Book: Censorship

The feelings all come and dwell within him, like water covered with ripples in the pool, which on all sides run streams. The singing of the birds caused him to freeze and apply to the hearing; the emergence of proteins caused dizziness of delight; soaring trunks drew him away; he raised his hands.

Every step accelerates his heartbeat and everything was more concerned with the blood. Majestic, like a God, before him rose the forest. The last part of the way he overcame a run, as if afraid of being late. Arms outstretched, like a runner at the finish, he went into the forest.
He was surrounded by coolness like the one that envelops when you get out of the hot street into the house. She went down on him as a fulfilled prophecy, and he had to squeeze the lips to not scream.
He pressed his lips to eat, to taste the crust and Golden transparent resin; chewed beech leaves, and felt that animal instinct happiness from what was in the meadow, in the sun. Strewn with pine needles, the soil seemed to him more desirable to women, which he dreamed - he could not through the clothes to get enough of the feeling of warmth emanating from her, and therefore took off my coat to get closer to her.

When Josef Detering woke up, he decided to look at the clock to more clearly feel free. But, pulling them out of his pocket, he suddenly felt a strange peace, apparently, generated a fertile sleep. This feeling made him forget about the pettiness and filled again paints the world; then he threw the watch into the Creek and went to the oasis in the distance woods.

When the sun began to burn too hard, the brook quenched his thirst. The water shone with diamonds in clumsily folded palms. Weary, he was glad to relax in the shade. Noon quietly closed tired eyes, slipped a few purple and dark blue waves under closed eyelids and extinguished his torch of consciousness.

He walked briskly and confidently, as if he had some purpose. He suddenly felt like shackles fell as the curtain moved, hid from him the beauty of the world. The warm air lifted him; he felt an incredible surge of strength, goosebumps ran back and knees trembling. Mysterious rhythm echoed in his breathing and steps as if he was floating, he imagined the unknown magician, pulling invisible strings, ruled his life.

Then came meadows, green meadows, prostrate under the sun, as if ready to surrender to a woman. Lush grass grew vigorously to the side of the road, here the snail started their slow escape from the rising sun. As droplets of oil in a creamy pie, I came to the flowers growing bushes. Some of them he remembered from school time. He loudly called their names, nodding to them, as if after a severe illness he returned to the family: blue peppermint, slender shepherd's purse, fat, good-natured dandelion.

How much he missed, with stupid tenacity sitting in the office! In the thoughts of the very bad and purse, which he had never seen, already flashed, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow, the suspicion about the diversity and richness of life closed to him! He suddenly felt that life is flying in the clear sky over the streets, over there, giddy, loose, waltzing, a little dreamily, with half-opened lips...

Josef Detering realized that the world had seen in the morning only on Sundays. He never saw the world on Monday at nine in the morning or on Thursday at eleven. He had the feeling that he missed something very important. Such depression he had experienced only once in my life, losing the folder of documents that urgently needed to the chef.

When the accountant Josef Dearing out of the house and was going to go to the other side of the street that led to his place of work, he was seized with a strange feeling. For the first time it occurred to him that for the past twenty-eight years every day it goes on that long, dusty street, at the end of which is his office, in the morning, at exactly half past seven, there, in the evenings, four hours back.
He suddenly realized that his life is limited to this street, as the bars; she shut it off from the rest of the world; that his life, like a shunting composition, aimlessly moving back and forth on that single segment of the path.