Artem Mozgovoy
The last leaf fell from the tree. Sad. Vasya sat on a bench, wearing a warm jacket and a scarf, holding a store-bought latte. A strong wind blew through the street, and grey clouds half-covered the sun.
“It’s sad that nature is dying… Even the last leaf has fallen”, — Vasya thought.
For a moment, he realized that the very same leaf had disappeared somewhere.
Suddenly, someone answered him:
“Sad? I wouldn’t say so. I’d call it melancholy. Melancholy isn’t as sharp and heavy as sadness — it flows, gentle and soft, like cigarette smoke. Just melancholy”.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, Vasya, that no leaf is ever truly the last one”, — the man said, pulling that very leaf from his pocket.
“Wait… you’re…”
“Yes, my boy. I am Autumn”.
“Tell me, why are you so gloomy and dull? Everything dies when you arrive — nature dies, warmth dies”.
“And what happens after that?”
“After? Hmm… then it’s reborn, I suppose”.
“So, it doesn’t really die, does it, Vasya?”
“Well… no, I guess not”.
“In autumn, nature simply shifts into another state — the state of sleep. A beautiful state. As beautiful as a cup of hot chocolate with cookies and a favourite film on the screen”.
“Yeah, that’s actually a good way to put it”, — Vasya said.
Suddenly, he realized the man had vanished.
But on the bench beside him sat a small box of cookies. And on the fallen leaf lying next to it, a few words were written:
“There is no death”.
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