Inevitable Fate
Philosophical Science Fiction (continuation)
It was the same day in Muscovy that KWB was a little worried about when he signed with Mycroft. It was either the Day of Unity, it is not clear with whom, or the Day of Independence, again, it is not clear from whom, or the day of the Constitution, which has never been in Muscovy since the birth of this state.
A parade of great victories and achievements of Muscovy in the history of Mankind was taking place on Red Square. The parade was grandiose; portraits of Count Potemkin, very revered by the inhabitants of this institution, hung everywhere in the Kremlin. This count, as you know, was a genius in any business when it was necessary to “throw dust into eyes” for the Tsar. Heavy weapons of prehistoric construction rolled over the centuries-old cobblestones, then the famous missile systems followed, and behind them — huge ballistic missiles. At the end of the column, the ‘Vostok’ spacecraft, on which, like a living, smiling Yuri Gagarin was driving in the truck and singing the song “And he said — let’s go! And he waved his hand.”
The fun was awful!
A group of people with a red flag marched in a parallel course with portraits of their leader Stalnoy. It was the ‘Paranoia Lovers’ party. Nearby it were people with portraits of the leader of Svalnoy Party ‘All morons trust us’. They were followed by certain priests and metropolitans with portraits, flags, ammunition and it is not clear with what, only God knows about.
This whole motley picture looked more like Picasso’s famous painting “The Death of Guernica” than on the day of Unity, Independence or Constitution.
On the Mausoleum of the great leader of all the proletarians of the World, the KWB was surrounded by his retinue. But you, dear reader, already know that it was not him, but Cybertron of Mycroft. But nobody was interested in this in the square. Particularly this did not bother the party members ‘All morons trust us’. Morons exist in order to trust everyone. They are always a huge majority. According to the Mycroft Contract, no one should have questioned the authenticity of KWB on the Mausoleum.
But who could doubt anything, when everyone in the square was shouting only about himself!
As Maxim Gorky wrote:
“We sing a song to the madness of brave …”
However, here the another words are coming to mind:
“We sing a song to the madness of egoist …” In fact, we have no one to sing! Everything, like in all social networks, only express themselves, but nobody reads or listens to anyone.
Suddenly, right in the middle of a magnificent parade, a completely naked old man appeared out of nowhere. He blankly looked around and began to poke himself in different directions. At first he hit a large weapon of an ancient type, but he passed through, as it turned out that this weapon was made of painted gauze. He ran up to the tank in a fury, but as soon as he jumped on it, like Lenin the great in 1917, he immediately failed, as the tank was made of fragile plywood, which collapsed. The naked man wanted to hide in the ‘Vostok’ spacecraft, but the ship, along with the launch vehicle, also turned out to be made of cardboard.
“Catch the imperialist spy and the bastard,” sounded from somewhere over a megaphone.
Everyone who carried red flags and portraits of Stalnoy, shouted:
“Crucify him, crucify this enemy of the people. No mercy to the imperialist!” and the whole crowd began to chase after this unfortunate naked one.
Everyone who trusted everyone, that is, all morons, began to scream in fear:
“My God, our great King, end this shame!” while they cringed in fear in front of the largest ballistic missile, but when accidentally this crowd came into contact with a large ballistic missile, the latter was blown away as it also turned out to be inflatable.
All this, of course, was shown by the media in different countries. It was an amazing sight.
Woven was tied up and handcuffed to an iron bed at the nearest police / militia station. He was naked, but on top of him someone threw some kind of red rag. Apparently, he was caught from the Stalnoy’s squad.
“Who are you, idiot?” at first the policeman asked him politely.
“I feel bad, I feel very bad, my hands hurt, badly …”, Woven answered in a bad mixed language.
“No, you’re okay,” the stupid policeman understood the answer approximately like this and angrily continued, “But now you will feel bad,” and the policeman began to beat Woven on the heels with a rubber truncheon.
After such artillery preparation, Woven really lost consciousness.
A policeman poured a tub of water over him, but he did not come to his senses.
A high-ranking officer entered the waiting room. He took Woven by the hair, which was gray and sparse, raised his head and abruptly lowered him onto the bench. No reaction.
“There was no need to kill, Major”
The major, excited, ran up to Woven.
“Oh, he’s breathing. He is breathing!”, and he untied the prisoner faster than anyone else and tried to seat him on the chair that was nearby. Finally, he succeeded.
Woven came to his senses a little. His entire middle-aged and weak body ached, his head ached. He didn’t understand anything. He began to think that he was now dead and put on God’s judgment for his agnosticism.
“Where are you from, comrade?” the boss asked very politely.
“Right now from Yinuebowula.”
“Where from?”
“From the planet Yinuebowula. But before I lived here on Earth, in England …”
“It’s clear,” the boss interrupted and gave him a glass of water. Then he turned to the other policemen:
“Crazy, escaped from the clinic. Exactly. Find, urgently, where he could escape from. Then report to me, Urgently!” He pronounced the last words distinctly.
All at once ran away somewhere, except for the guard, who was assigned to Woven so that he would not run away. But Woven was so tired of such a good reception at home, although it was only Muscovy, but still the Earth-homeland, that he could not even think about any movement.
Finally, Woven came to himself, dressed in a straitjacket, in the clinic named after Vyshinsky.
This asshole Vyshinsky was such a great psychotherapist who believed that a person would be cured only when he confesses everything and realizes his madness, because only a madman does not like Stalnoy and Muscovy, which eventually raised such a genius as KWB. After such confessions, a person can be executed with a light heart, because treatment such a degree of madness, nothing has been invented better.
In this clinic, nothing has changed since Woven’s previous life. In this country, nothing at all has changed mentally, although there were already plenty of expensive “toys” from the West in it. But this is such a swamp in which nothing ever changes.
He was well fed, watered and given well-charged psychotropic injections. Remember, dear reader, Woven was so afraid of such injections when he worked as an assistant professor at Palisade’s University.
“Inevitable Fate!” this is an old folk wisdom. So it happened to Woven.
Final of Novel (The Happiest Man)
Holmes, dying of lung cancer, lay motionless. His mind was working, and his body gave a huge failure. When he smoked tobacco, he always reassured himself that he was young and strong, that death was far away, and then he would get tired of living, and he would easily die.
Now he realized that he had made two major mistakes — he smoked tobacco and missed something somewhere in solving the cases of Woven’s disappearance.
The latter tormented him, he understood that soon it would not torment him, he would simply cease to exist as a person. But he is still human and suffers from ignorance of Woven’s disappearance.
His kind and loyal friend Watson quietly entered the room. Due to Sherlock’s frequent coughing, the room smelled of breath, which everyone who entered understood as the final and irrevocable death sentence to the patient. Watson quietly sat down in a chair opposite his friend.
Holmes opened his eyes and in a weak voice asked for a tablet. This was his last entertainment. He looked at the screen and immediately went to the Internet, there was a lot of “hot info”. But he didn’t care. He just cut off all the crap like Porokhovoy’s rag “Tomorrow will be like our yesterday!” or the statements of Mr. Knockuff, or that someone calls various crimes various terrorist acts, which, apparently, will never end on Earth. He looked at the root of the Internet, as taught by the old Russian writer Kozma Prutkov under whose pseudonym three witty and insightful writers published their opuses.
Watson was suddenly worried. Is this the end? He wanted so much to talk to this shrewd and kind man. But thank God. Holmes remained silent and showed something on the screen.
Watson could not appreciate the farce at this moment, which was shown on Red Square in Muscovy. He had already seen this nonsense and, looking at the happy Holmes, clearly did not understand what was good about it.
Holmes even got up as best he could, and, leaning back with the happy smile of a very happy man, quietly but clearly said:
“He came back …. It was an encoding shift. I’m happy…”
The End
