Настасья Астровская

p1170282Настасья Астровская Учусь, ленюсь, прокрастинирую. Наблюдаю за листьями, травами, лунами, людьми и особенно - котами. Тем и увлекаюсь - постоянно, каждый день заново. Душераздирающе пою и проявляю уважение к биохимии с генетикой. Просто девочка, которая пишет, потому что не умеет остановиться.    

Рассказ "Carbon monoxide"

“Am I dead?” That was her first question. “Well, no,” answered Ray. She snorted. There was some fog. Outside the window. In her head. All over her life. Some fog and some gas. Not just an air. “There was some bloody mess,” smiled Ray. “I guess,” she said absently, “All my life is a bloody mess.” They kept silence for a moment. “Are you okay?” That was her second question. Ray raised his eyebrows. “Am I okay,” repeated he thoughtfully, “Am I?” “Come on!” she laughed, “Yes, you are, you fucking are!” “Because...” “Cause Becca said so, bitch!” “Oh, yeah!” Ray laughed, “Now I'm okay” They laughed. There were headache, nausea, despair, fear. So they laughed. There was nothing they gonna do except that. “Do you want coffee?” That was her third question. “I guess I do,” said Ray, “Maybe that's why I made it. Becca...you think... you think it will be fine?” “Great,” she said firmly, “It will be great. Now let's have some breakfast. Undertaker Robin will be here at eleven.”   Undertaker Robin was this rare remarkable kind of man who think before making. He was only 26 but his wisdom and ability to solve problems let his friends always rely on him. Becca was his first love. He was 8, she was 6. She was his neighbor’s niece. They had such a nice house surrounded  by a jasmine bushes. One day he was walking down the street and saw just some piece of white lace behind the bush. He guessed there was a girl. He didn't see her and didn't know if she was pretty. But suddenly his heart jumped into his chest. So he came to law fence and said “Ha, I see you!” “Me too,” she said. “What are you doing here?” “Looking for a bumblebee. And you?” Robin shrugged. “I'm... just walking.” “You must be Robin,” she said appearing from behind the bush. Robin looked at her. She had big gray sparkling eyes and long hair. Her white dress was soiled with a jasmine pollen. She looked at him with narrowed eyes. She was amazing. She looked at his deep black eyes, tousled black hair, school bag. She felt some strange excitement. “You're weird,” she concluded. “Why is that?” “Cause Becca said so!”   “Actually my name is Rory Robinson but all my friends call me Robin.” They was walking in the school garden. Mrs Graham let Becca go for a walk with Robin. “He is so responsible and nice boy,” she said, “isn't he?” She looked fixedly in Robin's wonderful and scary black eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Graham,” he said slowly, “yes, I am”. Becca chortled quietly and said nothing. So then they were walking along a small alley and Robin was telling her some stories. “Rory,” she said, “Hm. Well, my name's Rebecca Yolanda Kelly. But sometimes... I just hate that.” “Yolanda?” Robin grinned. Becca shrugged. “It means violet. Stupid, really.” “No. It's okay.” “Do you have siblings?” “No. Just a cat”, Robin smiled. “Lucky you are. I have a brother, Ray. It's horrible.” “Does he mock you?” “No, he's only three. But he's so annoying sometimes.” “One day you'll grow up...” Robin said thoughtfully. His mother always told him these words. He felt there must be some continuation  but he didn't know exactly. “Ha, I bet!” Becca laughed.     One day they walked  and saw people building a house. “There was Mr Black's house,” Robin said, “many years ago. But he's dead”. “What happened?” “There was a big fire,” Robin said. “And... did this man burn alive?” asked Becca with interest. “Well... No, I think he was just poisoned by carbon monoxide”. “Ha, it's boring,” Becca grinned. Robin looked at her with his eyes sparkling. He smiled a little bit scary and said with some strange especial voice: “Well, I don't think death is boring”.   Some people ask Robin why all his friends call him Undertaker. He just smiles – with his weird and scary and magic smile. “It's my nickname since childhood. Oh, and – I build coffins”. A little bit of Francesco  Dellamorte. A little bit of selfless love. A kind of Becca's guardian angel on this fucking sinful earth.   Becca, Ray and Undertaker Robin was sitting in the living room. Ray was drinking coffee very intently. “So -  baby's here,” said Robin. They nodded. “Sleeping,” said Becca laconically. “Well... Taylor feels better, I've called to the hospital”. “I don't give a shit,” Becca said. “If you really don't you wouldn't save her life,” answered Robin. “Now I think it was a mistake,” she muttered. “Becca, she's my fiancee,” reminded Ray a little bit crossly. “She is a full.” “Becca, stop it,” Ray said. “What?” she shrugged. “She prefers to die than to marry you...” “Becca, stop it! She's my child's mother!” “She is not a mother. She is an idiot. And it's not your child,” pronounced Becca gloomily. “Well, that's it!” Ray jumped up, “I don't wanna listen to this bullshit anymore!” He walked out. Robin sighed. “It's really bullshit,” he said, “baby's life's the only thing that matters.” “You're right. I'm just too angry. And I'm sorry for Ray.” “I know. So  did you thought for name?” “Well, we call him Little Harry Potter. Cause he's the boy who lived.”   Florence Stewart was running down the street. She was being late as usual. Her red hair was fluttering in the wind and she was looking like someone from the magic world – but she just hasn't decided yet if she is a fairy or a witch. Florence made some illustrations for a book and she was carrying her sketches to the customer. She's just stopped in the middle of a path to examine a rosebush. There was some wonderful tender rose with it's light red satin petals and it's dark core exuding thick fragrance. She'd thought about a mystery of colors, and subtle charm of  simple things, and a glee of nature, embodied in one brief moment – and a lot of weird things she always used to think at the wrong time in the wrong place. At the next moment bicycle bell had rung. Florence was confused but she'd managed to jump aside. Her portfolio has fallen and sketches scattered in all directions. Florence sighed. She had been late, it was clear. So she did one thing she always did when she was upset and need some support. She called Becca. “Bec, I'm  so stupid – as usual. Can you...” “Flo, I'm sorry, I can't talk. Baby's crying...”


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