Rus Articles Journal

The strong weak woman of

She sat at a window. Also observed how snowflakes, catching up with each other, laid down a soft plaid on paths in the pribolnichny square. Monotonous pain - as if drills from a drill pierced and ruthlessly drilled its tormented I smother also heart. In the head as ants, pottered about thoughts. From where - that lines from long ago the forgotten poem emerged: “All our pain - only my pain. But how many pain, how many, how many!“.

She so wanted to share

with somebody the intolerable burden. To unload a little the thoughts and soul from everything that pulled hard on it. Having put the laptop on knees, it went on-line: there from all cities of Russia waited from it for messages it the girlfriend. It was laconic. Its news connotating in itself boundless and infinite unhappiness went in in two offers:“ Life shit! Tonight Lesh died“.

the Word “died“ not at once it was succeeded to write, there was a strange feeling that so far she will not write it, it is still possible to correct. But... It is too much “but“ in her life, too... As soon as she pressed the send button, words of support and condolences fell down: “Irisha, you is strong! Hang in there!“. Here her intolerable pain was replaced with some instant by feeling of irritation. There was a wish to shout, no, to shout for the whole world that it it became heard in all corners of the earth: “No, I am not strong! Me life forces to be strong!“ .

But understanding of what hundreds of people endure and want, very much want to help it, muffled minute irritation, and the feeling of big gratitude came to its change. Now bitter words in her head with ease developed in the poem. Having added the last a line, it, hard going, bypassed all hospital chamber where quite recently lay with the crumb the son. Suddenly it sharply stopped and directed the big, beautiful eyes in the blue bottomless sky. Somewhere there were souls of her children - her boys.

I It! She hasty whispered to It: “My God, if you are why it happens to me? What you so punish me for? For what? I do not ask much, I only want to be as all women! I just want to be a mother!“ Her hands clenched in cams, nails pierced in a palm, but she did not feel it. In the middle of hospital chamber there was a lonely small figure of the strong weak woman who tried to find answers to injustice in the life...

... This year the summer was surprisingly warm even for Krasnodar Krai. Leaves on trees were poured by the green sides, bathing in sunshine. The fragrant smell of flowers from park beds was carried on all city. It went the queen`s gait, softly and easily. Tiny, bright, stylishly dressed and... rolled a carriage. There her baby snuffled, ridiculously wrinkling a snub-nosed nose. “Mother, mother, smotl, what zyuk father to me grinding!“ - having informed it of a native voice. The three-year-old little son ran towards, keeping a matchbox in the small chubby handle. Followed it, smiling, her darling and the loving husband. It overcame all - such little, weak, but very strong woman!

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