Marina Yudenich. Oil (№ 375423)

They differ already in nature, because the chase is always the action, though fraught with tension, mental and physical, the mad blood flow, desperate - edge - heartbeat, horse adrenaline rush that invigorates and revitalizes, throws forward, spiral twists muscles and letting go suddenly, makes you do the impossible. The chase is life at maximum rpm. But - life. The waiting is always the little death. Painful or not, but time-consuming and soul, distracting from all other thoughts and deeds that fill everything with himself - consciousness, will, memory. Displacing any other desire than to wait for someone or something. And it kills time - not immediately, but gradually, like entering the stream of time some clever preparation from those as used by anesthesiologists, cradling the patient on the operating table - and the first time just slows down, then starts to absolutely crawl at a snail's speed, then barely moves the arrow finally stops altogether. But nobody notices, because everyone is busy waiting, subordinate and obedient only to him, staring at the frozen hands and I reproach myself for being too often look at the clock. So obeying him, waiting, life gradually fades. And there comes the little death.