Chonicles of Yanis - Orlova Olga

Chonicles of Yanis

Olga Orlova

Cover designer Nadezhda Diakova

© Olga Orlova, 2024

© Nadezhda Diakova, cover design, 2024

ISBN 978-5-0062-7950-6

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Chapter 1

The view from the roof always seems unusual, even the area you know like the back of your hand, having explored every nook and cranny, and knowing how many bricks are in the house across the street, from one window to the next. Even your own backyard, where you grew up, and every curb knows the size of your childhood shoe. And in the cracks between the entrance door and the old rusty pipe, there is still a note for the girl from the parallel class, which she probably will never read. Even these places from the roof will seem different.

From the roof, the noisy morning, the hustle and bustle of the waking city, the wafting smells of coffee from open kitchen windows, the creaky gate of the daycare fence through which mothers drop off their sleepy, crying children, all seem beautiful. Who and why invented these daycares, and when? Of course, there is rationality in them, but it contradicts everything natural. How many children, out of all those brought there, dont cry? Probably only a few, or the most resilient ones, who fear the wrath of strict parents and hold back all tears inside, swallowing them quietly along with their sadness.

They are left in the company of completely unfamiliar people, and its still unknown how to behave with them and what to expect from them. And theres this feeling of loneliness and uselessness in this world. Why do all the adults at the doors of this daycare pretend that everything is not so terrible and that its all just childish whims and fantasies? Everyone understands that its not the case.

Ive been observing this process every morning for almost [insert duration], and not a single mother has yet told her child that she understands how bad, sad, lonely, and unbearably melancholic they feel, so tears just flow on their own, and they would be glad to stop them, but its overwhelming. In most cases, mothers are stern, which only exacerbates the childs condition even more. Everyone rushes to escape, closing the door and the gate behind them, as if to erase any traces.

Then you linger by the lockers in the changing room, take off your shoes, change into indoor footwear, and sit there until someone comes out and leads you into the hall with everyone else, because you really dont want to go there. Bright elephants, dogs, flowers, and berries painted everywhere dont bring any joy. After all, youre just not in the mood for them when sadness has engulfed you like this.

I was there a couple of times; they took me there, but since my parents didnt have much money, and daycare services were not cheap at all, and I threw tantrums whenever I could, they decided to leave me at home under the watchful eye of a neighbor.

From the rooftops in the morning, you can catch the smell of coffee. It makes you believe and feel warmth and coziness, envisioning warm blankets, soft armchairs, fresh newspapers, and even glossy magazines, of which there are plenty in our world and no longer surprise anyone. Like a mist enveloping the city at night, it slowly rises from the ground and momentarily freezes on the rooftops.

The air up there is quiet, precisely quiet. Yes, its cleaner than down below. There isnt such a variety of smells in it, but thats understandable. But its precisely quiet, as if down there in the air not only aromas and odors gather, but also all the words and all the noise. This air heals with its quiet purity, freeing thoughts from emotions and unnecessary worries; inhaling it, you can feel freedom and tranquility.

I ascend here almost every morning, and it feels like Im in a different world, as if I dont belong to anyone or anything here. I watch as the light bulbs in the windows turn on, as everyone starts to rush, waking each other up, as the sun rises from behind that big green roof. At the same time, the color is hardly visible because the sun usually shines very brightly and obscures a couple more roofs with its rays.

Over there, slightly to the right of the sunrise, is a building with a gray, dirty roof that hasnt seen repairs in many years and probably wont for many more. Its the pediatric dentistry building. They used to be everywhere, brand new, clean, trying to lure everyone in with colorful advertisements. The doctors there, they say, were kind and treated without pain or fear; you could watch cartoons. And the bravest ones always got a little toy. But I didnt experience any of that. It was a long time ago, before I even existed.

Before our world became so gray and gloomy, where everyone fights for their lives every day and there are no plans for the future. Only here and now. I have no pleasant thoughts about this gray building; inside, it smells damp and of medicines. I ended up there once; a milk tooth didnt want to fall out on its own, and our caregiver took me there. The weather was terrible, damp, cold autumn, puddles and cold raindrops right on the face.

There, I realized that when they say it wont hurt, they lie. After that visit, I was sick for another week; there was not enough disinfectant solution, they were saving on it, and I got an infection. As a result, I had to get injections. But what scared me the most was being held by three strong, big women, as if one of them couldnt handle me alone. If I could, I would create a time machine just to get treatment where they already know how to do it, and its not painful. Even if its an expensive pleasure, it will definitely pay off in the first few days.

Theres a roof that I like, its on the other side to the left of the sun. Once it was bright red, now its a bit faded and rusted in places, but still beautiful. A girl lives in this house; when I was five years old, we ended up in the same orphanage, then a young family took her away, and I stayed. I dont know her name now; they probably gave her a new beautiful name, but I called her Taya. She was very skinny, frozen, and hungry like everyone else. It seemed like there would never be enough food. No one approached her, and she didnt try to make friends with anyone. I wasnt in the spotlight either, and I never played with anyone, so people avoided and feared me a little, but thats exactly what I wanted. I couldnt take my eyes off her all day; I didnt know how to approach her. In the end, after lunch when everyone was given delicious pastries, and she remained sitting on the bench aside, wrapped in a big jacket, I couldnt resist and sat down next to her, silently offering her my portion of treats. She didnt immediately turn to me and look, at that moment I dont even remember how I stayed alive and didnt die from my own embarrassment and fear.

Her bright green eyes seemed like the center of the universe; I even forgot my own name and didnt ask hers, and completely forgot about the pastry. If she hadnt said she wanted water, I dont know how long that trance would have lasted; I might have died from blissful oblivion. As I rushed down the corridor with a glass of water, there wasnt even a crumb left of the treat. I felt briefly disappointed, but then I was proud and happy that she accepted my gift and looked at me again. Then we were silent for a long time, and we didnt want to talk because there was nothing to say. Children end up in orphanages not from happy families; many kids were brought here, and each had their own unhappy story that few wanted to talk about. But it seemed to me that I could hear her anyway, feel when she was sad, or see from her eyes that she was thinking and remembering something good. Then I smiled too.