Creative Writing: Yogi Purba's Death

23. The mourning Brought to the hospital unconscious, Vladimir Lenin died on the surgical table. That hour the hospital’s corridors were crowded; the local guards were powerless. The square in front of the hospital was packed by thousands of silent people.

I stayed on the stadium stage about ten minutes longer: I wasn’t needed close to Lenin anymore, and to Fomin, apparently, too. I waited there until the massive Myacheva’s body was carried away from the stained bloody stage, and then Purba’s. Police coyly covered Myacheva’s body with yellow veil offered by one of Krishnaites. The body of yogi Purba was covered too: his nudity somehow connected in policemen’s

The first: who was standing close to Lenin at the time of those deadly shots, or, even more important, who didn’t, because I didn 't notice it being distracted by dark spot in the corner. And the second, I hoped to catch the sight of Rebrov’s face somewhere, because his absence on the stage was suspicious. I was right; the major news channels broadcasted the scenes from the Moscow stadium non-stop. I’ve chosen CNN and plunged into it. The first thing I’ve heard – Lenin died in the hospital. I quite expected this news and wasn’t really shocked, but the bitterness of loss immediately spread and poisoned my feelings. Surprisingly, I’ve got really attached to this man these days, and I’ve felt truly sorry for him. I looked at his face on the screen and recalled all the last words he said to me. Soon I saw on the TV screen something important. In a slowed down motion mode from the corner of the stage appeared a smeared dark spot, then it turned into a back of a man, blocking a third of TV screen. Suddenly flashed the bare skin of yogi Purba jumping across, and the shots rang out. The scene had been stopped for some seconds, and I saw who was there standing right behind Lenin. Of the “stars” who danced together some minutes before one of them was absent -

Only in this case I would have the legal right to defend myself with all possible means, as any citizen in this country. I do not have any other serious weapons besides this knife, and that’s quite enough with my mostly analytical work at corporations’ offices. For the same reason I didn’t need this knife for a very long time and now, standing with it at the door, I assumed that I wouldn’t hit any credit card at random at three yards. So now I had to practice and practice for hours to be sure that my knife would hit the target, always and any place, and I could rely on