(no subject)

[toothycat]

Original here.

Great people's dreams are also great. To overturn the world, to reorganise Rabkrin, to exploit the northern rivers. Well, that's what makes them great! But Parsyukov was a little person, and he had a little dream: Parsyukov dreamt of being the head accountant of a construction agency. That was it.
In order to reach his goal, Parsyukov worked diligently in a construction agency, but as a junior accountant. He did not particularly like his job; achieved no marvels, had no special talents, piled mistake upon mistake, and so had little prospect of career growth. But that's what makes a dream a dream - unattainability.
When he had time off, Parsyukov went travelling in deserts; climbed Everest; spelunked down unexplored caves and found treasure. In his spare time he made working models of steam-ships, space rockets, perpetuum mobile and antique cars. He learned the mysteries of Tao, Boa, Chao and Cocoa, travelled between worlds on the astral plains, learned to fly - though only a little. He played anonymously in chess tournaments and defeated grandmasters thrice; won first place in the town contest of political song; won a car in the lottery. Sent on a business trip to South America, he survived a crash-landing in the Amazon, became the leader of a tribe, took the twenty most beautiful Amazons as wives, introduced general education and free healthcare, taught his subjects to build houses from stone, organised a construction agency, but didn't have time to reach the post of head accountant within it - a search party found and rescued him.
Parsyukov started his own business, became successful, rich, turned over billions, bought the Eiffel Tower and Brooklyn Bridge, built a mansion in Florence, bought paintings by the great masters, and gave everything to an orphanage.
During a tourist trip in the Middle East, he personally caught Saddam Hussein and Bin Laden; gave the one to the americans, and talked the other into hiding again, a little better this time.
Parsyukov was kidnapped by aliens, saved an ancient galactic empire from another ancient galactic empire, fathered a princess, killed fourteen bosses with his bare hands, and came back through time and space - to where his unattainable dream was; to his workplace.
Parsyukov really wanted to be promoted to head accountant of a construction agency.



Original here.

I stood in my usual spot and watched the mayor bicker with the Rat-catcher.
"And I am telling you you will not get a groat!" The mayor marked each word with a decisive swing of his fist, he's good at that.
"But I led all the rats out of the city, did I not?", asked the Rat-catcher indignantly.
"You nearly drowned our treasurer!", roared the mayor. "The poor man was in to his neck in icy water and caught cold afterwards - and just you try telling me it was none of your black magic that lured him there!"
"I fulfilled the terms of our agreement precisely!", the Rat-catcher stuck to his guns. "It is hardly my fault that the rat raiding Hameln's stores the most turned out to be your very own town treasurer."
"By the law, you should be burnt at the stake", the mayor declared. "How would you price your own life? Rather more than three hundred gold - do you not agree?"
"I agree", the Rat-catcher gulped.
"Then leave, and be grateful we don't ask you to pay us the difference."
The mayor turned and walked away, considering the conversation at an end.
The Rat-catcher apparently concurred; in any case, he did not run after the mayor, but satisified himself with waving a fist at the latter's retreating back. Then he turned around and saw me.
"Hey, little girl."
"Good day to you, mister Rat-catcher." I decided to take no offence at "little girl".
"Tell me, little girl, are there many children in your town?"
There were many children, and I told him so. He nodded at his own thoughts, pulled his pipe from his pocket and stared at it for some time, moving his fingers in the air - thinking up a new tune. I've seen that before - our neighbour is a flautist and looks at his instrument just that way when he considers where and how he ought to place his fingers and whether it is worth doing at all.
"Then tell me, little girl..."
"Please don't call me a little girl."
"Ah, so? I'm sorry. What should I call you, then?"
I told him my name; he laughed.
"What a coincidence. My name is Hansel."
"Amusing", I agreed.
"Tell me, then, Gretchen, do you also pity the treasurer?"
"Not particularly", I replied instantly. "After all, he didn't drown."
"And if he had drowned?"
I thought for a bit.
"It would have been a pity he'd drowned", I finally decided. "But I wouldn't have pitied the man himself. Although he paid well. And hardly ever pinched."
"Have I done you out of business?"
"It's all right."
The Rat-catcher was silent as he turned his pipe in his hands. When he spoke, it seemed it was not really to me; off to one side:
"Tomorrow, I will play a new song. And I will lead away all the children from this town. I swear by all that is holy that not a single pure, innocent soul will be left in Hameln!"
"Amen", I humphed.
"Will you follow me when I play?"
"How much will you pay me?"
It was cruel, and I think the Rat-catcher was offended, but it seems he understood. Really, where could I go? It was hardly for a whim that I stood here. I have to feed my family. My mother could hardly be the one to come out; people cross the road to avoid her these days.
In the morning, the Rat-catcher played his tune. I don't know how he managed it, but everyone heard the melody, even from the other side of town. Who was it who said the Rat-catcher could play beautifully? Perhaps he could, but I didn't like it one bit. It was a terrible little song; the pipe cried and screamed like a tortured sinner. The sounds grew one over another, crawled over your whole body, penetrated the skin, bumped together in the stomach, raised the hair on the back of the neck. Passers-by winced and cursed the piper. Many children cried in houses all around; I, too, for some reason wanted to cry.
Rose, the mad old biddy, walked past me - she, it seems, found the tune to her taste. Her face, in any case, was radiantly happy. I waited a while longer, but there was no-one else. And then I walked in the direction the granny had gone.
The Rat-catcher sat on the shore, playing his pipe. Rose had settled beside, and directed her rheumy eyes towards him in adoration.
"Ah, it is you, Gretchen." The Rat-catcher noticed me and put his pipe aside. "Did you not tell me that the town was full of children?"
"There are many children", I agreed. "But pure, innocent souls... was it not those you meant to lead away?"
"It was. There's one, there", the Rat-catcher nodded at old Rose.
"The mad one?"
"Why mad? She's simply fallen back into childhood; it can happen to anyone. Well, almost anyone", he quickly corrected himself.
"I came too."
The Rat-catcher pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"I am not for a second deluded that you were drawn here by my song's magic. Why, then, did you come?"
"Perhaps I, too, am mad", I said and shrugged. "Please, teach me to play the pipes."