LITMIR.BIZ

      I came out into the street and saw that the bank was indeed just across the road. But when I attempted to cross the road I appeared in a kind of a portal which moved me far away from the café and the bank. I found myself at the foot of a very wide staircase. It had shelves of real books by real authors for steps. And these were not rubbish but good books. I began to climb the stairs and with every step to the top I placed my feet on new books. These step-like shelves were organized so that the lateral sides of the books looked upwards. So, while climbing the stairs, I managed to read a lot of names and headlines. As for the books, they were pressed tight to each other like herrings in a can. The shelves represented best-sellers which had never been published and which remained just unrealized ideas. They could have become real best-sellers if their authors had been not only dreamers but ambitious people as well capable of finding the time and the moneyto publish them… There were the books by all the most famous writers of their world on this staircase (I could call it «magical» if only I didn’t consider magic to be sheer rubbish). Or they were rather the writers of our world… I got confused again. But there were mostly the names and he headlines I didn’t recognize. But that was no surprise – like Shaitan I was not a reader, I was a writer. And that is why I had read rather few books. I was mostly writing them. But maybe our world was the same thing as their world. It was probably the organic whole, the two parts of the same thing. Who knows? I know only that I was climbing up the stairs. I was quite sure that I had to go ahead. And with every pace I stepped on somebody’s best-seller, on the back of somebody’s beautiful book. They all were of different colour, thickness and design. Some of them were even pearly. And they had only one thing in common – they formed the stairs I was climbing. Strange as it may seem, I was not at al surprised that the books remained in a perfect state despite climatic conditions and the fact that so many people steeped on them. But probably, in that place there were no climatic conditions and the travellers’ shoes couldn’t harm this great work. Either there were different laws of nature there or that wonderful momentI was the first to climb that newly-built staircase… Anyway, I kept going and that was for sure. The staircase was so high and steep that the way up happened to be very difficult. I leaned on to the banisters and paused to have a rest for several times. It was very hard to go upstairs, to the Heavens. And the journey was very long. How come it hadn’t occurred to me to take a book with me so that I could read it while having a rest? The staircase was so wide. But maybe it was for the better that such an idea had never come to me because if that staircase had been magical indeed, the book would have probably carried me to an absolutely different world, away from that staircase and the bank and the café… and even from the idea to visit the toilet room which I had dropped long ago. Maybe I had started to read a book while sitting in the café but I just didn’t notice that… And it had probably carried me to the place where I was at the moment?! But why didn’t I want to do my doings anymore?! Had I already done it?!