Chonicles of Yanis. Olga Orlova
it helps, and now it was necessary – otherwise, I might suffocate from my own fear. Barely able to catch my breath, I had to hold it altogether to remain unnoticed by the strange creature that had finally emerged. My astonishment knew no bounds as I saw the gaunt, elongated figure below, as if it had been flattened against the walls a couple of times, yet it was transparent, as if made of water. How could such an innocuous-looking creature, on the verge of dissolving, produce such a terrifying sound? In its elongated right hand, it dragged a club, its intonational weapon seemingly stretching one arm, while the other remained of normal length. The creature passed through the entire hall, ignoring everything around it. I remained in the shadows, forgetting that I hadn’t been breathing until now. It was safe to breathe again; a few deep breaths brought me some calm and understanding of what was happening, although my mind refused to believe what I had just witnessed.
I needed to keep moving, descending down the same protrusions. I realized I heard a new sound, resembling the noise of an approaching avalanche or a dam burst, ready to flood the city. And just like that, it happened – water gushed in with a deafening roar, tearing me from the wall and carrying me towards one of the exits at tremendous speed. I was swept away in an unknown direction, unable to catch hold of anything. The turns flashed before my eyes faster than I could comprehend or discern them. The already loud noise grew even more deafening. Surprisingly, the water was crystal clear, allowing me to see through it even in poor lighting. It wasn’t until later that I realized, despite its clarity, the water was horribly icy. My hands, mostly above the water, began to numb, and I could barely feel my legs anymore. Ahead, I could see light, indicating that I would soon be carried somewhere. Perhaps it was another chamber or, even better, an exit to freedom – hopefully into the sea or a river. But it turned out to be a waterfall inside a large rocky cave. I couldn’t hold on, and with a scream, I plummeted downwards once again, with no hope of survival.
Silence. Perhaps all of this was a dream. My head is throbbing; I must have hit something. I open my eyes, realizing it wasn’t a dream. I’m lying, washed up on the shore of a small lake. Around me, it’s more darkness than twilight, but I can clearly make out the surroundings. I might have exaggerated calling it a lake; it’s more like a large puddle. But where did all the water that brought me here disappear to? What happened to that waterfall? That was completely beyond my comprehension. The cold and wet clothes sobered me up a bit. I need to get out and dry off. Directly in front of me, I see another recess in the rock. It doesn’t look natural; rather, it appears to be a cozy little nook, where I promptly move to.
It’s time to take out the flashlight and think about food and dry clothes. By the light, I saw the remnants of a campfire not far from me. So, someone has definitely been here. Hopefully, the owner won’t show up too soon. On the walls, there were some symbols drawn in red pencil that I couldn’t decipher. Don’t get me wrong, I can read; it’s just that these symbols weren’t familiar letters to me. As I removed my second wet boot, which could easily fit aquarium fish, I decided to start a fire. There weren’t many logs, but it was enough for the smell, as they didn’t catch fire anymore, probably because of the dampness. It was so cold and uncomfortable to remain undressed that I immediately began my requests and visualizations.
Somehow, a large soft sleeping bag and warm dry underwear with a fleece lining came to my mind, I once saw something like that in a fashionable glossy magazine. My visualizations were so realistic that warmth emanated just from the thoughts, and of course, my dreams appeared in the backpack. I was incredibly grateful for this gift, which had already made me the happiest person in the world several times. As soon as I find a way out of here, I will definitely send a package to my savior, but for now, I don’t know what or where. The warmth made me feel drowsy, but I wanted more than just sleep. I needed to come up with something for dinner this time.
I need to remember what I’ve always wanted to try in my life. Oh, I remember, grilled lobster! Surely, when else will I have the chance to indulge in such a delicacy? But how can I imagine it? I don’t even know what it looks like, let alone its taste. What a dilemma! It’s frustrating; I should have read more about them. But who knew such an opportunity would arise? If only I had known, I would have compiled a list. Although, even that wouldn’t help in these conditions. Here, you need to know for sure, from the smell to each individual ingredient. But I won’t say no to some fried potatoes, with herring and a lightly salted cucumber. That taste, it’s like coming home. My taste receptors know it in such fine detail that they can imagine the degree of crispiness of the potatoes and the level of saltiness of the herring, recall the scent of dill in the cucumber brine. Anyone would salivate at such thoughts, but in my case, it might just knock me out.
What do we have here, is dinner ready? I leaned over to the backpack, something was definitely there, there was no doubt about it. But the packaging amazed me. The container resembled a pull-out nightstand with two drawers, lined with blue fabric and something like foam on the sides. In the first drawer lay my crispy, aromatic fried potatoes, my beloved comfort food. When we were given this instead of the tiresome porridge at the shelter, it was a celebration. On such days, all the punished and mischievous would gather in the kitchen, sit in a circle, place a large basin of water for peeled potatoes in the center, and each would have a bucket with small knives for peeling. A couple of times, I ended up at such an event, and for me, it didn’t seem like a real punishment at all. What’s so difficult about sitting in a circle of kids, chatting about nonsense, and retelling the same worn-out stories? Then, the peeled potatoes were rinsed again under a steady stream of water and poured into the food processor, from which came out evenly sized chunks, right onto the huge skillet. The sound of sizzling oil, so appetizing, creating anticipation for the desired and expected taste, as if you could already sense it on the tip of your tongue.
Memories engulfed me, just for a few seconds, but it felt like I was there now, with all the kids around the table. Though I can’t say I was attached to anyone there, or that I had close friends, and sometimes a longing for them sneaks into my heart, it’s still better than being alone. The portion I had now was much larger than what we usually got, I had imagined plenty while hungry, and no one was eyeing my plate hoping to snag a piece while I looked away. But I missed human company, even just a little, perhaps somewhere beyond the wall would be enough. Oh, why am I daydreaming like this? Some unknown creature might accidentally pop out from somewhere, and I wouldn’t know where to hide from it. No, it’s better to dine alone.
What do we have in the second compartment of our miracle nightstand? Ah, pickles and herring. Oh, how I love fish, how can one not love it? Such fatty chunks, boneless, a special thanks to my personal chef at the moment. And he didn’t forget the onions, sliced into rings. Everything I took out of the backpack exuded warmth and care, as if my mother neatly packed it all in there for me, with love. Deep down in my mind, of course, I understood that it was because I wanted it that way, exactly like that. But how to explain those little details I didn’t mention in my thoughts? For example, this container, I couldn’t imagine it because I had never encountered anything like it in my life. By the way, the sleeping bag was also of a somewhat incomprehensible shape, I still had to figure out which end to get into. So many unanswered questions, and the further I go, the more there are. Lost in such musings, I didn’t realize how I swallowed everything down to the last crumb.
“Thank you, it was delicious!” I said aloud. It wasn’t often that this phrase, coming from my lips, was truly sincere. But this time, I wanted to repeat it again and again. Rolling over to the sleeping bag in a literal sense, I drifted off with half-closed eyes. Somehow, by some magical means, my exhausted body found itself inside, in the warmth, and it was very soft, like on a huge featherbed.
Chapter 3
I slept very soundly, judging by the numb arm under my cheek, for quite a long time. During all this time, no one attacked me or ate me. And why didn’t this thought come to my mind when I was falling asleep? I didn’t even prepare any weapons nearby, like a ready-made