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The enchanted chair of an unusual writer - Nikolay Lakutin

The enchanted chair of an unusual writer

Автор

Страниц

15

Год

2021

Однажды, в прошлом, жил удивительный и непредсказуемый литератор, о котором слагались множество слухов. Его биография была затеряна во мраке тайн, но даже то, что было известно о нем, заставляло ошеломленно вздрагивать. Он создавал чрезвычайно необычные произведения, способные привлекать внимание публики. Неизвестно было, что в его руках оказывается правда или вымысел. Великий писатель прошел через трудную жизненную историю, но достиг того, чего всегда стремился добиться. После своей смерти, он оставил свой последний дар человечеству - очарованное кресло. Вокруг этого кресла страсти до сих пор не утихают…

Его сокрытые таланты искусного писателя впечатляли всех поклонников литературы. Автор не умел различить, что является реальностью, а что вымыслом. Его невероятная способность смешивать правду с ложью увлекала читателей каждой страницей его произведений. Он преодолел все трудности на своем пути, но, сравниваясь с предшественниками, превзошел в своем творческом достижении. Ушедший из жизни литератор оставил наследие всему человечеству - учудесное, обаятельное кресло. Именно эта часть мебели до сих пор становится центром внимания...

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Lifting another boulder, dismantling one of the littered rocks on the territory of the Crimea, a group of dubious archaeologists saw the cherished tunnel.

"Guys, we're on the right track!" The

group of exhausted men set to work with renewed vigor. When the passage was cleared, the first to step into the gorge was a graceful female foot, the owner of which was smiling contentedly with her white-toothed mouth.

– Lanterns! Bring the lanterns here, quickly! "Stop it!" she commanded.

Several workers lit up the cave with lanterns. The woman examined the space carefully.

Dozens of chests filled with gold and precious stones appeared before the eyes of the visitors. But the woman's smile was gone. In a cursing voice, she said,:

"There's no chair here. The tailor deceived us.

"Mistress, see how much good there is here?" "Is there anything else you need?" the Arab asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. We are now one of the richest people on the planet. There's enough for everyone here. We're here now…

"You can keep these trinkets," the woman interrupted the Arab's enthusiastic speech, barely able to contain her anger. – I have enough money. But they don't buy the most important things. I need this scribbler's chair. And I'll do anything to get it. No one should touch anything until special people examine the room. After that, share everything you find here, and our cooperation is over.

The woman took out a walkie-talkie, pressed a button, and said:

– Valera, give me your trackers. And until they find at least some clue – they will not leave the cave!

…

It was an ordinary rainy autumn day. Lyubov Nikitichna twirled her rosary beads on her fingers and looked as if out of the window. In fact, her gaze went much further. He went back to the distant memories, when as a girl she ran with her friends on an abandoned construction site. The girls loved to wander up the unfinished staircases and look down from the high, spacious floor platforms at the faint lights of the glittering city that could only be seen from here. This area was not well-run. Everyone who could-tried to leave here, the rest had to adapt. The girl Lyuba was one of those who were less lucky in life than others. She didn't dream of dolls, or ice cream, or an amusement park. All she wanted was for her father to come home from work today sober, and maybe her mother wouldn't make a scene, and then she wouldn't take it out on her only child, who practically hadn't known petting since she was a baby.

Having once again ascended to the chosen construction site, the girls suddenly stopped. Lyuba came forward and was also stunned. In front of her lay a decent-looking man, the kind that had never been brought into this area. The man was breathing calmly, his eyes were open, but the pool of blood around him indicated that he didn't have long to breathe.

The girls took a step back, but Lyuba came closer. The man turned his head slightly in her direction, then smiled and asked:

"How are you?"

"Better than yours," the perky girl snapped without thinking.

The man grinned out loud, reached for the sole of his shoe, writhed a little, as if in pain, and took out a folded gray sheet of paper from a secret compartment in the sole of the shoe.

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