Tired old boots waited at the front door, mud-soaked in every sagging fold of their fabric.
Kul has been wearing them for many years, he remembers buying them with his first own money in a real store.
It's not that he didn't have money afterwards, but the old memory takes its toll ...
Kul goes to work every morning. Thoughts about the quality of the work done never crossed his mind. Although, he does it without laziness. It even seemed that he works as automated.
I still remember the days when Kuhl was happy to work, it was absolutely new to him at that time. He tried to overcome all the problems and be a pro.
However, he later realized that professionalism is very schematic. Having built a clear plan for each already familiar task, anyone can easily perform duties by turning off any critical thinking.
ONCE, ON TUESDAY:
It seems as if only such a handful of air remained in Kul's chest that the soul inside was compressed like an empty bag after juice.
At such moments, straightening up, he said one phrase and if someone suddenly heard it, wont understand these words:
"And then I saw "them" " - Kul said in silence as if he was addressing his own shadow.
Every time Kul saw "them", his gaze scattered and the memories formed into pictures, lifting from the depths of his soul that which his eyes had seen only once, when the boy was very young.
Birds. Which have been replaced by alarm clocks... Climate change, native to the Kul region, has radically reacted to the feathered creatures.
Most lucky of them were able to withstand the heat - migrated long ago and far away.
Kul wrote about birds and painted them. He made from paper, painted figures, and gave everything to children.
He carried to the little ones everything he created because they were not lucky enough to find real birds, having been born so late.
Kul has forgotten why he stopped making them, but he will never forget how important it was. He no longer knows how to collect them correctly.
This knowledge, as well as the will to unite with the sky through feathers and songs. So is the will to fly as such. Everything has disappeared.
Not a single summer has passed since he forgot, desperately found a job for himself and rooted there, becoming part of the mechanism that drove the birds away.
"They" for each and everyone there became special people. Kul has exhausted himself, in search of the flight of his own thought.
Now he only wanted to breathe evenly to the rhythm of the ticking of the clock, which had replaced the exact time of the bird songs.
No matter how much Kul wanted to forget about the birds at all - BIRDS NEVER FORGOT KUL
But they couldn't sing to him about it.
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