This show is coming to an end

Something will happen. Something is definitely going to happen soon. If we, as a whole, have not yet lost the adequacy corresponding to natural (not modified) human properties, then this theater of the absurd into which our society and state has turned will soon be put to an end. Here one of two things happens - either our people will cease, or the theater of the absurd will cease. This is a fantasy show in which we are all forced to take part, forcing alien roles, stereotypes, spectacles and even thoughts onto us. One thing is for sure - only the people themselves can stop (gradually, of course), the rest will not stop on its own... And so we imperceptibly stop - under various pretexts - and at the same time they constantly explain something to us, justify it, scare and entertain us. In short, they rub the shit in as a distraction.

In general, it’s as if we are all sitting in a large hall, a huge cloud of people, for some reason in awe of the imposing and very nasty majors walking around the stage and rubbing crap on us. We sit, we understand that it’s rubbish, we understand that it’s disgusting, we look at each other and are even whispering about it! And we continue to obediently sit in our seats and listen. Neither get up and leave, nor - oh horror! — for some reason we can’t boo the majors on stage. We sit and ask each other: is it time for them? Or should we go from here? And we shrug our shoulders in response: what’s their name...? Am I from here? No, I paid for the place! I'll see it to the end!

Until what end, the end of what, whose...?

Here, a bunch of people have gathered in the gallery - they are not paying attention to the stage, they are animatedly chatting about something in a low voice. This is their own - alternative - show. They entertain each other with their own alternative stories, in a half-whisper they defend someone, justify them and decide to, as it were, slowly, imperceptibly live in their own way, in a normal way, without all this crap. From time to time, the support staff of the majors comes up to the group and snatches some of the hottest “alternative” singers and takes them backstage. The group is indignant, even shouts something towards the stage, but a melancholy voice comes from the stage: “Hello? There’s no one there, I heard…” There are more and more piles of these. But each has its own alternative. We are still individualists. Almost all of us already disagree with what the organizers of science fiction shows are imposing on us, we already quite unanimously do not believe in what they are palming off on us, but we just lethargically throw up our hands: who will be surprised by this? Well, that's a lie. This is how it is every step of the way! In general, take a nihilist pose and relax. Live peacefully until the end.

I personally did just that. Well, from time to time, I muttered comments under my breath about how tired of all this crap I am, what a dog’s life is, and how it will all end – not for us, but for our descendants. In general, this reality is probably perceived this way – gloomily, but calmly. And when one day you hear a name - a specific name, the fate, tragedy and pain associated with it - then something happens, in your separate head. And then you jump up from your seat in the sleepy, crap-filled hall, turn to the languishing audience and shout:

“What is this happening, comrades! They called Ivanov a murderer, but we believed him?! Petrov was framed, but we don’t care?! Sidorov is rotting in jail for no reason, and we remain silent?! Are you resigned? Do you agree? Swallowed?! Well, no!

And everyone started buzzing, many, it turns out, cared, some even jumped up and - wow! – let’s follow the sudden speaker... somewhere. We walk, they look at us from the podium silently, distantly. We arrived, took a more comfortable position, the technical staff of the majors lined up around us, explained who should stand where and what to have with them. We stand obediently, listen in an orderly manner... only not to each other, but to some painfully familiar clowns. We've already seen them somewhere... oh, these are the ones who were kicked off the stage in the last act. They, it turns out, also miss honesty. Well, well. The same fantasy show - only in a changed format - continues.

The major on the podium yawned and said: “Why is that white stuff sticking out there? Oh, okay. I thought...” The familiar clowns announced an intermission and busied themselves with some lists. We don’t disperse – we stand and look intently. Our faces are serious and tense. It’s immediately obvious that we are in control of the situation! We keep an eye on the clowns, and we don’t let the majors out of our sight. The clowns wave papers and promise: “Right now everything will be fair! No bullshit! Ivanov-Petrov-Sidorov will be released, you’ll see!” To be convincing, they go behind the scenes for fifteen days and from there they selflessly demonstrate to us their unshakable spirit. The remaining part of the hall, crossing their fingers on their stomachs, sighs tiredly and shakes their heads (at us). Someone stood up and spoke out - it hit everyone: us, the clowns, and the majors on the podium. Then he sat down and continued to look carefully, first at us, then at the podium. We also look very carefully and seriously, we don’t lose sight of anything. “That’s it, we’re here again!” — the clowns released from behind the scenes jump out. They no longer have the papers - they handed them to someone there.

- Can’t you just pick up and leave here? asks a random commentator.

“Why can’t you, you can,” I say, “did you watch the old movie “Garage?”

“Ah,” the commentator pretends to guess what I’m hinting at.

Someone was forced to leave - against their will, reluctantly, perhaps with their last strength. Someone has already calmly planned his departure, he will just finish his work here... And as soon as he starts shaking, he will leave unnoticed and comfortably.

“Okay,” the clowns yell, “let’s change these majors now!” We'll be watching closely to see how they change! We will not tolerate dishonesty of any kind!”

The majors left the stage, lined up in front of the audience, settled in order, dispersed, got back into line, but in some other order, and again walked onto the stage. All the same. Only at the head of the column is another major. But from the same company.

“But we don’t agree! - the clowns yelled, - we will stand here until you clear the podium! And our white stuff will stick out even more!” We also sincerely shouted about our disagreement.

From the depths of the hall came a phlegmatic: “Come on, let them stay... for now. Well, can you imagine what will happen if they leave! Who will host the show instead of them - these clowns or what?

We started scratching our heads: “Really, who then? We don’t want clowns, some of them aren’t very nice either. Even some suspicious ones!” And somehow imperceptibly we began to disperse... to our places.

Here we are again seated. The majors on the podium perked up, rubbed their palms and said: “Well, in short, we checked these lists, Ivanov-Petrov-Sidorov will be in prison. Yes, they don’t mind. They will sit on principle.”

“What about justice?!” - we yell in response.

“What kind of justice is it, who needs it? Just the way it is - it’s convenient for everyone. “Everyone is happy,” the new chief major calmly broadcasts, “Nobody offends Ivanov-Petrov-Sidorov there, they are fed normally, they have no complaints.” But if we release them according to your justice, can you imagine what will happen?! This balcony on the right - that one, see? He will immediately fall to the ground! And no one can say in advance how many people he will crush!”

There was deathly silence in the hall. Nobody even thought about this option.

“Therefore, in fairness it is impossible. If not justly, you can try to release him... for example, pardon him. That is, just as we made them guilty, they will remain so, but only now in freedom. But how can we release them if they didn’t ask us to?”

“No, it’s not fair,” we shout in response, “if it’s not fair, then they’ll throw something at them from this balcony and that’s it!”

“You won’t be pleased! What do you think, for the sake of justice for three people, let this balcony crush a bunch of people?” - one of the majors exclaims with righteous anger, and people from the front rows of the hall began to turn around, shaking their heads reproachfully at us.

No, there must be some way out! I look around, at those with whom just yesterday we understood each other perfectly, with whom we spoke in one voice... they are silent and look at the floor. The clowns also tried to say something, but quickly realized that no one was paying attention to them. Many looked meaningfully at the balcony on the right and decided not to even look there out of harm’s way, but to read the program, for example, or tinker with gadgets. It somehow calms me down...

Taking advantage of the confusion in the ranks of the show's participants, the majors at an accelerated pace began to drive the crap again, so that God forbid we start thinking while tinkering with our gadgets, or so that the clowns don't incite us into some other dirty trick. The lights in the hall were turned off so that we couldn’t see each other and the clowns too. An expert came onto the stage into a beam of light and began to tell us about the atrocities of Soviet soldiers in German territory occupied by commies. Taking advantage of the darkness, someone very skillfully threw a cola can at the expert. She was followed by another from another part of the hall. Without waiting for the third, the expert on commies ran away and was replaced by another expert - on the problems of the right balcony. He began to give a lecture about the genocide of this balcony and called for more courage to bring to justice the soldiers and officers who used weapons on its territory. From the right balcony they applauded approvingly. Those in the first row nodded energetically and shook their fingers into the darkness of the rest of the hall. Alternative groups remained significantly silent. From the right balcony came a broken voice with a slight balcony accent: “I don’t understand at all - who thought of putting Ivanov on the list for release! This is the bloody murderer of the population of our balcony!” The hall began to buzz again and from the darkness came, without much hope in the voice: “Ivanov was appointed murderer! He wasn’t even close!” The expert on the podium assumed an authoritative look and put his palm forward: “Calm down, gentlemen! Everything is fine, we have already figured it out: the court decided that Ivanov is a murderer, you just forgot!” "On the third try... yeah!" - came from the hall, - “I just didn’t immediately understand the will of this fucking balcony!”

"Ivanov was in military uniform!!!" — they shouted angrily from the right balcony. The expert on the podium energetically nodded his head: “Yes! Yes! Gentlemen, this is a serious argument, let’s admit it and won’t argue anymore!” — someone ran out of patience, having received a flying boot in the face, the expert hid behind the scenes. Immediately the movie started - about spies. The topic is universally reconciling, everyone likes it, the right balcony is not mentioned at all. The movie, in a light adventure form, with charming graphics on the theme of an alternative pre-war Moscow, told the story that Stalin and Beria were complete fools and missed the start of the war with Hitler. The audience in the hall crunched their popcorn. From the serene sound of this crunch, it was safe to say that the viewer was mainly focused on the picture. Groups of alternativeists enthusiastically discussed the “nature” of the film, completely ignoring the scriptwriter’s intention, not noticing the hysterical drama of the main character of the film - a young intelligence officer who, on the occasion of learning the date of the start of the war, was ignored by everyone, and to top it off, he was beaten and expelled from the authorities. In general, the main pleasure that the audience received from the film was the popcorn and computer graphics.

The lights finally came on in the hall. The majors, not paying attention to those present, were enthusiastically discussing something among themselves. The hall was humming peacefully, the smell of burning was coming from somewhere, somewhere someone was calling for help, but no one was paying attention. Some were tinkering with gadgets, some were reading software, some were whispering about something to others.

Then suddenly I had a note in my hands, someone handed it to me, but who? I turned it around and saw a single word: “Help!” And a signature. I jumped up from my seat and began hastily looking around, peering into faces. But where is this victim? How can I help him? I caught a questioning glance... yeah, this person received the same note. We join forces... another one understood why we were alarmed and also hurries to us... It’s already easier. But still nothing is clear. Now it’s important that the majors don’t notice that we’re together, otherwise they’ll drag us backstage. Someone else jumped up from his seat: he woke up after a movie show about the fool Stalin and the bloody executioner Beria and feels an urgent need for justice. He didn’t receive any notes, but when he found out what we were worried about, he energetically began to help us... There are already four of us, we make our way in a half-squat along the aisle between the chairs, scanning the stern glances of the show security. There are already five of us. Six... a little more, and we'll quietly sneak behind the scenes. We don’t set global goals for ourselves, since the audience as a whole is satisfied with the majors on stage - let them stay, we would generally prefer to do everything unnoticed... we just want to help a few good people. And nothing more.

But if there is a creep next to us, then I do not rule out some changes in the program of the show, as well as in its content and the composition of the presenters...