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MILITIAMAN'S ROMANCE -- new prose (by Zakhar Prilepin) [beginning of first story/part]
He recently got a white "Lada 5" vehicle. Life turned out strangely, as if he hadn't prepared for class, woke up in a bad mood because of it, and then dragged himself toward school through the gray snowy slush, stomach churning; when classmates shouted to him from the far side of the street, he pretended not to hear; a hundred yards before the school he slipped into a courtyard and decided to skip the day, but even that went badly -- he drifted aimlessly through the city; the satchel on his back seemed to grow heavier by the hour; his shoulders ached; his shoes were soaked; he was hungry, bored, miserable; with no money in his pockets, he searched the ground near some out-of-the-way shops and finally spotted a coin -- for a moment he felt lucky; then another truant appeared, a boy just like him, only two heads taller, without a satchel, with drooling thick lips and a sly grin; "That's mine;" he said, "I dropped it -- give it here;" so he surrendered the slippery fifty kopeks that had briefly promised tea and a meat pie; later he stood behind a bus shelter, staring into the darkness for a long time, stunned by humiliation; snowflakes landed in his eyes; nearby, a man and a woman carried on some impossible conversation, neither hearing a word the other said -- as though both of them were deaf; he delayed going home, knowing his mother was sick; by the time he finally arrived, freezing and so hungry that nausea washed over him in waves, she was beside herself with worry; school had been cancelled that day, it turned out, -- she had waited for him from morning until evening and had even cooked a chicken for him, -- but since he never came home, his older brother had eaten it all, leaving only the neck and a mangled wing.
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