Alexandar Tomov's Blog - Posts Tagged "new-book"

Short story from my future book: "Beyond the absurd".

Coming soon...


Lord Byron: "Truth is stranger than fiction".


I was already at the airport terminal. I had gone the road all by myself, as always. I returned from the desert, where I had had some work to do and the return flight was long and exhausting. I went out in front of the terminal and I saw it. I don't know how I decided with one look only that this was my taxi. It was a shade different than the others and I felt at once that this taxi was very special. Its dark green colour reminded me of...
„Drive me home, but before that I want to stop by another place where you will wait for me“, I told the driver as I opened the door. He was a well-dressed dignified man at an average age. He measured me with his strange look and beckoned me to get onto the passenger seat. We were already traveling on the road. The weather was a little bit cloudy and there was not much traffic. The road seemed familiar to me. At least at the beginning.
I looked at the panel in front of me.
„Excuse me, isn't your fare too expensive?“, I asked the driver.
„It is, but you know that this taxi is extremely special. It can take you absolutely everywhere and I know all the roads all around the world and even beyond it“, the driver answered politely.
„How come everywhere?“, I asked.
„It's as I say it!“
„You must be very rich with these fares.“
The driver smiled.
„It's a state taxi, sir. Everything goes into the state budget.“
I mused.
„OK, so you say everywhere. What if I want you to drive me to the end of the world? Or beyond the apocalypse? Or even beyond it?“
„No problem. But I doubt that you have so much money“, he said while he made a left turn. The road seemed more and more familiar to me.
„Has anyone asked you to drive them to such places?“
„Only once. It was a very rich and bored old man. The trip was very long, but he paid more than enough.“
„Where is he now?“
„I don't have any idea. I left him where he wanted. In the Judgment day! I haven't seen him any more after that. I myself could hardly return from there. I think he also wanted to go back, but still there isn't a man rich enough on this world who can pay me the fare to the Judgment Day and back“, the driver said, as if to himself and made a barely noticeable smile.
„You have a very interesting job. You must see a lot of things that the other people cannot see. And what is there? In the Judgment day?“, I asked and looked carefully at him.
He sighed strangely.
„Well, to some extent, it is as it is described in the Bible, and still it is a little bit different. Darkness, fires, total destruction. The living and the dead have met among the ruins somewhere at the end of time. And they celebrate the apocalypse. An eternal orgy is taking place among the destruction. It is more frightening than the hell. And it is too tense. It is not for me. I am a calm person. I prefer silence.
The road from the airport ended in the distance before us.
„I forgot to ask you. Where do you want me to stop before driving you home?“
„There is a turn off the road slightly forward. I think that was the way.“
„I know it very well, but there the fare is triple.“
I thrust my hand into my pocket and count my money. I don't have enough money.
„Isn't it too much to make it a triple fare?“, I reproach him.
He looks at me.
„You know very well that this turn leads to the world of the dead. It is not too much if you take into consideration all the nerves and this leap between the two worlds.“
„Do you often drive people there?“
„It happens, but as you see, it is too expensive. And all this money goes to the state. This is the state policy nowadays. The state budget makes large amounts of money out of taxis driving people to the world of the dead. If you ask me, it is conceived very well, because sooner or later everyone wants to go there to see some old acquaintance or a relative. Whom do you want to see?“
„Some old acquaintances who will have a small feast today in a block. It is very close, but still we will have to turn right and cross the border to get there, and I don't have enough money.“
He looks at me.
„I take your hint, but this can't affect me. Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't have done it. The taxi is programmed so that if it turns to the world of the dead, the machine starts charging a triple fare. It is another clever thing, invented by the state.“
I grow sad. My face sinks into desperation.
„But I haven't seen these acquaintances since they died. And the only thing I know is that they will meet just today for a while in the block near the turn. I will hardly find them ever again after that.“
„I am sorry, sir, but I can't help you.“
„Do you think that if I earn money and call you again some day to drive me to the world of the dead, I will find them again?“, I asked him.
„Honestly, I don't know. The dead are a little bit unreliable. Once they meet, then they scatter and never meet again. But who knows! Why do you want so much to go there? May be it is some unfullfilled love story which death had made impossible?“He looked at me with curiosity.
„Something like that.“
„OK, I don't have enough money for you to drive me to the world of the dead, but what if I want you to drive me to some memory, for example?“
„There is no way. The fare to the memories is more expensive than that to the world of the dead,“ he said to me.
„OK, then just drive me home“, I said and leaned back on the seat.
The boulevard ends. It is already dark outside. The taxi takes some unknown roads. I am sure that I have never passed them.“
„Sir, where do you drive me? This is not the road to my home“, I told him, as I looked at the passing cars outside.
„This is the address you told me. District... block...entrance... The data is entered in the car computer. It is impossible for a mistake to be made. Besides, I drove you to the airport some weeks ago, don't you remember? Surely that's the way. In fact, we are almost there. It remains a little bit more.“
„I remember that you drove me, but we passed entirely different roads. I am convinced of that.“
„Don't be so sure, sir. Sometimes the way home looks the way we want it to be. That is the right road. Trust me. If you don't trust me, trust the computer, which is programmed by the state. I am sure that you will soon remember.“
„May be you are right.“, I lean back on the seat. I look at the cars against us and the street lamps and I grow sleepy.
I have a strange dream. I am among some Roman ruins in a dark night. Small fires burn around me. In the distance before me some ancient town can be seen in the moonlight. I am overtaken by a strong wind and a feeling of ancient times. Everything is very mystic. There is someone behind me. I turn around. It is the ghostly shadow of an old dead acquaintance of mine. I am amazed what he is doing here and why he specifically is here. The shadow approaches, raises a hand, and says before my hypnotized look:
„Memento mori“, it says and slowly points with a finger one of the small fires.

MY FUTURED BOOK – front and back cover

“Beyond the absurd”:

http://www.pinterest.com/pin/90423904...

http://www.pinterest.com/pin/90423904...

STORY 1


Translated from the Bulgarian by Ekaterina Petrova


There’s a street from the distant future, where it’s always raining. I’ve asked myself a thousand times why it only rains there. I love rain. It’s eternal and cleansing.
Once again, I’m there at dusk, waiting for the ghost of that mysterious woman to appear, the one who caused the end of the world to come. The only woman in eternity that I’m in love with.
I knew I’d shown up a little early and decided to take a walk while waiting for her.
I headed down the cross street. It was made of glass. It was deserted and ablaze with light. There was nobody around. I stared at the dusky sky, where I saw something that looked like an enormous airplane. What is it doing there and where are the people now, I asked myself, though I knew I wouldn’t find out, as I couldn’t possibly know all the details about the distant future. As I walked down the sidewalk, I reached something resembling a large, open kiosk. It looked like a pharmacy. Suddenly, a blond kid with sad eyes and strange clothes popped up in front of me and, without paying me any attention, went up to the kiosk. At its window stood a young woman wearing a white lab coat. She was beautiful. I stopped in front of them.
“What would you like? Are you feeling sick?” the woman asked the kid.
He fell silent for a few seconds.
“I’d like something against death…?” he said, to my amazement.
“You know I can’t do that. You’re way too young. Where are your parents? Why aren’t you at school?” the pharmacist’s answer amazed me even more.
“Please, give me something against death!” the kid continued to insist.
“Look, I think you better go home and get some sleep, no matter what happened or who died. You must’ve heard that giving out drugs against death to children is strictly prohibited. They could poison your psyche.”
“But can’t you give me just a tiny bit? I feel terrible and want to try some! Everyone says these drugs are quite effective,” the kid continued to insist.
“If you don’t feel well, go to the doctor. If he prescribes you a children’s dose of medicine against death, and you come back with the prescription, then I’ll give it to you. Otherwise it’s impossible.”
The child fell silent for a while.
“Then at least tell me, what are these drugs against death like?” he finally asked.
“I knew it! You little scoundrel! Nobody’s actually died, have they? You just ran away from school and now you’re trying to trick me, just to satisfy your curiosity. You better go home, before I call your parents. And when it comes to these drugs against death,” she gave him a teasing smile, “you’ll find out what they’re like when you grow up.”
The kid hung around for a few more seconds, then ran down the street and quickly disappeared from my sight.
“Good afternoon!” I was already standing in front of the window.
“Good time of day, rather!” the pharmacist replied.
“What does that mean, good time of day?” I inquired.
“That’s how people greet each other between noon and evening! Where do you come from?” she asked with a surprise.
“It doesn’t matter. I’d like some medicine against death!” I said and dug into my pocket for some money.
“You need a prescription for that, sir.”
“I’ll pay double!” I said.
“What? Are you addicted to drugs against death, or what? You better go, before I call the police.”
“Look… all right. I’m not going to insist. I’d just like to know, what are these drugs like, exactly?”
She gave me a somewhat apprehensive and bewildered look, as if she was looking at a mentally ill person.
“Sir, where do you come from? Are you mad, or are you maybe suffering from severe amnesia?”
“Yes, I’m suffering from severe amnesia and I need to be reminded of some ordinary things, which I seem to have forgotten. Please, just briefly explain to me what these drugs against death are, and I’ll go immediately.”
Her face looked frightened as she hesitated for a few seconds.
“Well, most commonly, they are special eyeglasses, which cause powerful visual hallucinations. Bright visions that provoke dark sexual fantasies and increase the human libido a hundredfold. They cause people to fall into the abyss of their own sexuality, making it possible for them to have up to one hundred orgasms per minute. As long as the drug is working, the patients totally forget about death as a whole, and even – to quote some of the information leaflets, ‘all the death in the world,’ since they’re obsessed with chasing after their pleasure. But these drugs are only available by prescription, and only to people who are very depressed. Most frequently, these are people who’ve lost a child. One has to be very careful with them, as they can be highly addictive. That’s it. I hope that this has made you remember. And now, please, go away,” she says.
Astounded, I continue walking down the sidewalk. At its end, there is a small, glowing table. An elderly man wearing glasses is sitting at the table and reading a newspaper. There’s an empty chair next to him. I go up to him and take a look at my watch. I still have fifteen minutes before my meeting, and the street where it’s always raining is just a few hundred feet away.
“Sir, can I sit down for a bit?” I ask.
“Of course, go right ahead,” he says and continues leafing through the paper.
Unintentionally, I start scanning the headlines. It says:
“The Chinese man, – – –, has fallen in love! Something that hasn’t happened in two hundred years! Unfortunately, this unfamiliar feeling made him so worried that he condemned himself to being unafraid of death and got into a fatal car accident that same night! The doctors will be able to revive him for an hour at most, but that should be enough to run some tests and find out how the ancient feeling arose in him!”
Elsewhere, it says:
“Psychologists have finally proven that the entire justice system’s deep motives and its idea as a whole, which have existed for thousands of years, are completely false, since they rest upon empty human delusions. Namely, the delusion that people can control or change the future and win over the evil that has already taken place. According to the studies, this is impossible, since it’s the evil of the moment that makes the world go round and this is a fixed constant.
“All efforts and means to somehow compensate for it in the future serve only to feed the human ego in an imaginary way and are thus impossible, since both the world and its people are changing constantly and at a very quick pace.
“According to our editor-in-chief, this is undoubtedly reminiscent of an idea of the great author from the end of the third millennium, – – –, ‘On an unconscious level, the idea of what’s good and moral is nothing more than an empty illusion, which weak use to people compensate for their own powerlessness in an imaginary way.’”
Next to the article, set off in a small box, I read the following headline: “Exclusive Interview with the Mother of the World’s Youngest Suicide, 4-Year-Old – – –, Who Killed Himself Yesterday, Just After his Birthday.”
“My son. He died very young, a mere child. But he died like a hero. He was barely four, but he’d hated the whole world ever since he was two. I think that deep inside, he felt as only a child could feel. Yesterday, shortly after he turned four, he went up to the roof of our apartment building, to the 12th floor. A crowd gathered below and started starting at him. He looked at it with the eyes of an adult and jumped over the railing. Then, as he fell to his death, and seemingly without a drop of fear, he put out his hand and showed everyone a vulgar, but very real gesture – his middle finger. A truly mystical death. I’ll never forget it.”
The man turns to another page. On it, it says:
“According to the contemporary sociologist – – –, the end of the world will come when people start to commit murders in the name of hope! When they realize that each death in the present eventually gets forgotten and the only way for the human soul to be purified is for the dead to outnumber the living in the present moment! The dead themselves, or the idea and memory of them, are debating on the subject!”
I take a look at my watch. It’s already time. I get up from the table.
“Goodbye, sir. Have a pleasant time of day!”
He looks at me and gives me a strange smile.
“Goodbye, and have a pleasant evening, rather!” he says, and continues his reading.
I walk quickly. Before long, I’m already at the beginning of the street where it’s always raining. It’s dark and the evening rain is swooping down on the dim lights of the street lamps. Why isn’t that woman here? I even came a little late! There’s something I’m forgetting. I think about it and I remember.
“Everything, even the end of the world, is an escape from loneliness,” I say out loud.
And then, as I look on with amazement, her mysterious ghost slowly appears at the end of the street.