Mrs. Ferguson. Part One Mrs. Ferguson's day had a point when she did the chief case — left her eight years old grandson alone and went to bay some milk. This time the boy was all his own and could do everything. Fortunately he was still boy and did nothing — only plaid his toys. Maybe he didn't notice her absence. Several times only. In these times he didn't cry only came to bed and laid on it wait when she came. Mrs. Ferguson was about fifteen, fat and loud woman who loved her grandson very much. She always told everybody that he was clever beyond his years and even could write. She was crazy about him. Almost all her free time she spent with him, just looking as he was playing his toys or chatting with him or doing things like this. All neighbor knew her to be a good grandmother ans ever day heard her unlimited storied about how he lost his toy solider, for example, and didn't cry only began to search it... and found. Once when she was about to left him again, she said to him: “Don't open the door anybody beside me!” The child nodded. She went out on the street, crossed the road and came in a shop on the corner. As usual, she spent about 15 minutes, paid the price, exchanged a few words with her old friend and went back. She was thinking bout a nice dinner she would do when put her hand into her bag to take the key. Her hand went out empty. She examined her bag — in vain. She'd forgot the key in the flat. It was dangerous because her grandson was too small to understand how to open the door by the key. But she didn't lose hope. She knocked neatly. “Hi, Darling, it's me!” There was no answer. She began to nerve. “It's me” she hammered at the door.

The Rainy Day It has begun to rain. I wanted there to be any troubles when I'd come home, so I cut my way short. There was a traffic light on the crossroad, so I wasted some time wait (or waiting). As I was standing there I saw a man running out a shop. He disappeared in the rain. My wife wanted me home by eight, so that I hadn't any time to think about this man. Was he seen to go out besides me? I don't know. I crossed some streets and stopped for a moment apposite a building. It was an old factory I've never seen it work. I stepped on the road to cross it, but jumped back at once because I heard a car's roaring in the dark. The car flew by me without ease its rice. When I got home at least I found it locked. I knocked at the door. I heard my knocking echoed. I used to waiting like this, but tonight she didn't come down to open the door (or the door open). I have been waiting for half an hour before it struck me that to day was Sunday, and she was in the theater with her friend Julia. I looked at my watch. It was nearly eight o'clock. I sat down on the steps of the porch and lost in thought. I didn't notice time pass and when the headlight me I thought: “Who's that?” But when I smiled and come to met my wife. She kissed me warmly and asked me why I was out. I explained her clear and she began to laugh. “Why are you laughing?” I asked. “I've told you that I left the key under the carpet, don't remember?” I recalled at once our call conversation, and we both laughing come home in.

The Foreign Town As the fall has come the trees were bare and the country roads were muddy. There were wet dead leaves of trees and men who worked on the road stepped on it. I looked on them and thought that it was like a circle of life: one fell and others stepped on them. I walked to the bridge so they told me to go faster. When I crossed the river I saw it was running very fast and I couldn't see any reflection of my face. Standing there for a while I went on my walking. I've not been here for ten years. The place had changed very much. Many houses I knew were destroyed, others were still on their places, but they were surrounded by new buildings so that it was difficult to recognized them. I was walking along the streets, slowly, thoughtfully as if I hadn't left this town ten years ago. The people I met were new people, no one I had known. There was a surprise for me on other side of the town: half street were as similar to I remember, so I could think I was in my childhood again. But feelings faded away, slowly and I went back to reality, where I was alone in the foreign town, not mine. I went to the park which was on hilly side of the plateau and towered over the city like a castle. I had liked to wonder here when I was a kid, and now I almost felt such a feeling I had felt then. I stood on a hill for a while, overlooking the town, the crowded beast, and then turned back to the downtown where I had lost my car. I never return here again.

Rainy day It was raining all day, and I could see the faded outline of the church through the window. It was like an impressionistic picture. I set by the window, looking out, thinking or trying to think about my work. It stood still, motionlessly behind me. I've closed my eyes and for a moment the world disappeared, faded and instead of it I saw a dreamland where I could do everything I want and nobody told me “Don't do that!” Only the wind in my ears and sky over me. Stillness was reigned here... and I was sleeping. When I woke up I looked down and saw a picture of a nice manga girl which I had draw. I thought of my girl who left me last year. This girl was similar to her. I seeped my coffee and kept working without enthusiasm.

I'm looking for a friend.

I am looking for a language partner (possible friend) of a writer (fiction or non-fiction) or a person whose activity or hobby is connected with literature in order to lead discussions on literary topics.

My notes When I feel an emotion I can, sometime, translate or explain it by using words, so that the other people could be felt them too, on their way of course, but as close to mine as it possible. Sometimes my readers tell me they felt something. Maybe their feelings were similar to mine, maybe no. Feeling of dismay, sadness and sorrow or watching the nature as it is... is more easy to translate into the words that more specially feeling like horror or love. Now is a snowfall outside and I think about how I will clean up my yard. I'm listening “Twilight time” and watching the snowfall through the window. But then I recall a Russian song “The white snow”. This tune has a nice saxophone melody and when I hear this song I recall the time I lost my love... But now I must go walking the dog otherwise it would be too dark outside.

The Sea Is Blue A man, who never see the beach decided to drive to California. He poked his clothes up and got in his car. It was day-off and he was free. The trip to the state was slight and fast, and soon he was in San Francisco. He took a room in a motel, and having taken two towers from the room, set out in looking for a beach. It was sunny day, the sky was clear and blue, and he could hear gulls and smell the sea. All around him seemed was saying: “It’ll be very beautiful days-off, gay!” He smiled to each men and woman he met on his way to a beach. He walked along the street and stopped on the crossroad. The traffic-light showed the red. He looked around and noticed a girl, maybe about twenty-five or older but not more than two-three years. She stood by street-light and waited as he. He greeted her, but she kept silent. “I’m stranger in this town. Where’s a beach, you know?” She said the beach was in the West and went away after they had crossed the street. The man walked in the direction that the girl had gave him, but soon he found himself on the place which didn’t recall a beach. “Hay, mister!” he called a shabby man who passed by him, “are where a beach?” “A beach?” the stranger wondered. “Not here!” “I see,” our man began to irritate. “Where it is?” The stranger indicated in the direction of the sea. “You see the blue surface? The beach is there.” The stranger seemed very glad by saying this and smiling went away. “What idiot!” murmured our man, and went on towards the blue surface. He went through some streets and crossroads before he felt he was tired. He set down on a bench and wiped up his face by the tower he had taken from the motel. In this time a man passed by him. Our man, who lost all his hopes, seized hold of stranger’s sleeve. “Please, help me!” The stranger looked glum, he glanced around but here were nobody to help. “Please, please!” went on our man. “Okay! What the hell is with you?” Our man explained him his situation. The stranger became to laugh, but having noticed our man’s look finished at once. “The nearest beach is in-n-n…” in this dramatic moment, when eye our man were full of trees of joy and his heart was about to jump up to his head, the stranger saw a tram, on which he had want to get to his home, and tore his hand from our man’s hands run. Our man stay alone, with his hands stretched out as though he was about to jump in the pool; really a pool was not here around.

In The Fog The oblique rain glistening in the fog so it seemed like a transparent fabric stretched exactly the canvas on the frame. I looked at it nearly see the mountains in the distance: they were like a dark ridge of a dragon who lied sleeping on the meadow. The deep forest which stretched along the road was deep green, almost black in the night. The forest was silent in the rain. No birds, no animals, nobody as if all being were dead. And only plants could survive in such an oppressive environment. I looked back. The road came out into the mist behind me; no lights no sign of life. I had nothing to lost, so I went slowly along the road not knowing exactly to where it led. Sooner I saw a light not far away, so I had a chance to get it before the inhabitants went to bed. I hurried. Rain thinned and the fog began to dissipate, there were only narrow strips of haze, just tentacles' octopus enveloping all around. I heard a thunder in the distance. Maybe the storm was coming again. The light I had seen was a house, one window was illuminated, but just before I came close enough it turned out. I doubted a minute, but thunder rang again and the rain began. I approached and knocked at the door. I wait about five minutes. It seemed to me I heard a footsteps behind. Little by little I was overcome by a strange feeling of terror. I knocked again. There was no reply. Someone's eyes were drilling into my back. I wanted looked back, but I was afraid to see a wild animal or... I hammered the door. I don't know how long I was waiting, but it seemed like an eternity. At last the door was opened.

A sketch in Gothic style It was a dark damp night and the cold wind whistled in the trees and the grass echoed to it, as it seemed to a traveler. The fain rain falling from the heaven added a charm to this picture and if the traveler were an artist he could be remembered it to paint afterwards. But he wasn’t any artist, he was only a tramp. He was on his own, choosing a way he liked better and not had any duty in the world. He was crossing the meadow in the bottom of a valley surrounding by mountains and cutting by a river which seemed black in the night. "The spot is fine maybe in the daylight," he thought as he cross the river which got him to the chest. He didn’t fear to be drawn, he swum very well, or he thought so. The stream was not strong and soon he got the other bank and had a look around. The plain valley stretched out before him to the mountains where as he knew a village or a town was, there he could be dry out and rest. But now there was no sight of light, so he went on. The grass was taller here and his legs tired soon through he didn’t find any of a cubby hole he decided to camp out right here in the fresh air under the fain rain. He had a coat big enough to hide him from the rain but not from the wet. He could take cold but it was usually for him, so he didn’t afraid for his health. "In the morning I’ll dry out my clothes and myself before set off to the village," he thought. He was nearly slept when he heard a sound of riding horses approaching him. He peeped out to look what it was but saw nothing. The sound became loudly as it approached. He stood up to be seen and when saw a few riders going towards him. They looked like an apocalypse’s riders or some like this, so he just like this was afraid although he knew there was nothing to fear.