Pisser

translated from Viktor Kozlov's ОБОССАНЕЦ

Subway train lit up the tunnel. Wheels' screech whirled right into the cars' intestinals

He leaned over the handrails, fighting that one and only desire..

THE DUDE WANTED TO PEE! Soviet-style high education wasn't letting him to simply empty himself onto the platform, like a million other New York residents would've done. He was an intellighent both by nature and upbringing. And 15 minutes on, still having not caught his train, but instead having shed many tears onto the obscenities-laden floor, he did it--without as much as taking off his pants. Everything was jumping before him, like two-eyed bunnies, chased into a wrong hole. Something shivered on a side of him, and disappeared in fleeting flashes.

Ratties, squeaking, circled his piddle, vainly trying to find in it something edible. Sometimes wind brought towards him the smell of dried leaves, which was much better than his own smell at that point.

The man desperately cried with all his tortured throat into emptiness. Vanity of the hopeless situation was in this beastly roar. All the grief and venom of millennia fit in this one moment, and dried up in a yellow crust on his pants.

Ratties, squeaking, lauched at the pissypants man, making vile faces at him. Entire world was looking at him through the train windows, yelling through them: PISSER! Even the old speakerphone, around since the 60s, announced the upcoming stop as 'The Pisser's station'.

Something broke in him. That backbone, that pivot laid at the foundation of his very being, was smashed into one thousand little pieces, and under the light of invisible sun, tore right along to the place where spiritual simplicity borders outright boorishness, whi9ch is out of convenience called 'freedom'.

What's for you in that they can pee in trains, spit anywhere they want, moisting our the unclean saliva. What can be more wonderful and more disgusting than this word--FREEDOM!?

He thirsted to lay down on the platform and crawl out of his wet skin--like a snake before its spring dash.

Train was arriving. The man slowly counted his steps towards the end of the track, unhurriedly but surely guided by his destiny. Suddenly he felt great warmth in all his body: a great calm impressed itself on his last smile.

The train caught up with his confident jump, and drove the male shadow into the great abode of the starry sky.

Passengers in horror looked at the remnants of his shattered body. The head somewhat unnaturally leaned aside, laughing in a not-all-dead grimace. And only his one gold tooth said in the lantern's light: PISSERS! PISSYPANTS-ES!--sung the nightingales right off the green tree branches, pecking on the bark and plucking out the invisible food; casting their warbles into the depths of our pinnas.

"PISSNESS!"--noised ocean in warm waves, spilling ever further onto the dry bank, as if asking with all its appearance, to taste the foam of its waters.

Everyone around was happy, and only the train was feeling unsure, knowing that it gave the man freedom of choice, which threw his physical body ahead by 1 million years of the return time.

After midnight, the Yankees stadium scoreboard suddenly lit up, laying out in shiny light the simple truth:

"Freedom, my friends, is what lies beyond discretion; and only select few can afford in this world acts  that are beyond our comprehension..And those few are fall under this complex term 'PISSER'.

The stadium workers tried to turn the scoreboard off, but it did so itself, just like it lit up, only before the next game. No fans really understood the shiny proverb; nor did they care.

And just one shadow sat immovably right across the scoreboard. And no one else could sit at that empty chair, on which a dirty finger had inscribed: PISSER.