Сергей БЛИК | Проза



The little mouse, huddled in the corner of the large room, suddenly remembered the piece of cheese he had hidden not long ago, specifically for such an occasion, in the furthest nook, in a small, but cozy corner…          This nook, at the moment, seemed so very homey and secure. His heart throbbed mercilessly, after his extensive run across the house.  His back, as one pulse, pumped in perfect time with his heart, and it seemed that the whole room, the entire colossal two story house convulsed in unison with him…. Before the tiny mouse sat an enormous cat, named Vaska. The cat was not hungry and chased after the mouse simply for the fun of it, or perhaps it was only a hereditary instinct of his kind that moved him on.  Having covered each floor of the large house, Vaska ran the mouse into a corner, where there was no escaping under a piece of furniture.  Then, having cornered the mouse, with great pleasure, he calmly went on to scrutinize the poor mouse, licking his mustaches and his right paw.  The excitement of the challenge gradually wore off, since the mouse made to moves to escape and Vaska had no intention of touching or God forbid, eating it anyway.   Therefore, with waning enthusiasm, but some lingering interest, he sat and watched… Meanwhile, the mouse, recognizing the lack of possible exits, initially grew terribly frightened, so that his little heart, after the drawn out sprint around the house, nearly leapt out of his chest. But it suddenly hit him, or he simply sensed with some new, strengthening sense, that the long-time   arch enemy of mice as a species — Vaska the cat, had no plans of harming him whatsoever.  While that piece of cheese, so abruptly sweeping back through his thoughts, sent an aroma wafting by…. He immediately remembered, that he hadn’t invited his closest relatives over for cheese. If things work out here, I will make a point of inviting them! He thought to himself, as his heart seemed to calm itself down, entering a new thought process… Vaska was surprised to witness the lack of terror in the eyes of the mouse and the stench of fear disappearing from the air…  What is going on? The victim isn’t even afraid? His own thoughts and feelings were altered and absolutely new sensations crept through him. -Why am I chasing him in the first place? — To eat him? — No I won’t!!! — Just to play tag? — I guess so! —  But that’s already grown boring, since he’s too scared of me…- I wonder, how long will I continue these instinctual pursuits? The master fed the can exceptionally well and the cat faithfully and dutifully earned his keep.  There hadn’t been any mice in the house for quite some time… Although, that wasn’t entirely true. In the house lived a small mouse, who had come to fit in. Since he did no noticeable damage to the food stores, with the silent consent of the owner and the cat, they shared the house…. And of course Vaska chased the mouse around the corridors regularly, about twice each week, but that was for no more than staying in shape. One couldn’t say that the mouse was overly terrified by the whole ordeal, but basic instinct did its work.  Fear would periodically set in and firmly grip him, so that tears would flood the small button-eyes mid-chase through the house; tears of fear, of longing to change things and the simultaneous regret, that the situation could in no way be altered… But at this point, both of their thoughts, without saying a word, for some reason began to move in the same direction, one that was totally new and unknown…it was time to become acquainted and get to know one another, but the wretched terror of millions of preceding generations of mice stood in his way and the excitement in the predatory genes of the cat, reminded him, that chasing mice was natural…. Vasilii the cat once again cast a glance at the mouse and with a puzzled air about him, returned to his bowl of milk, occasionally shooting looks at the little mouse — is he not running away too fast… The mouse, summoning the courage, also calmed himself and without excessive hurry, scurried back to his hole, until tomorrow, when the whole thing would begin again, and again and again, until someday, on some warm Autumn afternoon, they will come to an agreement and leisurely make efforts to become friends, bored of loneliness and no more chases.  And maybe, Vaska the cat and the little mouse will serenely sit together on an overturned milk pail and watch the evening sunset. For no reason, simply because it is beautiful.  And there will be no need to argue, whether the color of the sunset was different yesterday, simply because it has returned this evening and it is beautiful…

Years and Centuries Pass Us By

Years and centuries pass us by
But man, he never changes.
His main pursuits will always



But if, at least, he’d know himself!
Then progress would be clear.
But his desires are basic so —
From now, for a thousand years: —
I must buy something new today! —
And earn my bread, to earn my keep!
If only he had more of these
More goodness and more love.
Then he would live eternally…
But our progress bends to the will of those,
Who count themselve above the others.
So man is left still deaf and blind,
A slave to all his passions!
Could he his youth yet overcome —
And come to know himself for sure.
Then he could rise, to help others on,
When Soul and Spirit are pure!

Demen Keaper, Russia

About the author:

Sergei Blik, I was born on November 30, 1959 in Pyatigorsk. I live and work in Moscow and write poems and sometimes prose as a hobby.

A birthday, year and month is no more than a date
What follow are but suspension points, composing our whole lives.
Life is but a ticket, a ticket with
a stream, a stream with a clear ending, the ending of a dream.
The plot, it yet unfinished lies.
While between the dates stand periods
Representing years gone by. Year upon bygone year.
Oh who was I? To him I won’t return
however hard you try.
In the wake of years, lie months and weeks
The past days of Springtime. Doubt and pain
Joys and dreams, a home and a family line.
Same as the rest? I may be unique in my own way.
Like everyone in the world, dwells upon the earth.
I live, may I comprehend this earth,
The universe inside. And somewhere, something
I can build, create…
Who will I be? This later God will show.
I live within the here and now. I sketch
This life my canvas and paint
My simple wish is to find myself, to myself to find the way.


Рассказать о прочитанном в социальных сетях:

Подписка на обновления интернет-версии журнала «Российский колокол»:

Читатели @roskolokol
Подписка через почту

Введите ваш email: