Kappa
29-10-2003, 10:10
Okay. Today as I came back from the subway, I noticed a small girl, not older than 8 years old, sleeping sprawled on the floor in front of the stairs. Her position was peculiar: she was hiding her face with her hand, like she did not want to be seen, unconsciously.
You know what left me thinking? That no one worried around her. We're talking about the subway station next to the University. There's people all the time walking on and off there, and people just walked round her or over her.
So I left and pondered, all the way home, about extreme poverty like that.
Now, as to disclaim myself: I don't blame poverty/war/misery on God because I don't believe in the traditional catholic God. Thanks to an idea a friend provided, this fic might end up having several chapters, but if it doesn't get a good response, this is as long as it's getting. I know and respect other people's ideas and I don't desire that people get offended at me because of this fic, but then again, I've never been known for writing traditional stuff. :rolleyes:
The song is Dear God by XTC.
(And to those that are still waiting for me to finish "The Two Lenas", hey, be glad, I came out of the writer's block. :coctail: )
**********
Dear God
Lena sat on a stool, on stage. She was, strangely enough, wearing simple clothes, dug out of her old clothes drawer. An overall she had stopped using at 17. A pair of tennis shoes she loved, but that had been forbidden by Ivan to appear on stage; they were too used. And a shirt she didn’t believe would fit her anymore. She felt good in those clothes she had exchanged for expensive clothing.
Yulia, sitting on the ground by her, played with her mic and smiled at her lover, using, too, clothes that she never thought would be of use again. An old pair of pants she used to go to junior high school, a huge plaid shirt she had stolen out of her father’s closet at 13, and a pair of shoes she never thought she’d use again.
Their fanatics, more impressed by the images displayed on the background of the stage, images of poverty, war, tears and rage and anger, than by the clothing they were using, were silent, listening to the beats the drummer imposed before a guitar chord started.
Yulia raised her mic to her lips.
Dear God,
I Hope you got the letter and
I pray that you can make it better down here.
I don't mean a big reduction in the price of beer.
But all the people that you made in your image,
See them starving on their feet
'Cause they don't get enough to eat
From God.
Can't believe in you.
At the shock in most of their fanatic’s expression, Yulia rested her cheek on her knee and waited for her lover to intone her part. This was sure something no one expected from the Russian duo.
Lena took a deep breathe as Yulia finished her part and put her heart into making her voice tell a story.
Dear God,
Sorry to disturb you but,
I feel that I should be heard loud and clear.
We all need a big reduction in amounts of tears.
But all the people that you made in your image,
See them fighting in the street
'Cause they can't make opinions meet
About God.
Can't believe in you.
The brunette didn’t worry when she noticed a couple of fanatics squirming out of the crowd and towards the door. The images behind them were too shocking for the rest to stop listening, hearing. Their senses were open.
It had all started when four weeks ago, Ivan had almost tripped on a little boy, dirty and obviously uneducated, who was asking for something to eat on the street. His usual temper made him storm off, but Yulia and Lena stayed and gave the small boy a share of the sandwich they had just bought in the store they walked out of.
Lena had looked for their driver while Yulia watched the boy run happily with his hands full of the sandwich, towards a old man with his eyes closed as in deep thought. The boy poked the old man and with his eyes still closed, he stirred and heard the few words the boy squealed out.
Did you make disease
And the diamond blue?
Did you make mankind
After we made you?
And the Devil too...
Dear God,
Don't know if you've noticed but
Your name is on a lot of quotes in this Book.
Us crazy humans wrote it; you should take a look.
And all the people that you made in your image
Still believin' that junk is true.
Well, I know it ain't and so do you,
Dear God.
Yulia covered her mouth when she noticed the man’s face was scarred out of god knew how many fights. He was obviously blind. It struck her that he wore the old Army’s uniform, with pieces tore down and small medals covered in dirt. His smile was sincere and wide when the boy tore a bit of the sandwich and gave it to him.
“Yulia, he could’ve stole it.” Ivan commented on the van, once they headed home. Lena threw him a nasty look.
“He was a veteran no one took care of, Vanya.” Yulia insisted, touched by the man’s ability to smile after all his suffering.
“You’re so naпve.” But he was thoughtful. “… And if he was?”
“Uh-oh. You’re thinking how to get money out of this.”
I can't believe in...
I don't believe in...
And so he did. If Ivan could think how to get money out of a sexuality, he could also think how to squirt money out of the actual misery their country’s history expressed. He had almost gone to the point of making them wear old army uniforms but at the threat of Putin taking this as an indirect, he had taken a friend’s advice and let them wear clothes they had wore when they were nothing but the daughters of normal worker families, as if evoking a past of difficulty.
He had found this song soon after the idea sprouted. Lena had almost protested at the bluntness of the lyrics but she had soon found them fascinating to interpret. And so, the cover was made.
I won't believe in Heaven and Hell,
No saints, no sinners, no Devil as well,
No pearly gates, no thorny crown.
You're always lettin' us humans down.
The wars you bring, the babes you drown,
Those lost at sea and never found.
And it's the same the whole world 'round,
The hurt I see helps to compound
The Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Is just somebody's unholy hoax.
And if you're up there, you perceive
That my heart's here upon my sleeve.
If there's one thing I don't believe in...
Lena felt a shiver run her spine, lowering her mic from her lips, and hearing Yulia’s voice intone the last line. It bore the pain of years of a forced education being unlearnt, of an opinion of those two that had been on both sides of life, whose pockets full of gold would not change their opinion about a humanity that had blamed it all on a God whose existence could not be proved.
The last image behind them was a still shot of the coral covered remains of the KURSK, undersea, and fading to black in the darkness of the stage.
It's you,
Dear God.
You know what left me thinking? That no one worried around her. We're talking about the subway station next to the University. There's people all the time walking on and off there, and people just walked round her or over her.
So I left and pondered, all the way home, about extreme poverty like that.
Now, as to disclaim myself: I don't blame poverty/war/misery on God because I don't believe in the traditional catholic God. Thanks to an idea a friend provided, this fic might end up having several chapters, but if it doesn't get a good response, this is as long as it's getting. I know and respect other people's ideas and I don't desire that people get offended at me because of this fic, but then again, I've never been known for writing traditional stuff. :rolleyes:
The song is Dear God by XTC.
(And to those that are still waiting for me to finish "The Two Lenas", hey, be glad, I came out of the writer's block. :coctail: )
**********
Dear God
Lena sat on a stool, on stage. She was, strangely enough, wearing simple clothes, dug out of her old clothes drawer. An overall she had stopped using at 17. A pair of tennis shoes she loved, but that had been forbidden by Ivan to appear on stage; they were too used. And a shirt she didn’t believe would fit her anymore. She felt good in those clothes she had exchanged for expensive clothing.
Yulia, sitting on the ground by her, played with her mic and smiled at her lover, using, too, clothes that she never thought would be of use again. An old pair of pants she used to go to junior high school, a huge plaid shirt she had stolen out of her father’s closet at 13, and a pair of shoes she never thought she’d use again.
Their fanatics, more impressed by the images displayed on the background of the stage, images of poverty, war, tears and rage and anger, than by the clothing they were using, were silent, listening to the beats the drummer imposed before a guitar chord started.
Yulia raised her mic to her lips.
Dear God,
I Hope you got the letter and
I pray that you can make it better down here.
I don't mean a big reduction in the price of beer.
But all the people that you made in your image,
See them starving on their feet
'Cause they don't get enough to eat
From God.
Can't believe in you.
At the shock in most of their fanatic’s expression, Yulia rested her cheek on her knee and waited for her lover to intone her part. This was sure something no one expected from the Russian duo.
Lena took a deep breathe as Yulia finished her part and put her heart into making her voice tell a story.
Dear God,
Sorry to disturb you but,
I feel that I should be heard loud and clear.
We all need a big reduction in amounts of tears.
But all the people that you made in your image,
See them fighting in the street
'Cause they can't make opinions meet
About God.
Can't believe in you.
The brunette didn’t worry when she noticed a couple of fanatics squirming out of the crowd and towards the door. The images behind them were too shocking for the rest to stop listening, hearing. Their senses were open.
It had all started when four weeks ago, Ivan had almost tripped on a little boy, dirty and obviously uneducated, who was asking for something to eat on the street. His usual temper made him storm off, but Yulia and Lena stayed and gave the small boy a share of the sandwich they had just bought in the store they walked out of.
Lena had looked for their driver while Yulia watched the boy run happily with his hands full of the sandwich, towards a old man with his eyes closed as in deep thought. The boy poked the old man and with his eyes still closed, he stirred and heard the few words the boy squealed out.
Did you make disease
And the diamond blue?
Did you make mankind
After we made you?
And the Devil too...
Dear God,
Don't know if you've noticed but
Your name is on a lot of quotes in this Book.
Us crazy humans wrote it; you should take a look.
And all the people that you made in your image
Still believin' that junk is true.
Well, I know it ain't and so do you,
Dear God.
Yulia covered her mouth when she noticed the man’s face was scarred out of god knew how many fights. He was obviously blind. It struck her that he wore the old Army’s uniform, with pieces tore down and small medals covered in dirt. His smile was sincere and wide when the boy tore a bit of the sandwich and gave it to him.
“Yulia, he could’ve stole it.” Ivan commented on the van, once they headed home. Lena threw him a nasty look.
“He was a veteran no one took care of, Vanya.” Yulia insisted, touched by the man’s ability to smile after all his suffering.
“You’re so naпve.” But he was thoughtful. “… And if he was?”
“Uh-oh. You’re thinking how to get money out of this.”
I can't believe in...
I don't believe in...
And so he did. If Ivan could think how to get money out of a sexuality, he could also think how to squirt money out of the actual misery their country’s history expressed. He had almost gone to the point of making them wear old army uniforms but at the threat of Putin taking this as an indirect, he had taken a friend’s advice and let them wear clothes they had wore when they were nothing but the daughters of normal worker families, as if evoking a past of difficulty.
He had found this song soon after the idea sprouted. Lena had almost protested at the bluntness of the lyrics but she had soon found them fascinating to interpret. And so, the cover was made.
I won't believe in Heaven and Hell,
No saints, no sinners, no Devil as well,
No pearly gates, no thorny crown.
You're always lettin' us humans down.
The wars you bring, the babes you drown,
Those lost at sea and never found.
And it's the same the whole world 'round,
The hurt I see helps to compound
The Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Is just somebody's unholy hoax.
And if you're up there, you perceive
That my heart's here upon my sleeve.
If there's one thing I don't believe in...
Lena felt a shiver run her spine, lowering her mic from her lips, and hearing Yulia’s voice intone the last line. It bore the pain of years of a forced education being unlearnt, of an opinion of those two that had been on both sides of life, whose pockets full of gold would not change their opinion about a humanity that had blamed it all on a God whose existence could not be proved.
The last image behind them was a still shot of the coral covered remains of the KURSK, undersea, and fading to black in the darkness of the stage.
It's you,
Dear God.