Horatia H. Corridon

IMG_7804Пишу я под псевдонимом Horatia H. Corridon. Произведение When stars rise to Mars я написала более двух лет назад. Мечтаю увидеть свою работу опубликованной. В жизни занимаюсь изучением языков и их применением на практике. На данный момент я знаю пять иностранных языков и не планирую на этом останавливаться (английский, испанский, немецкий, французский, финский). Изучение языков помогает мне понять культуру народа изнутри. Это замечательный способ познать мир, когда нет возможностей путешествовать. Свои знания языков я применила в произведении When stars rise to Mars для создания авторских окказионализмов. Помимо прозы я написала несколько стихов. Большая часть из них на английском, чуть меньше на русском и несколько на испанском. Люблю играть на гитаре произведения рок-классики (например, Stairway to Heaven) и современного рока (Was it a dream?). Этот конкурс - еще одна попытка воплотить мечту и увидеть свою работу опубликованной. Надеюсь на субъективную оценку каждого читателя. Ведь у каждого свой взгляд.

My name is Horatia H. Corridon. I wrote When stars rise to Mars more than two years ago. This fantasy novel gives readers an image of what a mundane life on Pluto, Mars and Jupiter is like. I study languages and at present I work as a translator. So far I know five foreign languages and I am not going to stop there. Those are English, German, Spanish, French and Finnish. Learning languages helps me to get to know the world and understand other cultures. I used my language knowledge to make up author's occasionalism words. Apart from writing a novel, I made some poems in English, Russian and Spanish. I love playing guitar. I prefer rock-classic (Stairway to Heaven) and modern rock (Was it a dream?) I hope to see my work published.


Novel When stars rise to Mars

extract

from Chapter 10

Jupiter

They stepped out of Dean’s house and now stood on his beige-caramel porch. From the first sight they took on a planet in daylight it was evident she preserved no splendour.

 ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ asked Dean with a broad smile that was spreading between his pointed ears. He took a deep breath full of satisfaction.

Suddenly Martina realised that despite growing coolness and, falling slowly, but steadily night, the air was suffocant hot.

 ‘I can hardly breathe,’ she uttered in a hoarse voice that once was a melodious speech.

 ‘Oh, of course you may need some time to adjust to Jupiterian climate. Here, take these.’

 ‘What are those?’ Martina looked cautiously, but inquisitively at two azure-blue tiny disks that looked like pressed stones.

 ‘We call them “kivis”. Jupiterians produce such stones specially for visitors. I dunno why, but other Planeterians tend to have a breathing problem here. So, put these kivis in your nose.’

Martina was taken aback.

 ‘No need to worry. It’s completely safe and you’ll breathe free. Visitors don’t like typical Jupiter air.’

‘You may have forgotten to clean it from poisonous gases,’ interjected in their long discussion John.

 ‘What are you talking about, mate? We withdrew those immemorial years ago. It’s safe and sound now.’

 ‘But you check from time to time? Just in case.’

‘Of course! You take us for some ignorants. We are monitoring the level of every component in our air.’

 ‘And your monitoring machines never fail?’

 ‘The dusty hurricane of Uranus may be your friend.’

John and others laughed while Dean was scowling, suppressing a bursting desire to laugh. He restricted himself because he was offended.

They rambled outside and noticed nothing remarkable or memorable. The ground was dry, yellow, with a little drop of orange mixed with red. Very few plants were growing from this scorched pebble ground.

 ‘You have such variety of shapes for buildings!’ exclaimed John. His pupils grew larger as he contemplated complex buildings. John always was keen on techniques and architecture.

‘Yep! Our pride and joy,’ said Dean sounding extremely delighted that John appreciated Jupiterian craft.

 ‘And I tell you that every form has its name. For example this triangular yellow one carries the name “Kolmio”.’

Martina gave building a slightly contemptuous gaze. She disliked yellow colour.

 ‘This square, mustard-coloured -’

‘Spoiled mustard,’ thought Martina

   ‘- is Neljö’

 ‘They are definitely interesting.’

John gaze wandered some distance away.

 ‘But have a look at those! What are their names? So many angles …’

It could not be more obvious that John was completely flabbergasted and mesmerized. Those buildings were wonders for his eyes.

 ‘I see you caught a sight of our pride.’

‘If John don’t stop fluttering, Dean’s mouth is likely to be torn apart by the force of his smile,’ murmured Martina.

 ‘This navy blue pentagram is called “Viisikulmio”. Pale-pink hexagon we called simply “Kuusikulmio” or just “Kuusio”. Our favourite construction - ,’ added Dean with a look of frenzied Jupiterian, ‘- is tetragon quadrilateral. It’s known under the name “Neljäkäs”. Our best architect Spiridon Sweetmind projected and brought into life all of them.’

 ‘Hope he did,’ murmured Martina to herself. No one could have heard her mumblings. Very loud, screeching noise filled the area where they stood.

 ‘Keep out,’ shouted a bit concerned Dean.

A swarm of what looked like tennis-ball sized swollen bees dashed towards them. Creatures were striped: one line black, one purple. Their eyes were huge and bulging, completely black, with madness behind.

 ‘Nasty creatures,’ croaked Dean. Can’t keep them completely away. Though we managed to put some control on them. See those hanging hives? They open every month at the same time like by some magical spell.’

On a fragile, arid and possibly even dead tree was hanging something that resembled huge oval coffin of acid-lemon colour.

 ‘Their main nest,’ Dean said knowingly. These beasts produce their Evil Honey only here. Sun scorch them! We should be grateful these stupid creatures don’t lay their pestilential liquid anywhere else. We gather it from the hive. But only when they are away, of course.

 ‘Don’t they leave a guard?’ asked Martina

 ‘They don’t. They are stoned as moles by devouring mould - their favourite delicatessen.’

 ‘You gather this Evil Honey and what’s then? How do you get rid of it?’

 ‘Get rid of it?’ Dean repeated and looked at John in wild astonishment. We don’t waste products, we use them.’

 ‘What’s the use of it?’

 ‘Jupiterians managed to invent venom.’

 ‘What for? Who do you poison?’

 ‘We -’ Dean cleared his throat after he had to swallow a tactless question, ‘poison -’ he underscored the word, ‘- them, our Jupiterian Awlscrews. Stupid creatures. Never occurs to them the honey they produce disappears. They just keep producing more, giving us the weapon to end them.’

 ‘Seems like you didn’t manage to end them up yet.’

 ‘Not yet. But the day will come. So, don’t forget to keep away from those.’

 ‘And… Oh, the circle of Saturnus. What is this?  Martina was pointing at the bunch of some creatures that from the first sight looked like live lamps. Is it the army of pinkie puppies?’

‘Those are our little helpers Villeapu.’

One of them, who looked bolder than others did, stepped forward, nodded slightly to Dean and uttered in a pitch-dreamy voice,

 ‘Dude, a notice from Rihard. He will wait you in the main park under The Giant Tree.’

 ‘Thank you, Whizzie. Now, take this.’ Dean pulled from his pocket acid-colourful lollypops.

 ‘Thank you, dude,’ squeaked weirdie creature and hurried back to its bunch of friends.

 ‘Are those…pets?’ asked inquiringly Martina.

 ‘No, they are helpers. Funny little creatures they are. Unless…They are vexed or fall in love.’

Martina examined those Ville…Valla…whatever they are called. Their colour was gentle pink. Creatures resembled lamps and had the queerest structure. A bulging plate served as a basis, from which protruded two big fawn hairy paws with pointed, sharp claws. On both sides of the plate were menthol patches with eyes: tiny black dots with white circle inside. In this circle was a white pupil. Between menthol patches was a dark-silver button. That was a nose. From the basic plate raised a long gentle-pink pipe that ended in a pear-shaped form. That was a mouth. Inside the mouth, where lamps have bulb, there was a hole. Colourful light poured from it.

 ‘Who is this Rihard anyway?’ inquired Martina

 ‘Oh…He is Martian and he will escort you to Mars.’

 ‘No need of that.’

 ‘No trouble for us, none at all. You’ll distinguish him immediately.’

 ‘Why?’

 ‘You’ll see. Let’s walk to the park.’

They wandered looking in all directions but nothing whatsoever extraordinary happened. The bees and lamps remained the only entertainments.

 ‘We arrived,’ said Dean.

 ‘To the park?’ asked nonplussed Martina.

What was the main and exuberant park for Jupiterians, was a pile of scattered stones and random trees for Plutonians. Just like streets, the park scarcely had plants. Those that managed to find their way through yellow ground looked dead and scorched.

Towards them walked twins: a girl and a guy. They looked very alike and Martina was perplexed and taken aback when she realized they behaved like a couple.

 ‘Is it normal for Jupiterians to go out with their siblings?’

Dean grinned back.

They went further and met more Jupiterians. Now Martina was convinced that that day one large family decided to visit park. Suddenly the knowledge she gained from Harry’s library dawned on her.

 ‘Oh…those…all…are Jupiterians. They are not relatives?’

 ‘You are quick. Usually it takes a couple of days for visitors to absorb. After the first stroll they typically shut their rooms and are scared to go out,’ grinned Dean.

No wonder Martina thought that folk were relatives. Jupiterians looked like twins. Guys were pale, blond with pointed ears and turned up noses. That was the appearance of a haughty person. Girls looked nicer: their skin was pale, almost white, with a slight drop of almond. Their hair was blond, but with a droplet of ginger. Their faces were adorned with freckles. Girls were very beautiful, friendly-looking and so feminine.

Out of the blue Martina’s heart leapt, her stomach gave a wild jolt and she felt fluttering, as though wings of a butterfly were tickling her intestine. Now she knew what Dean had meant by words “You’ll recognize Rihard”. Under the giant tree, that was perhaps the only alive plant in the park, stood a fellow. He was neither tall nor short. His hair was dark brown, a bit curvy, little lower the shoulders. His facial features were shaped by the creator of beauty. Eyes were wide, turquoise-blue. He did not look like prince, but like the most handsome man. Even the word “handsome” was improper. He was pure embodiment of beauty.

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