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Unfiled October 28, 2003
The Night Of A Living Dead
By Edward Limonov Browse author
Page 2 of 3
On the way out I discovered that my vision suddenly greatly improved. Walking by corridor of Investigation building I saw all the cracks into linoleum old floor. I saw the dust of all shapes and even noticed little spider struggling to cross the corridor. I also scented stinking shoes of soldier walking behind me. These darks years of Eternity promised to me by Russian law made me see better? I developed abilities long forgotten by the man?

Prison building was smelling of sour-cabbage. It was a time of supper, so prison was smelling of a last meal of the day, of sour-cabbage. Although some lights were already out, I had an impression that prison is illuminated for me.

My cellmate Mishka was watching TV. "Why so late today?" he asked me. "Schischkin awarded me with a new accustion: of terrorism and creation of unlawful armed formation" said I.

"Shit," said Mishka, "I thought you will be out soon. Seems that not so soon."

For how soon I looked at Penal Code book. Penal Code book information was hopeless. Even though I was accused of preparation to actions of terrorism, article 205 alone promised me no less then 10 years. Articles 33 signified that I accused to be a ring-leader, so I will have a most cruel punishment. In all, I counted, if condemned, I will be sent into Eternity for 23 years and 7 months minimum.

I went to bed, according to prison's regulations exactly at 10 p.m. I covered my face with a towel. I fell asleep...I awakened maybe two or three hours later. Mishka just closed his novel and went to sleep. One light bulb was shining sinisterly in the middle of a ceiling. I felt unbearably dead.

I was lying on my back. Lightbulb was making buzzing noise like little mosquito, searching for humain body. Or maybe it was mosquito. Sour-cabbage smell was still present in my cell. I thought with a horror: In 23 years will I be alive? Probability was very small, as I am 58 years old. And those 23 years was neccessary to go through...

Listening to the regular snorting of Mishka I decided to stop my life. But how to stop it in high security of FSB, where even plastic bags are pierced by our guards? Suddenly I realized that I have on green and white strong plastic bag without holes in it. That bag was forgotten in cell number 24 by an informer, Aleksii, placed to frighten me in my first month at Lefortovo. Aleksii was transferred suddenly and have forgotten his bag. Now that bag was under my bed. I will put that bag on my head and will tie the bag around my neck. As American writer of polish origin, Koszinski died...But where I will get a string? I will made it from a prison towel...So, before going to bed I will place my plastic bag under my pillow. As well as a string, made of towel. Mishka will read, then he will go to sleep. Then I will put a sheet on my face. It will be no suspicion the guards, who overlook us from time to time into peep-hole. Although August have ended it was still some mosquitos in my cell. Then I will put a bag on my head and tightly tie a string around my neck. I will asphyxiate myself...

Somehow relaxed by the picture of my exodus from life I fell asleep. But I awakened in prison Hell. Mishka was lying on his side, his blanket felt on the floor, naked, only in his shorts. Mishka's legs and arms were weak and white as potatos sprouts in the dark basement. Mishka was undergoing investigation for more than three years. His limbs undergone atrophy. My limbs will be looking same in a few years...I should live that Hell of life. I visualized the picture of my exodus from life. I felt asleep.

That was unbearable night. I lost a hope for five or six times. Then I catched a hope again. I was seeing myself dead in the morning. How guards will discover my body, because Mishka will be sleeping as usually late...Then I thought that I am dead anyway, why bother to make myself more dead. Terrifying picture of 23 bottomless years of Eternity were rapidly replaced by terrifying picture of my body with a bag on my head. Probable that in my agony I will felt from a prison bed, to awaken Mishka? Then I thought about my party. And Russian people, what they will think of me, leaving life? Will they call me weakling?

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