Кирилл Эльский

%d1%84%d0%be%d1%82%d0%beПисатель. Остальное не важно.

I am a writer. Nothing else matters.





Story “How I Killed My Mother”


Everyone scattered to hide. I took a chance to climb the bushy tree that grew near the ‘It’.

‘Ten! I’m gonna find you guys!’

I froze perched highly on a thick solid branch, not having chewed an apple. With a playful smile, I was keeping an eye on my hunter. It was an indescribable feeling. It was not a childish one, but one people feel only at this age. I would call it ‘a pleasant fear’. Something like that.

He went away from me towards the bushes and suddenly turned back frowned. I snuggled up to the tree, trying to be ultimately invisible.

Unexpectedly his eyebrows rose and he ran to the spot of countdown.

‘Rat-tat Michael!’

It seemed to me that I was moving down, sitting on a roller coaster. Besides, it was as I was running off the rails.

‘Rat-tat Amy!’

‘It’s not fair! I saw that you were peeping at…’

My smile broadened each minute. I saw nothing and heard nothing. My only one desire was that the ‘It’ (I did not catch his name, but hesitated to ask again) would find everyone, except me, and I could touch the wall in front of the spot of countdown before him, and win the game.

‘…them. Well, there is only Max left. Where’s he? Hm…’

‘Maybe he’s gone home?’ Alex said in his idiotic manner.

Eventually my enemy turned the corner of the building. I started climbing down in haste. Just one more step and… The breeze blew in my back and a jolly exclamation: ‘Rat-tat Max!’.

I absolutely forgot that one could go around the building and I slowly continued to climb down from the tree.

‘Ya’re the ‘It’.

‘Why?! I was the last to be caught.’

‘So what? The last one’s gotta be the ‘It’.

I said nothing, but it was a blow to me. I had been so high just a minute ago. I wanted to take revenge on him. It is a really strange thing, but it looks like even children have such a brutal thirst. Maybe it is an instinct?

We arranged that now the first-caught person would be the ‘It’, because logically such a person hid worse than others did. I stood with my face to the wall, closed my eyes, and started counting. I was very resentful and frostily cried out those ‘one, two, three…’.

‘I am going to find you!’

Abruptly having come out of the corner, I squinted, and felt my blood start coldly boiling – it was him, the ‘It’ of the previous game. He smugly looked at me through the leaves and thought that I did not see him. I waved at the ‘bushes’ and ran to ‘rat-tat’ my offender.



I realized that I did not know his name. But suddenly a quite weird and unexpected thing happened.

‘Ya peeped at me!’

‘Are you crazy? How could I…’

‘Ya (…see…) peeped (…you…) at (…if…) me, in (…you…) which (…were…) direction (…behind…) I ran to (…the…) hide (…building…).’

‘You’re a cheater!’

I took a breath and cried out.

‘I am not a cheater!’



‘Alright, prove it!’


‘Swear on your mother’s heart.’

I had been dumbfounded for that moment. I was looking at my enemy and, not having known what I should say, started alternatively casting a glance at our friends.

‘Swear!’ he said impatiently.

I did not understand how I could swear on my mother’s heart, but clearly realized that I did not break any rules. It was fair play… I must say something, though. What? These accusatory glares…

‘I can’t.’ I said heavily.

‘Well then, you’re a cheater!’

‘No! I’m not!’

‘So what?’

‘I can’t!’

‘Why ya can’t, huh?’

‘Just… I can’t.’

At that moment, I suppose I horribly turned red… But there was a funeral rescue!

‘Oh,’ my enemy said, ‘sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘What didn’t you know?’

‘Ya ain’t got a mother?’

‘Yes… I have no mother.’


On the way home, I was thinking about why people did not attach a great importance to words. It seemed to me that I committed a dreadful crime, having said ‘I have no mother’. I did nothing bad, but I was ashamed of something and feeling devastated.

The passers-by started shooting the arrows of polite sympathy at me: ‘What’s wrong?’, ‘What’s the matter?’, ‘What happened?’. I dropped my eyes on the ground and rolled them out of that merciless bombardment. Sometimes it seems to me that, becoming an adult, people cease to understand each other without the realization how deeply these arrows can wound.

Having come home, I immediately went to have a supper. The appetizing fried bacon had been waiting for me, but I could not get rid of obsessions with what I said. In no way. How can one swear on his/her own mother’s heart?

From earliest childhood, we absolutely do not attach any importance to words. People are always talking about love, forgetting that the more they say ‘I love you’ the cheaper these words are, and demand for them decreases. The savage economy of life. Probably, if people appreciate words as much as they appreciate money, the world will be a bit richer.

Having finished with my supper, I looked at the window and saw a magnificent summer sunset. I pushed away all my thoughts and decided to enjoy the evening. Sometimes it seemed to me that I am thinking too much for my age. Though, looking at adults, one day I will stop doing that.

To enjoy such a sunset alone was a little unfair. I went to the room and knocked on the door.

‘Ma,’ I said, having opened the door slightly, ‘are you sleeping?’

I carefully came in the room and revealed that she peacefully slept with the face to the wall, not moving. I did not wake her and just neatly approached her bed and whispered:

‘Thank you very much, mammy. It was very delicious.’

I wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but when I leaned over to her, I suddenly noticed her eyes were open. I was frightened and sharply grabbed her hand. She was too cold.

‘Ma!’ I cried and turned her over on her back.

Her pale face did not have any signs of life. Her hand held the remedy that she took from time to time when her heart hurt. Her eyes accusatorily stared at me as though I was her murderer. I clutched my head and recalled what I said to my enemy today. Falling to my knees, I yelled, thinking about why people did not attach a great importance to words.

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