Privāta firma- 'Private Company'
WHO: Ivan and Raivis
WHEN: September 18th, Friday evening (Back to the future~)
WHERE: The Braginski apartment
WHAT: "Make your offering by the door, but once you enter the Russian's den, you'll not be seen no more..."
RATING: K, Kolkolkol. Not for 'kids'.
Silence had a sound.
It was a phenomenon many did not actually notice when they experienced it, that many did not entirely comprehend. If there was a sufficient lack of noise, then the world was customarily thought of as 'silent'. Disregarding the intricacies of frequencies too high or two low for cluttered, busied minds to worry at. It was quiet, it was peaceful- or, perhaps, unnerving- but it. Was. Silent.
Raivis knew better. Just because he couldn't quite hear anything, did not mean it wasn't there.
True silence was the vast, openness of space and the infinity that unfolded when a man took his last, mortal breath.
In his apartment, he had the security of acoustics. He had the comfortable symphony of air condition percussion, creaking, aged building brasses, the woodwinds of clinking glass as he lifted bottles from the cupboard. The familiarity of Ravel playing softly near the balcony.
In the hallway, it was the faint drumming of voices from behind thin walls, people thundering up and down stairs, the heralding of car horns distant, beyond the windows. The ping of the elevator. The rolling, thudding, clacking, clicking, rattling, musical extravaganza that was the Centralia apartment complex.
In the elevator, it was hushed, but no less devoid of cables groaning and numbers dinging loudly at his descent.
In front of Doctor Ivan Braginski's door-
For the first time in his life-
Raivis felt like the world had abruptly shut itself out to him. It was entering into a bizarre pocket in reality that was him, this door, and nothing else. He couldn't hear his own heart. He couldn't hear the knock though he had clearly seen his knuckles delicately brush against the board.
If there was an answer from the inside, Raivis wasn't certain, but he clutched tight to the box of vodka bottles gathered in his arms and prayed that all would go well.
After all, with Miss Natasha gone away, it couldn't be so bad. Not at all...
WHEN: September 18th, Friday evening (Back to the future~)
WHERE: The Braginski apartment
WHAT: "Make your offering by the door, but once you enter the Russian's den, you'll not be seen no more..."
RATING: K, Kolkolkol. Not for 'kids'.
Silence had a sound.
It was a phenomenon many did not actually notice when they experienced it, that many did not entirely comprehend. If there was a sufficient lack of noise, then the world was customarily thought of as 'silent'. Disregarding the intricacies of frequencies too high or two low for cluttered, busied minds to worry at. It was quiet, it was peaceful- or, perhaps, unnerving- but it. Was. Silent.
Raivis knew better. Just because he couldn't quite hear anything, did not mean it wasn't there.
True silence was the vast, openness of space and the infinity that unfolded when a man took his last, mortal breath.
In his apartment, he had the security of acoustics. He had the comfortable symphony of air condition percussion, creaking, aged building brasses, the woodwinds of clinking glass as he lifted bottles from the cupboard. The familiarity of Ravel playing softly near the balcony.
In the hallway, it was the faint drumming of voices from behind thin walls, people thundering up and down stairs, the heralding of car horns distant, beyond the windows. The ping of the elevator. The rolling, thudding, clacking, clicking, rattling, musical extravaganza that was the Centralia apartment complex.
In the elevator, it was hushed, but no less devoid of cables groaning and numbers dinging loudly at his descent.
In front of Doctor Ivan Braginski's door-
For the first time in his life-
Raivis felt like the world had abruptly shut itself out to him. It was entering into a bizarre pocket in reality that was him, this door, and nothing else. He couldn't hear his own heart. He couldn't hear the knock though he had clearly seen his knuckles delicately brush against the board.
If there was an answer from the inside, Raivis wasn't certain, but he clutched tight to the box of vodka bottles gathered in his arms and prayed that all would go well.
After all, with Miss Natasha gone away, it couldn't be so bad. Not at all...