I have a friend who writes bewithcing short stories to some of my lomo-pictures. I'd like to share some of them with you. Thanks, Andrey!
It was the first day of cold summer 2552. Heavy lead clouds closed down above the emerald-green stripe of sand which stretched to the very horizon. Quicksilver waves rolled over the shore silently.
‘Do you hear locusts rattle?’ he asked.
’It’s not locusts, it’s a Geiger tube. Let’s go, fallout is coming.’
They ploded along the green sand, leaving behind a procession of fragile boats sailing somewhere beyond the horizon.
The day was brisk and shiny. The sky was shrilly blue as it used to be in early fall, when summer still had not lose it’s ground, although the breath of relentlessly approaching cold spell has already manifested itself. People were standing on the sidewalks of Nevsky gazing silently upon a weird procession floating past them. No man ever found anything to say. After all, were there such words to express what they have seen: minting the steps they marched in order along the city’s main drag – matreshkas! The day was brisk and shiny…
The sun splashed behind the gate. Every single day he came upon it and, touching its flaking paint cautiously, listened to the waves of dazzling light rolling behind; He listened to how the solar wind whistled his tune distinct but to itself. Sometimes, when his fingers grasped the latch which held the gates closed, he felt pierced with intense longing to open it with one fling, letting all that glowing in – to the yard and forth to the house. He was imagining how the rooms were flooding with light, and here it was: his favorite armchair already drowning under the rippling sparkling surface of solar plasma, and his books, usually stacked in the corner, floating slowly all over the room, striking out their pages, lazily, just like tremendous jellyfish strike with their tentacles.
Every day he came to that gate but never took the chance to open it. Warm sun splashed the same behind them.
written by Andrey Alexeev a.k.a. cheshire