Article - 2035.

 {2035}

 A man walked along a white corridor. Although,
not exactly white, but with
a certain hint of a snow-white tint.
No, not the white color that
they wrap up the dead in the morgue.   And not
the one that children play with in winter
yard.  This color didn't even look like
canvas that fiercely
destroys with stupid colors, mediocre
artist.   The color of the corridor looked more like
tiled room, where in a checkerboard
urns are arranged in order, of the same color,
same as the corridor itself, only with a low tide
colors of the person walking along it.
Free cells of the room, those that
formed between the urns, were
filled with melodies of light. On every urn
sat the one who considers himself
ruler of life...
 And yet,man slowly, leisurely,
limping, he walked along the almost white corridor, along
the edges of which were carefully placed
beds with almost white sheets.
The man walked leisurely, limping, slowly.
The dynamics of movements were similar to the dynamics
music.     Sometimes hard, sometimes
melodic, occasionally breaking into
collapse.
 The man was walking towards the goal. The very goal for him
was not defined.  I was looking for the goal myself
man walking on almost white
corridor.  She did not draw for herself
red paint target.  That mess, in
which will fit with millimeter accuracy
a man, like a knife in a vein, triumphant
achieved goal, without suspecting that
I found it myself...
 But the man walked, occasionally falling into
collapse along the almost white corridor,
approaching the goal of my whole life,
coming to redmark on white
canvas.  Occasionally they tried to have a relationship with him
conversation with people like him. But man
he walked in silence... He walked where everyone else was going,
the same as him, along the almost white corridor
life to a blood-colored target. targets,
which will stop all its progress, slow,
slow, lame, almost white
the corridor of life...