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Winds of Change. Alan Greatluck
Читать онлайн.Название Winds of Change
Год выпуска 0
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Автор произведения Alan Greatluck
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство ИП Стрельбицкий
"All right, it’s not my business and not I solve the state problems; especially as I am deprived of the right to elect. It is better to understand what I should make for today" – flashed in his thoughtful head. Minds again started turning the club around his short-term plans, which always consisted only in two things: to finish the chapter of his book and then to go to work out. Two simple things he madly loved and which cast to his immense pleasures from natural human viands that called creation.
Dreams of publication of his book drew in his eyes the trembling hope about the realization of desired destiny – to become a famous writer. What could be better than an opportunity to influence lives of other people by force of word? For some most famous politicians were not enough even the most resolute actions to affect society whereas only one phrase was enough for the writer to engender grain of an idea that will smolder in souls by revival fire. Government officials made history, but writers created the whole epochs.
He finished his breakfast and left the table, cleaned a plate and went out from the kitchen. His entire mind came to the unfinished novel, leading him to the computer. He turned on the laptop, beginning to work. His plan was to finish next chapter, which would mark one passable step to the end of the story invented by him. His fingers touched the keyboard and eyes started ransacking fluently on black lines of upcoming text.
"… There was a seed of doubt grain waiting for a grief inside me. Certain forces that didn’t manage to be learned operate the person, introducing the amendments in life, changing his way that is foreordained for him. My heart felt that today's meeting was the manifestation of these forces, which fill our destinies and we are powerless against them. I have only to wait for an outcome that is so mysterious and inevitable in its fulfillments. After all happy occurrence or evil fate always takes place in the life of each of us…"
He read the printed lines and fleetingly paused, putting aside the keyboard. The sense of the words typed by him slightly touched his soul. The uncertainty of the destiny gave him a chance to draw a picture of hope and immense dreams to which he so aspired, flying on the wings of fate. His imagination had never accepted case will or the bad luck, which took many people who remained in the illusory world. After all, adverse squall could overtake his sail of hope too, and strongly throw on sharp rocks of failures. However, there is something mythical in the magnificent world that defines an outcome of each of us. People always think that they define their destinies but life can break this notion by unseen events that change everything. Even the greatest plans retreat before fortuity.
Deliberating about eternity criteria, he involuntarily remembered about summit in Vilnius. If only, the agreement of association would be signed that evening. In economic direction, it would mean gradual falling of prices for some goods on which delivery senseless tariffs would be removed. New horizons of opportunities would be opened in front of the impoverished people and they would be able to realize their dreams to achieve material prosperity. Association was a small spark of the flame of hope that had the power to change people's lives. Unfortunately, it was only dreaming.
Reminiscence about future summit didn't allow him to be engaged in the book writing anymore, selecting all creative fuses for the freak of the imagination. He several times tried to dive into writing again, but anything was impossible to him. The inflamed hopes appeared in his head again, eclipsing the story invented by his fantasy.
Finally, having ceased attempts to concentrate on creation process, he closed the MS Word, changing the text for a little and starting to prepare for training. His black sport’s bag was carefully filled with old shabby things in which he was clothed during work out. Occupation by burdening always gave him certain self-confidence and possibilities of the body. Eternal fight with own laziness and vile weakness forced him to trudge to the gym so that every time to receive only one incredible thing – taste of a victory over himself.
He finished his preparation and quickly jumped out from the house, running to the gym that was in the downtown of the city. His borough was small and totaled only two hundred seventy thousands of the population. The provincial town wasn't sated with skyscrapers or big office buildings, having only one central avenue that comes through the city and was set with tall trees from both sides. Small houses were left from the Soviet Union past and their architecture prevailed in the inveterate architecture of a general view of the small city. The old, cracked asphalt decayed on rectilinear streets every year, being covered only by square trays, which roughly replaced its holes. The central part of the municipality was covered with advertising that attracted fresh eyes of passersby. Gray facades of buildings gloomy swam in an autumn silhouette of the living city.
The provincial spirit reigned here continually, gleaming manners of the population. This town presented fewer opportunities to its inhabitants, compelling most of the people to conduct modest life and to have worldly cares. To have a good position with a salary of one thousand dollars per month and to have a car of the foreign producer were considered as success here. However, despite all circumstances, desire to have a European standard of living smoldered in a soul of each person. The sizzling power of poorness couldn't force out the hope that uniting all people in their prompting from souls of Ukrainian citizens.
He got on the bus and paid for transit, beginning to hear echoes of this hope that reduced in tales and guesses of passengers of the bus. Their lips had no other topics as the assignment of association. Having listened, he heard similar dialogues:
– How do you think, will Yanukovych sign association today?
– I don't know everything depends on what Europe has promised him.
– Or what Vladimir Putin told him.
– Also is true.
All conversations were reduced to one thing – destiny of the Motherland that stood on a fork of two roads conducting to opposite results. Looking at insensible faces of passengers, he saw scary gloomy routine that lay with a dark stamp on them. Beggary held down their souls by the press of discontent, turning ordinary people into spiteful similarity of them. Unfortunately, it is impossible to be kind and polite, living in poverty. Human soul gets rude and protected from outcome danger in steel chains of poverty and iniquity. People complained about their country and the state system, not realizing that they created the evil that surrounded them by themselves. Selfish treating to others, we create our own problems, even such as rudeness in the bus.
The trip in public transport had never delivered pleasure to him and he always abided squash in a salon. However, that day he didn't pay attention to this circumstance. Thoughts as if departed away from his head, leaving a body in periodical frustration. He woke after this fettle only in the gym on working racetrack, hardly running. The temperature of his body slowly started to increase, having returned his soul to human feelings. Blood began to disperse quicker on vessels and capillaries, lungs started to work faster, oxygenating it. His organism reconstructed from a usual rhythm in the regime of the raised weight, preparing for the high physical activity.
The complex of all these extraordinary feelings brought him a certain similarity of pleasure. With each step on a racetrack or rep with weight, he felt that he was alive, being sated with monumental eagerness to a victory. Any weight on a bar or a dumbbell and any distance he ran forced him to transfer new physical burdens, pushing him to achieve an abstract result. He couldn't imagine an ultimate goal, having completely been fond of the entertaining process of creation of a beautiful body.
He compared physical occupations with the writing of his book. Each of these affairs was hard for him. Writing of the next line or another rep was given with bugbear overcoming, but thirst of results covered all efforts with new hope. Even at the most desperate moments when he wanted to throw everything and to be engaged in usual activity what was conducted by millions of people, the spark smoldering in his heart compelled him to stay on his way. Moreover, he lifted the weight again, feeling how skin became covered by small ripples and sweat drops appeared on his brow. His body plunged into the abyss of physical work more and more, muscle fibers were torn from big burdening, bringing him the characteristic feeling of pumping. No one who has ever lifted a bar over himself, can't even imagine, what feelings overflow the person during occupation with burdening. It was something magical and indescribable