AND THE

They spoke with each other because have got used (where? When?) to such form of dialogue, and only it is a lot of time later have understood: in true conversation there are no words, there are only images with which it is possible to express much more, than symbols-words.
– Daena, – I have told, not hoping to be heard. – I love it. She loved me. It has given me the love and has rescued – for a while. She any more does not love me. What for then all? What for – a life?
«You are indifferent to me, – I again have not learnt the voice. – I have come not because I wish to revenge. To revenge – you?»

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Ormuzd and Ariman looked against each other with curiosity and all increasing understanding. Both had light skin, blue eyes and black hair. Ariman was above growth, and Ormuzd – more low, but is more dense. Thoughts-words, recently it not acquaintances, emerged and became their property which they willingly shared with each other. The sun gives a life. The darkness gives rise monsters. It is necessary to keep together because the world is dangerous. Danger is an uncertainty. Here all is not known. And all is dangerous.
I have died, and the smell of colours of an acacia was last my sensation: a smell of mum, a smell Alains, a love smell. And last thought – a regret that has passed, and that remains not understood, and that I and have not made for what has been called.
By the way, whether there is here money? Till now I had not to face this problem: all necessary for a life – habitation, meal, water – I, as well as everything, created itself in own imagination, and the preservation law operated smoothly, energy of imagination passed in energy of substance, and I received bread and water, and even favourite coffee of "Elite". I understood, that could and do without at all food, is direct preobrazuja spiritual energy in creative energy of a matter. Old habits forced me to cling to former conventions. And not only me – here in what paradox! Unless Ormuzd did not create to itself from time to time a pie with jam? It not seemed to it strange that is, did not communicate in its consciousness with memory of last life.

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I have stretched a hand to a sphere and though the distance between all of us was still measured by hundreds metres, have concerned with a palm of its cold surface. It has surprised me – I thought, that the sphere will appear heated, as a star. However, surprise was instantly replaced by understanding: the sphere also should be cold as was not in it any spiritual sushchnostej, capable to create physical heat. It was the murder tool, and it has been obliged to remain cold.
The memoirs pulsed in me, there was that more brightly more dimly, separate words were highlighted, others vanished, I did not perceive them, only movement of lips:
The moisture has turned to the river crossing tverd, – water followed from a gloom and in a gloom merged. Water was transparent, and through it sand was visible. It seemed, that the grains of sand laying at the bottom, have increased in sizes, Ariman looked, could not see enough, and something was born in it that it could not define. Melancholy? Desire of the unrealizable? It selected a word, and it was, though Ariman and did not understand precisely its value. The word was: memory.
The sphere, still a second ago inevitably priblizhajshijsja, has stopped, having encountered my palm, and pressure as which I have felt, hardly has not broken off to me a muscle. A sphere has flattened, it has spread on an invisible surface a flat blot, I have had time to distinguish at first a trace of own palm, then blurring drops of another's memoirs – and all has come to an end.
– Without contradictions there is no development, – has declared Minozis. – But it is contradictions between the different parties of good, displays of different laws of the nature.
– Well as … – I have become puzzled. – if in the world never was, let us assume, a green crocodile, whence to you the nobility about that, what is it?

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The moisture has turned to the river crossing tverd, – water followed from a gloom and in a gloom merged. Water was transparent, and through it sand was visible. It seemed, that the grains of sand laying at the bottom, have increased in sizes, Ariman looked, could not see enough, and something was born in it that it could not define. Melancholy? Desire of the unrealizable? It selected a word, and it was, though Ariman and did not understand precisely its value. The word was: memory.
– Natasha! – Henry, and a word this, not told even has told, and flashed in the sky the sun are brighter, has thrown them to each other.
– Ariman, – has told Antarm, – you again hurry up. Your haste hardly has not ruined the world. Now your haste hardly has not ruined you most.
– Rigidly, – has repeated Ormuzd. – Yes, perhaps. I have created tverd from a gloom. There was nothing more. Here it also has turned out prickly.
This question occupied it not for long as he lived not thoughts, but sensations. Sensations was extremely a little, and he had to create their most.
When the black trace of a palm has appeared on the person of the rabbi, pushing out soul from its cover, on decaying lips the smile, and then a skin has appeared has burst, and the smile has turned to a grin, but Chuhnovsky it any more did not see. Blow by fire. Pulse denura. Be blest, our Lord … Baruch ata adonaj …

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It stood on a rigid surface, felt, how small sharp sides stick into soles. The surface was flat, grey, melancholy and came to an end absolutely nearby. It has made a step and it has appeared on the brink of created by it repeat. He has glanced in a gloom, and figures which there, most likely, was not have seemed to it. It has started back, has lifted eyes to light, and there figures which could not be too have seemed to it.
I drank a stellar light – at first eyes, and then widely opened mouth. As a matter of fact I have already died – my physical body has died, but I still lived, there lived my eyes, and mine of a drink which the stellar light and their energy which did not have anything general with physical energy of photons joined.
Is your sign, Ariman … Arcady. A sign which you mark the. The friends. The supporters. The fighters.
In a thought immovability images at first were born. They were static and with each other are not connected in any way. I and remember them could not, because after all and memory without thought, without comprehension is dead, as a statue.
The pilot of the police car was consider that is dead, because, having pulled off with "shidlera" a cap and having activated a reactor, Victor has been obliged to make now a shot. He at all did not begin to aim, has simply lifted the weapon on level of a breast and has falteringly sighed, as if understood, that it is last sigh in his life.