Полина Панфилова

Полина ПанфиловаЖизнь любого неизменно сопряжена с творчеством, и творческие шаги в жизни человека были заложены в его детстве, в связи с чем свою собственную точку отсчета в направлении писательства могу обозначить с написания первого рассказа, того самого, что представлен здесь. Принялась я за это всего три месяца назад. Мне 19, и я очень счастлива делать то, что мне действительно нравится - смотреть на мир через призму человеколюбия, поиска себя и изучения того, как звучит мир на иностранных языках:)

I'm sure everything a person has in his life has started in his childhood. That's why it's quite hard to say where my interest in both foreign languages and writing has begun. Here's the first story written by me, the idea of it might be familiar to everyone living in modern society, where people tend to stop asking themselves who they were.


Рассказ "Face to Face"

You know, it sometimes happens, that you cannot fully realize if something has occurred in reality or if it is just a plexus of your thoughts so deeply touching to your heart that it spawns memories that look like reality.

It was another sleepy morning. I like the feeling when I wake up very early and it seems as if I am the only person awake in the large city I live in. The Sun has not risen yet, but its gold rays touch my eyes with white and blue beams of light.

I couldn’t really examine all the beautiful coolness of that morning, even though I am sure I am not the only person who starts a day with a phone in his hands. That particular morning, I opened my eyes and picked it up. While I was doing make up, my ears were busy listening to the music, so that I didn’t let my thoughts be heard. I turned the kettle on and started looking at the beaming screen. I’ve just settled myself comfortable to have both breakfast and correspondence, as someone started knocking at the door. With a head full of wondering thoughts I hurried up to satisfy my curiosity.

There was a girl behind the door.

“Who are you?” I exclaimed.

“Who am I?” she repeated my question.

“Do you want me to answer it?!” my bewildering had no limitation.

“Either do it or let me in. I’m here, but not just for standing outside”.

Of course my caution told me not to do it, but I felt something very familiar in her eyes, her voice and hair. In addition I was extremely interested what would happen next.

Without false modesty she entered the kitchen, picked a cup and made coffee. “You must have some milk” she said, opening the fridge. “So, now I am ready”.

“Ready for what?”  I even didn’t know how to react.

“For talking with you. Or do you prefer texting?” – she made a sip with a snide smile.

“I really don’t understand anything…”

“But you are interested so much” she interrupted me, “you like strange situations and weird moments, don’t you?”

“Who are you?”  I asked with even more pressure.

“Hmm, sounds like a déjà vu - are we going back to the beginning?”

“Either you will tell me who are you or I will put you out, do you hear me?”

“I do, but you won’t. You don’t like unfinished conversations as well as the fact that you may not find out if something is true or not. You don’t know who I am and this is the trump card in my hands. You won’t say goodbye to me until you have known who I am”

Her dark eyes stared at me, trying to explain what was going on. I wasn’t confused by her mysterious glance, but more than that, as, for some reason, I felt so comfortable - as if I was in a circle of my closest friends or even in my own family. I decided to listen to her- my interest was growing up while my distrust to her was melting.

“Good, you’ve come to tell me something, right? – I changed my speaking fashion. – I’m all ears.”

“I wanted a dialog, but actually, it’s all the same if you get what I am speaking about. Sometimes, even the silence is equal to a good conversation, if you can be silent in the most proper manner. Friends may be proud of themselves if they can stay in touch with one another without saying a word.”

I understood her very well, but all the puzzles hadn’t been formed yet in my head, which were lost in my comprehension.

“By the way, I wanted to apologize for such an unceremoniously beginning of my visit.  But I was so furious about your antics!”

I tried to portray an amazed face as much as possible.

“Why are you looking at me that way? You’d better say to me when was the last time you’ve been listening carefully to the things that surround you. Not just heard, but paid attention to the environment you live. When have you been watching insects trying to pass by giant sticks and stones? Has it ever happened that you imprinted beauty not only by using cameras? When was the last time you forgot about how you look and was among people not thinking about yourself?”

She was saying it so smoothly and sincere, so soulful and clear, that every word she spoke became alive in my eyes. By these phrases she spoke drove me back to childhood memories that I had fully dissolved. For several minutes I forgot myself, or maybe, vice versa, remembered.

The click of the boiling kettle made my pupils move again. I heard the beat of my heart and smiled.

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