You are mistaken, walking on the water and raising the dead, God would not be stingy to give you happiness, he gave you everything for it."

The traveler began to cry.

"If you need a fire, and God gives you firewood and matches, who is guilty in the absence of fire? If he gave to you just a fire, the latter would finish five times, until you would realize, that you was needing it. Any dream is attractive and beautiful only when it has not yet come true. Having realized, the latter gives you its result, which becomes unnecessary and disgusting, is it a reason to stop loving dreams?"

The traveler held his head and trembled.

"Build unrealizable dreams, and they will remain dreams, God was always urging you to go to the ideal, the ideal will always be unachievable, even God himself is not an ideal. Believe that you can be happy, was the God demanding from you impossible things? Everyone decides himself, when he will become happy. Let's you will become happy right now ... Not ready? Well, then wait a few more years, continue to complain about life and God ... "

The traveler stopped crying and hugged the old man.

"The presence of death does not negate the necessity of life, you do not change the world, but you can change yourself and no one ,except you, can change you, even God."

The traveler looked at the sky: "They want me to be happy there, and I want the same here on earth. It will be strange if we fail."

The old man smiled and gave the traveler a medallion: "Will remember about me and our meeting"

"And about happiness." - added the traveler.

"And about happiness."

The sun was lowering - in the golden horizon, in the dissolving roofs of houses and lonely standing huts. Its rays were sliding over the surfaces and flooding the space with light and warmth. The wind was feebly blowing and was slightly felt. The air was smelling of hay and earth and was heavy and saturated. The southern climate was at the peak of its hospitality.

The eternal sky - sleepy-truthful and sad, concealing infinity behind itself, today you are so pure and beautiful, that I want to fly away, leave this cage of the Earth and rise higher. Only space, space and time for thoughts, landscapes and loneliness. We do not want to be happy, we can not, we do not know how - we do not see our happiness, we do not notice, alas, we do not value people, we do not value moments. We are rushing to where the weekdays are dragging, not even trying to resist. We ourselves have abandoned romance, and now we wonder where it disappeared. Anywhere - just went to others, to those who need it. After all, we used to just go to the goal: today I'll buy a new raincoat, tomorrow a car, a year later I'll open the farm. It is not right ... You can not do it this way. This is the easiest way to disappear in things and become a nobody, we were always so wanting exactly just it ... Youth is beautiful with its dreams and idealism, you set high goals, which you will never achieve in the future. Hopes die with age. We become mediocre and ordinary - we become ordinary people, forgetting that we were born humans.

The evening has already begun to tint the latitudes with its dark tones, the air has become fresh and sharp. Sounds almost were not coming and only rare birds were cuting the ears with their long cries. In the distance the haze was thickening and his flakes were nicely embracing the graying roofs. The coolness of the approaching night was silent and peaceful. Nothing was wanted and nothing was needed. It was nice and beautiful, and the soul was not asking for anything superfluous. Houses were stretching along the roads. The smoke with an even line was emerging from the pipes. The stones of the road were pleasantly warming the feet, and sand dust was drowing patterns in the distance. The realm of lightness and freedom was leading away from the past and worries. The head was empty and only rare thoughts were violating its forgetting.

The first stars began to appear on the horizon. Single clouds were crawling along the dying sky. Laughter and barking of dogs, sound of utensils and someone's speech were coming from the courtyards. People were preparing for supper. Women in national dresses and with white bandages from the heat on their heads were taking pots with food and covering the tables. The children were hastily running toward them with a cheerful crowd. The faces were carefree and full of smiles, and on the soul was easy and calm. Labor day was coming to its end, and people were enjoying the life. And it really was life, not its likeness, not the illusion of living. Local dwellers know its price and spend it with profit. It's nice to see, that the extinction of the spirit has not touched that latitudes.

Sunset went far beyond the horizon, and the sun has drowned in its expanses. The wind became cold, and the feet began to feel the coolness of the falling asleep land. The night was approaching and carrying secrets and magic - it was a southern night, such nights are especially sweet. In them lies a certain mystery, the ardor of hot nature and the fire of immodest desires. It's a sin to spend such nights alone.

Twilight filled the district, from somewhere far away was coming female singing and the sad sounds of the guitar.

The atmosphere was giving a pleasant calmness. It was nice and carefree. The voices subsided and became discernible in their dilapidated diversity.

The sky was tall and dense, with bright, large, abundantly shining stars, resembling lanterns or cat's eyes. Somewhere there is my star, somewhere there. Among all the accumulation of these lights, these bright points on the black canvas of the bottomless southern sky, it also shines, shines for me, it is important only to me to notice it, to find in this endless brilliant ocean.

Fate is always somewhere near, it never hides and especially does not run away. We are walking around it, we walking an not noticing. We do not see our destiny, as if live with a bandage in front of our eyes.

And as a result - loneliness, sharp, prickly and cold, with a lump in the throat and a dizziness in the soul, without favorite eyes, without warm hands and a gentle voice, simply because one day we could not distinguish this voice from thousands of others, could not find these eyes in a same-type crowd, could not discern these hands from the rest. It is insulting and painful to realize, that the whole fate can be decided in one day, in a moment, and there is nobody to blame for this. We trust our heart, our feelings, our desires, we ourselves are executioners and judges. Happiness is like a coin - now it is lying on your hand, but then you is throwing it into cold water, and it will never be yours. Such way, all our wealth disappears - love, joy and understanding. Broken crystal never gathers, what to say about the heart.

The night was in full swing, the grass was covering with dew and was pleasantly cooling with moisture and freshness. No voices, no animals, no grasshoppers, no sound, everything stopped, the night is boundless and empty, it is dragging and absorbing into its gloomy and unchanging calm. Where we will be tomorrow ... everything depends on where we are going today and where we were going yesterday, sometimes the simplest truths are given the most hard and often too late.

Words are superfluous, when nothing is possible to correct, promises are ridiculous, and there is no need for forgiveness. This is just a husk, which we are trying to disguise the mistakes of our heart. However, the heart is not mistaken, it only chooses, what it needs. For this you can not blame.

The dawning lit up the horizon line and slowly began to dissolve the melting night, it was fresh and pleasant and a light wind was gently caressing the skin. The breathing of nature is especially felt at such moments and giving a sense of the completeness and diversity of this life.

Minutes were stretching unconstrained and measured, and I was wanting them not to end, there is some kind of quivering and sincere charm in such dawn minutes.

I looked at the sky and breathed this limitlessness. Here is our life, stretch out a hand and feel its taste.

A large bright sun appeared, leaned out a thin strip of its periphery, throwing long and streaming rays on the plane of the morning land. It became warmer and drier, the dew began to disappear, and the air was filled with spicy smells, heavy and was acquiring a sharp and viscous consistency with shades of stiffness and dampness. The day has come.

Such way, day after day all the life finishes, and each of days is special. We fall asleep with fatigue, and, after sleeping, we run from houses on works and shops, and then we blow out on the cake for one candle more and realize, that another one year has left us. It left forever, only loneliness and a feeling of emptiness remain. Sometimes so uncomfortable under this vast sky, from your own uselessness and anguish. We do not have time to take your happiness by the hand. So it is: one day one did not had time and the two remained forever without each other, everything has its price.

The sun reached the zenith and crumbled into the rays and the heat. Branches threw shadows and drew patterned pictures, frames melted. Everything was bright and was seeming to be painted. Houses were silent in the noonday warmth. In the distance, two girls were walking to the well for the water, some bird was staggering at the top of the tree and making rare screams. Nature was in dreamy bliss and was carrying away into its warmth.

Time passed beyond midday, the sky bacame clouded by rare clouds. The heat began to subside, the air became lighter and cleaner. I sat on the roadside and closed my eyes. All has disappeared.

I was awakened by the noise of the wheels, the car drove along the broken track and disappeared behind the turn, the evening came and the horizon has glowed pink. It was free and good. And at the same time lonely.

The sunset became darker and the sun approached the line of the Earth. The line, beyond which, perhaps, is so cherished happiness. Its motives can be heard even now.

The reddened disk half disappeared and its light gently filled the expanses with the last rays.

How to know what our tomorrow will be like ...

The last golden colors left the sky and the evening passed into the night. And now again there is silence, the only thing, that is never inseparable with the soul. It was cold and fresh. Only the chilling darkness around. In it will melt both secrets, and desires, and tears. So in the course of days we are melting, burning and ceasing to be ourselves, we are ceasing to be at all, we are existing instead of living. Somehow wrong it is.

We are spread across the map, across cities and houses. All the further from each other and all closer to solitude.

The wind blew, single raindrops sprinkled. They were remaining on the face and hands and were pleasantly tickling the skin. The last window has darkened. All went to bed.

A single star was burning in the sky. My ... although not, not my - ours, happiness can't be lonely.

1 She woke up alone, stretched out in bed and looked at her watch; early morning was caressing her tender body and playing with the sun's rays on her young face, the pleasant negligence of the dawn minutes was carrying away, the sky was clear and distant, without clouds and fog.

She got dressed, put the tea and leaned back in the armchair, she was feeling good, carefreeness was warming her soul and allowing her to relax, the wind outside the window was pleasantly carrying in dreams. The kettle boiled, she made tea, took the book off the shelf and began to read. The day was coming to the middle.

2 The rain was going and breaking the cold surface of the puddles, the wind was blowing a thin cloak, she was trembling and watching the faces of the buildings, which were distorting in reflections by the drops of rain on the surfaces of the water and were pouring like fine lines, creating a tempting pattern. She was feeling sad, cold and hurt - from injustice, loneliness and own uselessness, she was wanting to cry and to go nowhere - from everyone, from lies and deceit.

"Why am I here?" - she thought: "Anyway, now no one needs me, I'm unsuitable, superfluous."

3 The cold hospital ward. The sound of footsteps has disturbed her brief sleep, she heard the voices:

"It's okay, simple poisoning, you can already send her out."

"Do you think it will not happen any more?"

"I do not know, in any case it's not my problem."

4 The wind was blowing her white dress, she was walking along the blurred village rut with a wreath on her head and with an armful of onions in her hands. When she reached the abandoned house, sat down on a bench and looked around, from behind the corner a homeless dog ran up to her and stared at her with a sad look. "One you understand me, one ..." - she patted his neck and went on, ahead there were many days of village life, space and freedom - with the sun, squinting shutters and childish laughter.

5 Snow was falling on her neck and hair, the sky was deep and dark, the wind was circling white flakes over the stop and the blizzard was drowing fragile patterns on the sidewalk, the tram was not hurrying to come, and the gloves were stubbornly refusing to protect her hands from the cold.

"May I get acquainted with you?"

"No."

6 She came down the porch, turned around and sighed: "Goodbye work."

"You forgot something."

"No, no, I do not need all those things, you can take them yourself."

"Ah, all the snow has almost melted, I'll go and celebrate this my dismissal ..."

7 She woke up, there was already lunch and the sun was at its zenith, and the room was affectionately bathed in its rays. She made tea and took the book:

"Ah, the same tea, the same house ... and the day, and the sun, and yet I'm just as alive, alive, I am, I am myself, myself a friend, myself a commander, and after all the whole year has already passed from our parting. All this time, after all, there were the same days, the same sky and city, and after all it is still invariably nice to me ... "

She went out into the street. Houses were boring in the midday bliss and were enjoying the look. There was a calm, the shadows from the branches were dutifully remaining at their places, everything was real and soundless. She turned off the boulevard and went into the cafe. Familiar music was pleasantly caressing the ears, behind the window were riding different colorful cars.

"May I get acquainted with you?"

"Of course".

The sky was like a white sheet, without structure and clouds, and the head was without thoughts and plans, everything around was studied and familiar. Life was leading somewhere through human faces and frames of prospectuses with a misty path, and it was seeming, that it is just a drawn dream or a snippet of the film. The wheels have creaked behind the curve, and a car's wing appeared from the corner, and then appeared the car itself. So drove a few dozen cars and passed the same number of pedestrians. That's all the events on the deserted street, quiet and toy, like the whole city. Such walks usually are not even remembered, they are more a part of everyday life, than a fresh alternative. She quickly came into the distance and breathed the fresh air of the autumn, which was just starting to flare up, she was neither bored nor cheerful, she was indifferent to all, as it always was. She was not believing in happiness and signs, was not talking with strangers, and was rarely smiling. On her arm was a light bracelet, and on her neck a flowery scarf, screaming from all its appearance. The evening already began to scratch the roofs of houses, and the shadows became sharper and thicker. The lanterns were not cutting her eyes, but were faintly flickering somewhere high in the sky, instead of stars, or rather, just with them. It was cool, but it was getting windy too. Arch flashed over her head, and she was in her yard, familiar and already deserted. She turned the key and went into the apartment, undressed and made her dinner, then switched on the music and sat by the window. For many years, no one came to her and no one called. Silence replaced voices, and loneliness replaced company. Such way, she was living, or rather pretending, that she is living. Her desires were extinguished with her youth, and her passion for life was covered with ashes. There is a force of habit - the habit of not changing anything and continuing to support your own misery. That she did. Her hands found a photo album on the shelf and opened it on a random page. "Was it me? ..." - she said quietly and looked at her watch. There were only the night and her loneliness. The wind was shaking the frame and pouring down the room. Music continued to play and merged with the sounds of autumn. "How much I am already so? Why? Why can not I forget? To whom do I prove?" A little bit of self-reproaches and it's possible to go to sleep. She combed her hair and went to bed. In the morning a letter arrived. His relatives reported, that he died - the one who abandoned her, and to whom she had remained faithful for so many years, simply disappeared, became a memory. "Who among us died before? I was not living since then at all ..." The ray of the sun fell on the wall. "Now he definitely will not come." She got up and left the house. Everything was seeming pointless and empty. So many summers and so many winters have been saturated with continuous expectation. So many evenings were met in solitude. People were looking distant and not alive. She became smeared with dreams and hopes. It began to rain, and she went into a cafe, having started to look out of the window at puddles, at reflections and drops. "The world has become different today, or I have ceased to be myself, and whether was I at all? ..." The rain has over, and she went out into the street. Her steps melted in the distance, and the silhouette disappeared. Probably, really was not.

The clouds were sailing over the city, and the air was light and fresh. The wind was walking along the worn streets and rattling fragments of colorful advertisements. A little girl was standing at a crossroads and was silently staring into the distance. Gray gloomy people were walking alongside and noisy clumsy cars were rushing by. The world was seeming to her huge and incomprehensible, far and too much hurried. One of the passers-by asked: "Why are you standing here?"

"Do you are looking just for me?"

"Maybe for you"

"Scarcely. It is difficult to look for something without knowing, what are you looking for. You see me for the first time."

"And I'm not looking for anyone, and no one is looking for me, I'm just alone ... many years alone."

"How is it alone? Absolutely alone?"

"Yes, such the way, that I'm even ashamed to say, alone, alas."

"Not alone, I'm standing with you"

"Now yes, but you will leave, and again I will be alone"

"Come here tomorrow at 5, again you will not be alone, I will come too."

"And will not it be lazy for you to come here?"

"Not lazy, I'm also alone, in the class I have no friends, and at home too - my parents are at work, and they not allow me to have a cat, that's how I am living – alone."

"Since now no."

The girl smiled and looked at the passer-by: "My name is Olya, now I need to hurry to a section of drawing, and tomorrow I will wait for you here again ... if you will come."

"Will come."

He for a long time was looking at her melting silhouette and was keeping silent. Suddenly, the wind tore off his cap and dragged it along the ground. It was seeming, he was completely indifferent to that. "Alone ..." - he was muttering something and moving his hands, then he wanted to fix the cap, and, having seen, that it was lying on the road, quickly got out of the stupor and rushed to catch it up.

A day later they again were standing at that crossroad and were nicely chatting, meeting their eyes and timidly smiling. The life of each of them suddenly acquired a certain meaning, received a kind of justification and logicality.

Six months they were meeting at the same place and were telling about themselves and about news, that had happened. Half a year from all destinies of the city, only two were having one goal and one sense ... And then she moved away, or rather, she was moved - they put her in a car and even did not say, in which city she would ride. And he was standing and waiting a long time. He was looking the same way into the distance and it was seeming to him, that it's he was lost. Only no one will come and speak. Lonely people sometimes meet, sometimes meet married ones and hide from others their relationships, and sometimes people part ... "And she will, probably, stop loving crossroads, or maybe will draw me, and this portrait will be printed in the newspaper, and I'll find out myself and will find her, or maybe will simply forget ..."

_____________________________________________

"Why are you so sad for already the last two weeks? Well, let's we still will buy you a cat, so be it."

"A cat ... no ... I need not ..."

At 18.00 on Friday in one small city there was hung a strange announcement: "There will be the tripping of happiness." It was reported, that they would disconnect all the people on the following Monday and forever, and that the last weekend people will have the last opportunity to be happy. People immediately became alarmed and thoughtful. They began to remember, when they were happy for the last time, were remembering and remembering, and so still did remember. Whether they were not happy, whether the memory was fastidious and short. Everyone immediately began to try to become happy: someone ran to the stores, someone started calling their loved ones, someone started to withdraw money. All because to everyone different things for happiness are required. In the evening of the same day, the life of the whole town has changed, everyone was very happy, and that ones, who were not happy, were strenuously and earnestly pretending, that they feeling better than anyone else. All night the windows were burning, and there were screams and conversations. In the morning everyone again hurried to satisfy their needs and desires. In the shops there were queues, and in the squares were crowds. Suddenly, among one of the crowds appeared a policeman - whistled in the whistle and went to passers-by.

"What kind of disgrace have you done here?"

The crowd looked in bewilderment and confusion.

"What's going on here?"

One daredevil came out from the crowd and uttered: "So this ... happiness will be cut off from Monday."

Policeman scratched his bald head and after long inquiries and torments still has known the reason of such a commotion.

He put on his hat and went straight to the city government, but there no one had heard of such a resolution. They contacted the governor, but he also was not aware of. So by the evening the news had reached the president, but he also did not know anything about such an act. Found the patriarch, he took out his books and postulates and was looking in them for a long time, but there there was nothing too. As a result, led a medium with two shamans, they were long beating in a tambourine and dancing, after which, established the connection with God, but he was also unaware. Then the announcement was taken for someone's joke and was torn. And to the people was ordered to disperse and not disturb anyone in the future.

Still no one understood, what it was.

And from the Monday a new week started, people went to works and already forgot about the recent incident. The faces were gloomy and unhappy, everyone was silent and was looking at the floor ... – for any more announcement not to notice.

In one small town there was a factory. A half of the townspeople was working there, and it was a certain face of the city - if someone from the leadership was coming, then was visiting only that place. Time was passing, and the situation was changing. The factory went bankrupt and eventually closed. And as soon as this happened, it was immediately assiduously plundered. In such business no one was modest, and all the equipment was taken out on several trucks in a couple of weeks. Afterwards, the top officials asked to find the guilty ones, or, if they would not be found, to make guilty anyone else. For these needs, several guards were sent and started to wait for some loser. So, one day one pensioner noticed a tin with paint, lying on the factory's territory without demand. Being a cottager, he decided to borrow it and use. But only when the poor man has climbed over the fence, the dog has immediately thrown at him, and he was tied by the guards . On the morning the man was taken to the remand center, and in the local newspaper his photo was shown as an image of the main culprit in the collapse of the enterprise. The townspeople, being ordinary and narrow-minded persons, did not understand the essence of the case and completely accused the pensioner of all conceivable and inconceivable sins. "And take away his dacha from him! He built it at the expense of the stolen money!" - were indignanting the citizens. "Imprison him! And for a long time imprison, such rascals should not live at all!" As a result, a court was appointed. But no one has seen the man on the day of judgment - he hanged himself on the eve, immediately after the confession to the local priest. The priest said later, that in confession the unfortunate told, that he wanted to steal for all his life only two times - first in his childhood: a candy from a festive table – then his mother noticed him and scolded, and the second time: this ill-fated tin of paint.

Soon the city forgot this story. The factory was continuing to rust and to stay empty. The townspeople were living with their own bustle. On the outskirts outside the cemetery wall, was resting the body - without a cross and with an unpainted fence, the latter was especially symbolic.

The society is ready to trample on everyone, on who someone will point a finger. They are ready to believe in everything, that will be said – the main is to present it enough colorful. The misfortune of the personality is in the madness of the crowd.

In one house one window was constantly burning every night until the morning. In it was living a lonely young man. Every night he was writing notes and reading books by the reason of insomnia. At times it was seeming to him, that someone was watching him, and soon into the door would knock, and his fate would acquire any sense. And in the opposite house was living a lonely girl. Every night, after turning off the light, she was climbing on the windowsill and was silently sitting there, looking for a long time at the opposite house with a single burning window. The lady was imagining, that there, perhaps, someone is also alone and, like her, is looking for intimacy and understanding. Years were passing by. Both he and she were leaving alone, the light was burning in one of the houses, and in the opposite were thinking about the dweller of this room. For all the time they have never met.

One day the man died, and for the first time his window has left without light. That night, she was looking for a long time in the darkness and was waiting for the fact, that the window, that had become such a native for her, would light up. But that was not meant to happen. Suddenly she felt herself so empty, lonely and uncomfortable. Life suddenly lost all the meaning, even had not been having it before. The woman got up from the windowsill, laid to bed and weeped.

Once upon a time there was a settlement, years were going, people in it were gradually scraping and searching exclusively for gain and wealth, becoming insensitive and arrogant. In the end remained only one sincere person. But he was not knowing about it and every his day was spending, traveling in search of someone else like him. For many years the poor man was wandering, hungering and enduring the adversities of a nomadic life, but sincere people were not coming across. And then one day the man saw a city, that was shining with a glow and gleaming with the light of windows. Good, opened and disinterested people were walking around its streets, loving each other and totally devoting themselves to relationships and friendship. There was indescribably beautiful and carefree, but suddenly the hero woke up from a kick in the back.

"Get up from the roadside! The cart can't pass!" - a thick merchant croaked.

The traveler got up, took his bundle and went away.