The participants' presentation "XREBET XARITONA" part 1

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Imagine: in the middle of a quiet small room there is the subtle sound of a guitar whose strings have not been tuned for a long time.

Four ancient walls and creaky parquet floors, imbued from top to bottom with the history of this place. Instead of wallpaper, the walls have long been covered with posters, flyers and clippings, so many of them that there is nowhere to hang new ones, and the old ones are covered with fresh, just purchased rock band posters.

Somewhere on the floor, next to the sofa, which has seen more than one pair of boots and legs, there is an unfinished beer can. On the creaky frozen window, among the frames, other, now clean and “rare” jars are inserted, which the owner of the room carefully washed and preserved. Right there on the glass window sill there is a crystal ashtray, into which no one has thrown ashes and smoke from cigarettes for ten years, because there is no one to smoke. Everything here seems frozen: a tube TV straight out of the nineties, a rug on the floor, a small lamp at the table. It is littered with junk, jewelry, memories that cannot be thrown away or even moved an inch; it will disturb feng shui.

And then the guitar riff comes again. A historical moment for these thirteen square meters, because the guitarist, who had not played for three years, took up the strings again. Her fingers have managed to forget the chords, the notes, any other riffs, and yet she tries to sing.

Sing your new song, which neither this city, nor this room, nor this girl even knows about.

This time you are greeted by the sound of keyboards, muffled grandma's radio and a TV playing simultaneously from different places.

Despite the otherworldly and oppressive atmosphere, you step through the tightly drawn curtains to peer behind the curtain. Red curtains, similar to theater ones, part and let you into their home. There is a black carpet at the entrance, as well as a broken wardrobe, the door of which makes it difficult to pass through. On the ceiling there is an old candelabra, in which candles are still burning. In fact, the candles seem to be placed everywhere, here and there, small, long, unsightly, carved, plump and extinguished clumps of wax and paraffin. The floating tongues of fire tremble and fall silent again as the owner of the room walks around them.

In a secluded place, under the table, the black tail of a cat was hiding from the bustle. The windows are also covered with fabric, but not as thick as on the walls. The view from the fifth floor is, of course, magnificent: opposite the old abandoned morgue building rises, and behind the adjacent hill there are many cemetery crosses with monuments. On the windowsill itself there are many miniature iron crosses: due to lack of space, its occupant had to move her altar here.

A real crow skull, charred bones of small rodents, silver bullets and chains, an icon depicting Celtic gods. No, you did not end up in the sectarian’s room, although she did not deny her esoteric interest. To study solfeggio for almost ten years and be able to play Chopin’s tenth etude on the piano, you need to be a musical genius or deeply believe in the otherworldly powers of your talent.

She was from the second type. For under her fingers any passages and notes came to life, no matter how complex. And now she again needed to turn to the dark forces so that they would give her the strength to cope with the unthinkable nocturne.

Third appearance

Compared to the previous two abode, this one seems quite ordinary and mundane, more reminiscent of a teenage girl's room. The children's room is not at all spacious and small; the walls, once painted a bright shade of blue, have faded over the years against the background of the oak floor to the color of a cold, icy shade, and bear little resemblance to “blue sky.”

In addition to our charming hostess, her younger brother also lives in the room, so the bunk bed should not raise any questions for you in the future. Several built-in cabinets are tucked into corners and entryways to maximize space. There is a clear division in the room into “his” and “her” halves.

Thus, the desktop, littered with various accessories, clearly belonged, like all the things on it, to the older sister: an old gray Acer laptop, all covered with tape and barely alive, a graphics tablet with USB tape rewound, several pencil cases with pencils, markers, pens and everything possible notebooks of different colors. Textbooks are proudly arranged near the table leg so that the small space can be optimized.

And yet, besides this table, in the room the things that belonged to her could be counted on one hand: a hanger for a uniform, a bookshelf above the table, where figurines were gathering dust on the top board, a bedside table for a printer and a rack of guitars. Yes, she was lucky to still have, in this chaos of children’s toys, Lego sets and cars, a hanging stand for guitars, which her little brother’s tenacious paws had not yet managed to reach.

She learned to play on her own, in those moments when between three and five o’clock no one was home: only she and a dog named Sultan. When the older ones returned home, and when the little one was taken away from after-school care, her only salvation and opportunity was to continue playing with headphones. And now, when spring break is in full swing, we have to use this method. Fingers deftly pluck the strings of the bass as, in yet another video lesson, an elderly guitarist explains the difference between playing the bass and playing a regular guitar. The headphones are not soundproofed at all, so she also has to listen to her parents arguing about the dog in the background. How she wants at least a little, just a drop, of personal space...