Hold Her Hand by Eldar Satymov

It is freaking cold, but if she didn´t see the people dressed in heavy coats and caps earlier today she wouldn´t know it. Her skin doesn’t perceive the bitterness of the air like if she was entirely covered with a thermo isolating membrane.

Kira stands in the hall, near the elevator. She is not waiting for the elevator as one might think, she merely wants to lean to the wall and catch the dancing light falling from the aquarium. Meanwhile, her boyfriend, Luke, is blasting out sound waves on the far side of the corridor. Poor him; his sound cannot penetrate the membrane, yet she guesses he found drugs in her purse again. Why does it all matter? Why can’t she enjoy swimming in an aquarium? That fish would look very cute with a piercing on its lip. She, rubbing her shoulder on the wall, looks at Luke who comes up to her looking straight into her eyes. His mouth — little bit open, his jaw — slightly shaking. On the bluish light falling from behind her back, she observes perfectly timed series of his breathing cycles that are very vivid on the chilly air. Lifting her glance to catch his eyes, she utters, “She needs a piercing.” He turns back and puts his hands on his head, and marches back in their apartment closing the door closing the door closing the door. Kira, then, slowly collapses on the white marble floor in her light denim jacket, short skirt, stockings that barely cover her knees, with no shoes on.

Where is the angel that is supposed to grab her hand and lift her up into the sky? Her eyes are ajar, her head rises, she sees giant gates disunite and here is the crisis. A blazing vertical stripe from between her brows to chin widens and enlightens her face, but there’s no one to see this grace. No. No angel is there. Heaven is before her. She needs no help to get there.