Biography A of the faces

More than AA from the author, everything began with the fact that in childhood my parents instilled in me an interest in reading. I read the “radiance” of Stephen King, and this - without exaggeration - turned my life, prompting to engage in literary work. As a result, I am where I am now. I don’t know where I will find myself tomorrow, but I want to say thanks to my good friend and editor Ilya Popenov, who has been working with me all these years, and the scientific leader Viktor Mikhailovich Sorokin.

It was these two people who insisted that I stop writing to the table. And here is a collection of modern literary Gothic, in its author’s understanding. I mean a mixture of psychological realism and mysticism, slightly seasoned with postmodernism. We can say that Gothic prose has become the basis for the literature of supernatural horror, well known to many from the works of Stephen King, Howard Lovecraft and other masters of the genre.

Being extremely popular not only in England and France I will mention the “rotation of the screw” Henry James, the stories of Amelia Edwards or the “elixir of longevity” Honore de Balzac, she was successful with us, mainly in Tsarist Russia, exciting the minds of eminent writers of that time. It would be wrong to keep silent about such diamonds as the “bliss of madness” by N. Polevoy and “Shtoss” M.

I can easily recall “Vii”, “Nose” and “Overcoat” by N. Gogol, “The Queen of Spades” A. with surprise found in I. Turgenev Gothic works “Ghosts”, “Song of the triumphant love”, “The story of Father Alexei”. I am sure that each of you can continue this list. All three stories and three novels that make up my debut book occupy a special place in the heart. They were written from a year.

In the work on the book, both personal experience and professional psychological knowledge in combination with a liveliness helped. I do not always know how the story will end and where her hero will come on the last page. But I know that Denis Araev’s excellent illustrations brought a different, visual dimension to each of them. I consider myself a writer, and I do not find words to express all the gratitude of the artist.

As well as those who love me and supports me all these years. With the subsequent my creations, I began to look for my own style, experimenting with the composition and not hesitated to put topical topics for discussion. Among them are the problems of relations in the family of the story “Treason” and “Answer” regarding forbidden love, discrimination of socially unprotected segments of the population “Life on the verge”, the influence of the media on the mass consciousness and the consequences of drug use by young people the story “Caricature”.

For ten years of creative activity, I came to the conclusion that the author is engaged in creativity when he does not represent his life without him. And it, in my opinion, is a dialogue between a person with a person through works of art. I finish the preface at this, and then we will see how the written will respond in your souls. The story told by a middle -aged person regarding life in a boarding school if this story is started, then from the story about it, it ...

is quite peculiar. I don’t know if you studied in such places, but it fell to my share in such a thing that it is best to compare with the prison. Firstly, they are watching you. Control of educators, most of which are elderly and do not have a pedagogical education, which justifies them with similarity with prison warders. The monitoring of a nurse who is nowhere else to work, apparently a local isolator as a joke, we called this place a “Karter”, into which we fell with a high temperature and treated ourselves mainly by force of spirit.

The control of the nannies, who was on duty at night, so that there was silence in the bedrooms and on the floor of the appearance of order. Outwardly, we were definitely not free. To go beyond the territory of the school, I had to ask the educators. But, of course, they left without demand. Secondly, the presence of a daily routine, which is usually for schools of such a way.

It is unusual that any event - whether it is lunch, changes or climbing - marked in the daily routine, was accompanied by a loud ringing of calls located throughout the school, forgive me for tautology. Actually, this was the responsibilities of the watchman - to monitor the order on the ground floor, to give the necessary calls on time, to do, even when should not, unnecessary not helping remarks to naughty children, give employees the keys to offices and other premises and “sit on the phone”.

By the way, about watchmen. The youngest of them, the man, was slightly over thirty, and the rest, women, the older, the more naughtral. What is logical. One of these grandmothers, as those who lived with her in the neighborhood said about her and again worked in this God -given place, despite her advanced age, had several lovers, and most of them she brought into the grave.

I said the "majority", I wonder how many of them did she have at all? It’s true or not, but they said that she - Don Juan in a female guise was compared so compared! Barefoot, in a dressing gown, in early January. And, regardless of whether you take my word for my word or not, would be right. Yes, and for now I remember.The school itself was located in the P-shaped three-story building made of white brick.

Three wings. The ceremonial windows of the central part of the house took to a small football field. Around this field there was a path, along it we started running around the school in physical education classes. The fence, however, without barbed wire, - the speaker allowed himself to smile, - and behind her the park, to which we will return, the railway station and the highway leading to the city.

Thirdly, the school resembled a prison also because the food seemed in the boarding school, that “behind bars” was about the same. We suspected who are we "we"? Because maybe someone liked how he was fed, but not to me.

But it was possible. And they fed everything to get on - in the morning, porridge with the exception of Sunday is necessarily - then, according to the original tradition, we were prepared an omelet, a roll with butter and cocoa; on the second breakfast - a sandwich with cheese or sausage or cottage cheese with sour cream and tea; for lunch-soup for the first and something for the second; And dinner was an apotheosis of the whole day.

Here you come from the “Walking on the daily Day” to the dining room, and there ... In the worst case, you are waiting for a herring and vinaigrette or rubber pancakes, and in the best - pasta with cheese or buckwheat with sausages. Well, it’s not for me to explain to you. You can calculate that all these details are superfluous and insignificant for the story that you are going to hear from me, but I assure you - they are necessary.

One way or another, I will try to round off with descriptions and get down to business. Although, when I recall everything that in this room after all this time, you still goosebumps on the skin, and I also understand that I would sometimes give everything to never remember the absurd in which I found myself. Because time does not change anything. This is changing, becoming older, aging, thinking that something is significant for others.

The people sitting in the room looked at each other, someone was nervous, starting to fidget in a chair. Or will they perceive my story as a simple bike and continue to live as before? We are listening. At least for sure, - said a short guy of about twenty -five years old. He looked slightly tired, but it was rather mystical fatigue - his tanned face of his tan was old, blond hair and a careful sad look would have hinted at you.

Sometimes hints are all that we have. And sometimes they are already enough to understand the truth. The rest nodded their heads barely noticeably - either they were interested, or simply shy to leave here. And here, just in time, one man of about forty of those present in the room clumsily yawned, got up from his place, saying something like: “Under Amelia Edwards 3 Kosysh, with its Christmas stories?

Oh, very much! Boredom here is with you, I’d better go to sleep ” - and it was like that. Where this citizen went, it is not clear, given that it was a pouring rain outside the window and, apparently, was not going to end, but he was blown away from the rest room. Maybe the truth - he returned to his number and lay down. A woman of retirement age grinned slightly, but she remained listening to the story.

Like the rest - a guy and two more girls, his peers. With these two, everything was clear - they would only tickle their nerves. But the guy’s replica played a role, and the person sitting at the table near the window, but so that everyone was visible, continued: “I did all these comparisons with the prison only so that you understand the entire atmosphere in which I was.” In which we were ...

all who was there. But not everyone felt her. It is terrible to feel all this, but, on the other hand, not to feel even worse. It's like going to the abyss, not knowing that you are blind. So you can think that there is no abyss. And the worst thing is to doubt that all this was really. After all, after all these events, more than twenty years passed.

As for the dining room, add to extraordinary food what needs to be on duty, covering the tables, and once a month to sweep it with the whole class. Add to this that as a punishment - for a deuce or poor behavior - we washed the floors there, and you will understand what we lived. The word "metaphysics" was spinning in my head. From the fact that I was talking about the school where all this happened, nothing is metaphysical.

I don't like the atmosphere, so what's next? And then not a single word. Just do not interrupt. Tales-and they do not easily tell, but this is how ... everyone agreed, and this is where his real story began. We loved to sit opposite the shift with him and talk about this: either about girls, then about the situation at school, almost never about politics - only if we watched TV together - well, about everything else.