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Burya polov

Буря полов!

Or, an effeminate Russian boy's story

Copyleft 🄯 2026 David Klopić

The author of this work voluntarily waives his right to copy, and allows anyone to copy, redistribute, and even resell this excerpt, with the only prerequisites being that the name of the author must be present, and the work, including derivatives, must be shared under the same terms as the original, per the Creative Commons BY-SA 4.0 International license. Some rights reserved.

Warning

This is a work in progress (W.I.P.), and is thus susceptible to change.

Chapter Seven: Festival of Good Vibrations

…But it was Dina who shortly found out why the very next day when, while discussing the newest film starring that Serbian actor with both Zhenya and Natalia, she received a phone call from the principal, inviting her to come to her office as soon as possible.

“Oh, Dinka,” said Natalia to her, “isn’t this the third time this year you’re being sent to her office?”

“Correction, forth,” Dina replied, “you forgot the incident during which I saved krasivy malchik from a certain bully. Ain’t that right?”

“Of course!” Zhenya said, nodding aggressively. “That’s when we first met. You were super cool back then! Oh… and um… you still are… ahaha. God, I wish I were half as cool as you…”

“Being cool’s not your style at all, though,” Natalia said, “but being a cutie sure is. You should totally lean into it.”

“Since when were you accepting of his feminine qualities?” Dina asked Natalia. “Uh, I meant qualities in general. Just because one’s a boy doesn’t mean he can’t be cute or love cute stuff!”

Zhenya’s face was borscht-red, but he still smiled as he listened to the girls talking. He argued he could listen to girls’ talk for hours on end and not get bored. All boys talked about was men’s football (or, more affectionately, “Mesopotamian testicle tickle”), who the hottest girl in class was and what ridiculous new law had been signed by the Duma[1], although they cheered any time it put some minority in a tough spot. Now that he thought about it, was Zhenya a minority, too? Impossible! He was of fair complexion, of the sex that produced small gametes, and not homosexual. But he did not despise anyone who was. Would that mean he was in the minority after all? Not only was he kind to all, his interests were often dismissed by his kind as “emasculating” or “girlish”. What was emasculating about watering flowers!? Why was cleansing your face with cosmetics considered girlish!? Oh well, welcome to the Russian Federation, where traditions were strictly upheld while enemies of family values were sentenced to harsh labour on the Arctic.

Upon the penultimate school bell, Zhenya made sure to get ready to head out as quickly as possible. He had a reason, too: morbid curiosity. Dina had been invited to the principal’s office. How would Dina respond to the principal’s questions regarding the incident from the previous day? Getting to said door was not difficult, but he had to pass through a hallway before approaching it straight ahead. He carefully placed his left ear by the door, making sure he was facing the other door which led into the teacher’s lounge, another area only accessible by professors and the like.

Behind the door, he could just barely make out what Dina and the principal were saying.

“Dina Anatolevna… we meet again. A student whom I shall not name accused you of peer violence. Now, you do know this is a serious violation of school code, right? Please tell me they were lying…”

“They’re not. I did punch another student.”

“So you admit guilt?”

“I do, but I would like to elaborate on why I did it.”

“Are you fishing for excuses? There is never an excuse fo—”

“Oh, absolutely not! But you ought to hear me out, madam. You may be shocked to learn that what I’d done may have been justified…”

Silence ensued, followed by some faint noise. Dina had to have taken out the camera then. A few moments later, Dina spoke up again:

“So? What do you think? Do my actions have any merit now?”

More silence as, Zhenya believed, the principal was preparing a reply.

“I can see how this young woman could have put an innocent boy in peril… However—”

“However!?” Dina shouted, which startled him.

“Yes, however, how did you obtain this footage? Did you ask any of the people in it for permission?”

“Why should I? This is a public school! I’m absolutely allowed to record anyone I suspect of doing something fishy so I can report them to the higher-ups without looking like a moron!”

“That’s fine, I think… But how come you were positioned so high up?”

“Not telling.”

“Why not?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You may, unfortunately for you, find that it is indeed ALL of my business. Why. Were. You. So. High. Up?”

“…Because I climbed the gymnasium.”

“And how did you climb it?”

“There are large nets all over the place.”

“But how did you hide, assuming you did?”

Audibly sighing, Dina replied:

“I hanged a random election poster I found in the storage room.”

“Is that so? So not only did you punch an innocent student, but you abused school property for the purposes of espionage?”

“Firstly, the student I punched is clearly not innocent, no matter how you try to spin it. Secondly, am I in a public school or the federal court!? Why are you talking to me like I’m awaiting my prison sentence!?”

“Simmer down, young lady. Do you also talk to your father like that?”

“How I speak with my dad doesn’t matter here! Moreover, are you obtuse?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Yes, obtuse! You might believe this student of yours is innocuous, when you’re really looking the other way whenever that same student does something deplorable! Like that one time she destroyed a student’s property, a beautiful flower vase, right in front of him!”

Zhenya gasped. She had been watching him from afar when that occurred!?

“Oh, that might’ve been an accident,” the principal calmly said, “or maybe the soil was infested with ants, so she freed them all by breaking the pot…”

“…Then the very next day,” Dina continued, ignoring the principal’s remark, “I saw the girl holding that same boy’s hairpin between her fingers, about to pierce his nostrils! If I hadn’t personally intervened, who knows what would’ve happened!”

“Ah, I remember, didn’t you use pyrotechnics back then? Well, nobody was hurt, at least… Maybe the boy’s having acne problems, and he had a nasty pimple right inside his nose… So he might’ve asked the girl to help him pop it!”

“Tch!” Dina uttered, and Zhenya could feel her patience dissipating by the minute, even if he could not see her. “Well, this one’s even more horrid! Not too long ago, the boy was reading his favourite daily newspaper…”

Favourite? Zhenya was not so sure about that.

“…when that same girl ambushed him, took pages out of the newspaper and stuffed them inside the boy’s mouth! What’s your excuse now, huh!? You gonna say the boy has a saliva problem too, and the girl needed something akin to a sponge to suck it all up!?”

There was another moment of silence, broken by the principal’s response.

“Well, I was going to say something along those lines—”

“AHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Dina had lost the plot! He hoped she would not damage her nerves because of that exchange… He heard a loud thud against what he presumed was the principal’s desk.

“Why do you insist on defending the bullies in this school who only want to watch the fucking world burn!?”

“Language, miss.”

“No! I will NOT curb my language! One of these days, those bullies WILL take it too far, and mess with a person whose life might already be a living hell, and if they do it enough… who fucking knows what will happen to that poor kid!? Wait, I do—they’ll find a way to climb the school’s roof, and they will leap from it if it means no longer attending the same school that claims to put its students first, when reality couldn’t be any more fucking different!!”

“If you don’t cease your filthy chatter, I will—”

“Yeah, sure, you will! Because you’re a fucking control freak! But just this once”—Zhenya could hear a sniffle coming from her—“look in the mirror and ask yourself… ‘Do I really care about the students’ well-being? Or, am I only looking after this very chair I’m currently sitting on?’ I’m starting to believe this school is just as corrupt as the old farts sitting in the Federal Assembly of this backwards country!”

“Now, there’s no need to be so extreme—”

“Extreme!? Because I wish for this fucking school to do a better fucking job at protecting its students from abusers!? If so, I wish I’d never attended this school, instead warning potential students to stay the fuck away from it because its principal would rather keep her seat since it nets her tons of money than make sure students feel safe in what may as well be their second home!! Yes, I said it! Fuck this school, and fuck YOU!!!”

At last, another moment of silence. Zhenya’s heart was beating incredibly quickly. He could only imagine how fast Dina’s heart was racing, however…

“Aaaand,” the principal said, “that’s an additional charge for inappropriate language against a member of staff. You know, you could’ve said all of this in a much more lady-like manner…”

“Please, Dina,” Zhenya whispered to himself, clasping his hands, “don’t strain yourself any more… or else there won’t be much blood in your body left to boil…”

Luckily for them both, Dina remained silent for the remainder of the time she spent inside the office. In fact, the principal did not say a word, either. He could only hear the sound of scribbling over some paper. Could that be an expulsion!? If so, was it a sign from God himself that he should no longer rely on another person, much less a girl, to keep himself safe? How would he stay in touch with her after all that? At least he had her phone number, right?

While pondering all this, he heard a loud sneeze and after he blinked, Dina appeared right in front of him. He was about to call her by her name, but she covered his mouth on instinct. She whispered to him:

“Let’s get outta here first, krasivy malchik.”

Nodding, Zhenya followed her footsteps as they evacuated the building together. In the open, Dina immediately hit Zhenya with the following question:

“Were you spying on me earlier?”

“Yeah—I mean, no! I uh…”

“Relax, I’m not angry at you. I guess you really wanted to hear me rant about the shite state of this school, eh?”

“I wasn’t expecting it at all,” Zhenya said, playing with his hair, “but… I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks there’s something off about the school we both attend…”

“Oh, I’m glad I’m not alone, either! God, that principal is pissing me the fuck off! How can anyone be this ignorant!?”

“Beats me… Hey, what was her verdict?”

“Did you say verdict? Krasivy malchik, please don’t make me feel like a prisoner as well! Well, I guess I understood what you meant… Uhh, she gave me a one-week suspension.”

“Wow! Just one week?” Zhenya said, raising both eyebrows. “I was expecting a much harsher sentence, frankly…”

“Oh, stop it, you, now I feel like I’m on death row[2]!”

They shared a little laughter.

“Wait,” she said, suddenly interrupting the moment, “I just realised something.”

“What is it?” Zhenya asked.

“You know the principal’s last name?” she said and waited extremely shortly for a response. “It’s Perkovskaya. And you know whose last name is also Perkovsky? It’s—”

“Vladimir, right?”

“Hoho!” Dina replied, grinning at him like an idiot. “So you know him, too!”

“Of course… he’s the student council president. It’s hard not to know about him, plus he wanders the hallways all the time.”

“Yeah, he does that any time he isn’t being an authoritarian asshole! Like mother, like son! Did you know that because of him, it’s completely normal to deny a student access to a club based on who they like!? Oh, and his election campaign… he had the AUDACITY to say, and I quote, ‘Vote for me, and if you don’t, might as well burn your ballot.’ Tch! What’s up with this family and their unquenchable thirst for power!?”

Zhenya, sensing another outburst, grabbed Dina’s left hand and gently caressed it.

“I know it’s easy to get carried away when you’re this irritated… but please… don’t let them get to you! You do look cool when you’re angry, but I think you’re even cooler when you aren’t…”

Dina let out a short laugh, allowing her hand to be touched for a little while longer.

“Well, if that’s what you believe, then I’ll gladly leave this story behind… for now. Jokes aside, I didn’t mean to be an emotional drain to you…”

“Don’t worry about it! It’s good to release some steam every once in a while,” Zhenya said, slowly letting go of her, “but try not to overdo it, okay? My mother told me this many times, word for…”

At the mention of his mother, Zhenya looked toward the floor. If she had been alive today, what would she have thought about him hanging out with a dangerous, yet doting girl like Dina?

“Ah, you’ve gone quiet so suddenly,” she said while wrapping her arm around him.

“Sorry… I shouldn’t bother you with my private life.”

“Hey, you aren’t! But, I totally understand if you don’t want to talk about it… Oh, I know how to cheer you up! Look at this!”

Dina opened her school bag to take out a flyer, which she showed to Zhenya after unfolding it.

“Festival’ priyatnogo oshchushchenia[3]?”

“Yup! Or Priyat’fest for short,” Dina explained. “It’s an annual talent show. For its sixth time, it’s being hosted right here, in Moscow!”

“That sounds lovely!” Zhenya replied, placing his left hand by his chest. “Actually, I saw the ad for it in one of the local newspapers the other day! Although, I’ve never seen it in person, or on television, even.”

“Me neither. But I heard it’s a pretty infamous event… Apparently, in the event’s almost six years of existence, not a single person managed to snag the trophy on which the higher-ups spent ungodly amounts of money!”

Seriously!? Was that especially not a waste of time?

“…But still,” Dina continued, “I think that’s a good enough reason for the two of us to enrol and be the first ones to claim this trophy! I heard it’s very shiny, probably from how many times they had to clean it.”

“Eh? You want us to be the contestants?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Well,” Zhenya said, scratching his head, “I don’t have any talent that stands out… do you?”

“Sure, I can dance quite well. But you, krasivy malchik, could help this dance out with a little bit of gymnastics. I call it… rhythmic gymnastics!”

“Isn’t that an Olympic sports event? Wait—I don’t know if I can do gymnastics that well!”

“You have the potential,” Dina replied, nodding, “but since those assholes did a piss-poor job at teaching you, it looks like I will have to step in and help you become somewhat more capable. It may even help you in a ba… ah… ah-CHOO!”

Suddenly, Dina disappeared. But it did not take long for Zhenya to locate her just a few metres away.

“Are you still sick, Dina?” he asked after approaching her again and offering her a paper tissue.

“I dunno any more… But this is more of an inconvenience than I thought! The other day, I was having an oral exam in Biology when I sneezed like a nuclear alarm, which is what went inside my head when I realised I not only teleported outside my classroom, but got my foot stuck in a wall! Luckily, nobody was in the hallway, but the professor gave me a four because he thought I couldn’t answer his one question and bailed!”

“A four is still a nice grade,” Zhenya replied, “but I guess you’d have to make up a more believable excuse for what happened, right?”

“Right! You fuck with me!”

“Huh!? What does that mean!? Did I insult you!?”

“Noooo, you didn’t! Shoulda used a different phrase, haha…”

She definitely should have.

Before separating to take different metro lines, Zhenya and Dina agreed to meet at her place the following day. Dina also mentioned a secret individual that would help them later…


It was a perfect day for exercising in the open. The forest in which Dina lived was not badly damaged by the gummy dinosaurs from before. There was still plenty of natural shade to be found under just about any tree.

“Ready to warm up?”

“Yeah! Lead the way, Dina!”

Zhenya, wearing his gym uniform with a pair of silly socks with vertical stripes alternating between purple and pink, was glad to have Dina, wearing a red sports bra with a shade of orange and black shorts, as his gymnastics tutor, especially since her methods were much more moderate than Sergei’s, but still demanding in some way. But she made it all incredibly bearable thanks to her bubbly likeness. When he accidentally tripped on some rocks, although he did not hurt himself, she did not put him down for it. If anything, she made herself fall down on purpose to lift his spirits up. He ran together with her, who kept up with his slightly slower pace. After running a distance similar to three laps around the gym field, they did some warm-up exercises while exposed to the afternoon sun.

Then, the training commenced. Dina had no fancy equipment like their school did—she made do with what nature offered. So, instead of a balance beam, she used a sideways juniper log from a fallen tree whose length was identical to the one in school. For the vaulting exercise, there was a stump conveniently cut to resemble the real vaulting table. Dina also assumed that the fallen leaves would be a perfect substitute for landing mats. Of course, she was proven otherwise, when Zhenya was attempting another handstand. He did not injure himself, but the sound he made upon impact suggested it was not a comfortable landing, either. So, Dina ran off to the garage to obtain some mats. They were rusty, but good enough for their needs.

It took Zhenya many tries before he was able to just stand on his hands. He also needed a pair of gloves because he was using the log, after all. But walking on his hands? On top of the log? That was a different ballpark. He fell many times, although none of them counted how many. He was still having a blast with Dina, though. The atmosphere was more relaxing than in the gymnasium. After enough failed attempts, Zhenya was taken into Dina’s house to have her father’s home cooking together. He had prepared some cream of mushroom soup.

“This is soooo tasty!” Zhenya gave his compliments to the chef.

“Oh, thank you,” the father replied, “so… garšīgs ēdiens[4]?”

Dina smiled from across the table.

“Pareizi, tēvs[5]!”

“Oh yeah,” Zhenya said after swallowing a spoonful of his soup, “you said something else in that language before. Uz… vesenny? Veselinoe? Vesyolku?”

“Close enough,” said the father, chuckling.

“Aww!” Dina shouted affectionately. “You’re so cute when you’re trynna speak a foreign language! Do you speak any more besides English?”

“N-not really,” Zhenya replied, hiding his face from how red it became. What was this language? He supposed he would look it up later.

Once stuffed, Dina and Zhenya watched two more episodes of her favourite television series upstairs, as exercise immediately after a meal was bad news waiting to be proclaimed. Then, Zhenya did another handstand and walked slowly with Dina’s assistance, going at it until night fell. Luckily, he did not have to depart so early, as Dina had offered him her bed to sleep on—as long as he did not mind her sleeping in it as well.

Zhenya gradually moved from doing handstands to doing flips while in a handstand. He was not apathetic to the fact he might get injured for real, but Dina’s doting reassurance was too much for him to give up, so he made just as many attempts before getting a single flip from a handstand right. Still, even after that he continued making mistakes while surprisingly avoiding any serious injury. He was not easily discouraged. Practice made perfect, and it was far worse to make zero attempts than to fail several times before a success.

Speaking of success, on Sunday, he performed the move above three times in a row, which earned him a peck on the cheek by Dina who, in her standard fashion, said she had promised this reward to him, when in reality she had made no mention of it.

On Wednesday, the secret individual arrived at Dina’s premises. Actually, she was no secret person—it was Natalia.

“Yo,” she greeted the two gym friends. “Nice socks, Evgeny. Were you hiding them from your dad or somethin’?”

“Oh, these are—”

“I’m lending krasivy malchik all of my silly socks,” Dina said, pointing to herself with both thumbs, “because they suit him better than me!”

“’Course it was you, Dinka.”

Afterwards, Natalia went into the house to change into her other clothes: a white oversized T-shirt and a pair of navy-blue sweatpants.

“Not to brag or anything,” she said after making her way back, “but Dinka and I used to be dance partners in our much younger days. And when Dinka says she’s a really good dancer, believe her. I vouch for her as well. Of course, we’ll teach you a little bit of that as well. Now, let’s get to work!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Zhenya said, saluting.

When Natalia said “a little bit”, she wholeheartedly meant it. She only taught him what was necessary for the talent show, as they confirmed that their performance had not to be longer than three minutes. Natalia’s role in their success was choreography. Dina and Zhenya occasionally moved around so Natalia could pinpoint where, for instance, Zhenya had to perform a somersault, or when Dina had to catch Zhenya while he was mid-air. The style they opted for was a waltz, with common gymnastics breaks to break up the pace. The song they chose was a world-famous excerpt from Giacomo Puccini’s Turandot.

Zhenya was much, much quicker in learning how to dance. It was somersaults that were his more serious issue. But that was why he was at Dina’s place, right? To practice this technique until he was capable of performing it more confidently. Now with two persons cheering for him, his recovery times were incredible. He and Dina were so close to perfection once they joined forces to give their choreographed dance routine a try. Right before the sun would set, Natalia agreed that they were ready to hit the road and that there was nothing left for her to teach the two (mostly Zhenya). This ultimately meant that Zhenya had to return home. After all, Natalia was not that comfortable with sharing the night with another boy… Not yet, anyway.


The festival was slated to take place on the first Friday of December. Zhenya had been a little self-conscious about asking Filat to come watch them, but he did so in the end and he agreed to come, saying he would bring a camera to capture any funny moment that came out of his performance in particular. Natalia confirmed her attendance to the festival as well.

Two days before the festival, Zhenya and Dina had gone to Taganka Theatre[6], where it was to take place, to sign an agreement. They had both been given an egregiously elaborate document containing the festival’s terms and conditions, which Dina outright refused to read (but still signed). When Dina had gone outside, Zhenya signed the document too, but was still curious about the terms of the contest, so the lady at the reception graciously provided him a booklet of similar thickness as his spell book. Since then, he had been studying it religiously instead of doing his homework. Or so he thought.

For the event, Zhenya had bought a white competition shirt and black competition shorts at his favourite thrift store. Dina, on the other hand, was more modest in her attire. She wore her father’s clothes, including a black suit, black trousers and a white shirt, all of which strangely fit her to a T. The black shoes were hers.

“Dina!” whispered Zhenya to her backstage. “Look who else joined!”

There was a tiny window from which he could see the audience gathering. When Dina peeked out, she let an audible gasp.

“We’re fucked.”

“Really!? Surely she’s just there to watch us, right…?”

“That’s why I’m saying we’re fucked, krasivy malchik. Who dared invite the same person that disfigured your lovely face?”

Suddenly, a voice was heard coming from the speakers.

“Ensure your cellphones are turned off, for the sixth annual Priyat’fest is about to commence. Thank you, and enjoy.”

The curtains were raised to reveal a middle-aged man with dishevelled brown hair dangling in the air, who was slowly approaching the stage when, midway through, the rope broke and he fell. He took no damage.

“Esteemed ladies and gentlemen,” said the man after getting hold of a microphone, “it is my honour to welcome you to the sixth… annual… all-Russian… Festival of Gooooooooood Vibraaaaaaaaations!”

The salute was followed by applause.

“Now, now, I’m sure you’re all too eager for the main and, perhaps, only event of tonight… So let’s not waste any more time! First up, the Vacuum Bros. from Voskresensk!”

Wow! That was fast! Usually, there was a lengthy speech about the importance of talent, or something of similar nature. But nope!

“Quelle surprise!” said Dina to him. “Guess we’re skipping all that bullshit about why ensuring our talent remains within the fatherland is crucial for its future! By the way, who are the ‘Vacuum Bros.’ again?”

She found out shortly as two boys, each carrying a vacuum cleaner and a full trash bag, exited the backstage and introduced themselves to the jury below.

“Knock yourselves out,” said one of them.

As soon as a track began to play, the two boys unpacked the two bags and littered the entire stage with bits of paper, bread crumbs, confetti and some…

“Is that… dust?” asked Zhenya, looking out the window. “And how much of it is there? Were they cleaning an entire mansion?”

“Or maybe the Kremlin?” Dina added, gazing alongside him.

After they emptied both bags, the boys grabbed an upright vacuum cleaner each, while one of them pressed a button on a timer they had also brought with them. Immediately after the timer began elapsing time, they switched on their vacuum cleaners and ran across the stage as quickly as possible to pick up the debris on the floor. This was a talent show, right? Was vacuuming the floor really a talent? Anyone could do it, correct? But what if they won? Would that not break the competition?

Once no debris was left on the ground, the boys clicked the timer again, which displayed the final time of one minute and twenty-six seconds; switched the vacuum cleaners off, shouted “time” which stopped the timer above the jury at two minutes and forty-nine seconds. Only one person in the audience clapped—probably their manager. After that, a scathing voice appeared out of thin air. The light was shining upon a man on the upper floor. He shouted:

“Disqualified!”

After a brief pause, during which the audience gasped in unison, one of the brothers asked:

“May we know the reason why?”

Clearing his throat, the man showed the public some strange device and said:

“Your vacuum cleaners were so loud that they breached the conditions of this festival! Which ones, you ask? Refer to Article 63, which states that you shall not exceed the noise limit of 63 decibels!”

“Sixty-three!?” Dina shouted backstage. “That’s such an oddly specific number!”

“Tied to an article of the same number, no less,” Zhenya whispered.

The two boys, defeated, escorted themselves and their full vacuum cleaners to the backstage, when the host announced the next performer, a pair of girls from Yakhroma, one short and the other tall. The timer was initiated and the girls just… danced. No bells, no whistles. But they were doing it rather well. Was this a competition at last?

Seemingly at first, there were no incidents. The girls dressed appropriately and brought absolutely nothing to the stage save their dance moves. The audience below actually clapped that time. But then, the short girl kissed the other on the mouth, possibly out of excitement. Although caught by surprise, the tall one did not resist. The audience switched hastily from cheering to jeering. Even a large number of performers in backstage did not take this scene lightly.

“Yo, krasivy malchik!? Those two girls just shared a kiss more passionate than the president’s speech on Crimea!”

“Yeah, I saw,” replied Zhenya. “You say that like it happens once in a blue moon…”

“Because it does! When’s the last time you saw two girls making out, hm!?”

“Oh, well, that’s…”

Before he could answer the question, or rather, struggle to do so, the ground below them began to quake, getting increasingly stronger by the second.

“I sense a stampede!” Dina shouted. “Quick, behind me!”

Zhenya obliged and allowed himself to be lightly pressed against the wall by Dina. Speaking of her, her sense was right on the money—it was indeed a stampede, but all of the people involved looked exactly the same. That was because the stampede was made up entirely of policemen, sensing a misdemeanour having been committed in the theatre. Its target—two potential promoters of (so-called) alternative sexual lifestyles. Promptly surrounded, the two girls raised both hands while the policemen cocked their pistols and pointed them at their faces.

“What the hell happened to ‘Serving the Law, We Serve Russia’[7]!? They should change it to, ‘Above the Law, We Serve the Russian Ruling Elite,’ it’s more accurate!”

“Shh,” said Zhenya, “we’re being squished by them right now. Wouldn’t want you to go to jail for criticising them.”

“Whoa, I didn’t think you’d know how tyrannical our police can be!”

Meanwhile, on stage…

“You are under arrest for causing a moral panic!” said the main officer who was lowered to the stage via rope. “You two are coming with me!”

“Halt, officer!” the man from before shouted as lights shone upon him once again.

“What?” the officer said begrudgingly while putting the wrongdoers in cuffs.

“You two! You’re disqualified for violating Article 135 of this contest, which states you shall not promote beliefs against tradition at this event, which seeks to promote traditional, family values upon which our glorious country was built! Okay, officer, you may take them away now.”

And so he did. The other officers put away their guns and very slowly evacuated the theatre. As she sighed in relief, Dina went on:

“Seriously? A moral panic? What’s next? Getting arrested for refusing to look both ways before crossing the road? For putting milk before cereal? This police is nonsense! It was just two girls being touchy-feely with one another! What’s wrong with that!?”

After ten minutes of the police’s awkward evacuation, the festival returned to its regular schedule. If by regular, of course, one meant more and more performers getting disqualified for outrageous reasons. Some eliminations were perfectly reasonable: for smoking on stage, for using a crossbow, for scaring off one child too many. But then, there were others—for waving the Russian flag wrong, for sneezing more than five times, for using the Holy Bible as a platform (admittedly, this DQ was more on the reasonable side). One group of dancers got eliminated for wearing too much pink which might have been regarded as an eyesore. A poet got the boot for blasphemy against the Holy Spirit (even though no mention of it was made). Before Zhenya and Dina took to the stage, someone else, rather, a self-proclaimed political analyst, had listed 101 reasons why the war Russia waged was a waste of time and human resources. Of course, he was shown the door because he had discredited the armed forces. Arrested later. Wait, why had a political analyst been allowed to participate in a talent show? That was not a talent at all—anyone and their grandmother could be one! Right, maybe not “old farts”, as Dina eloquently put it.

“So far,” the host spoke, “nobody succeeded to stay in this competition, what a shame! But can the last pair outdo themselves and claim this very fine trophy?” he said, while pointing at random since the trophy was nowhere to be seen. “We’re about to find out… My dear audience, please welcome Evgeny and Dina, from Moscow and Shchyolkovo, respectively!”

“C’mon, krasivy malchik. Let’s crush this!”

Nodding, Zhenya stood up and, beside Dina, reached the podium. There, he noticed Dina scratching her nose every few seconds. She had even done that while waiting for their turn. Jeez, why had Dina had to get sick on that very day?

“Evgeny and Dina, right? What have you in store for us?”

“Just a small dance routine,” Zhenya answered, “accompanied with some gymnastics.”

“Yeah,” Dina said, still touching her nose, “we’re here to wi… ahh… ahhhh… Oh, dear.”

“Are you alright, Dina?” said Zhenya, frowning at her.

“Ahh… here it comes… a big one… Oh, blya—I mean, blin[8], this one might feel like giving birth! Hold me, krasivy malchik!”

Zhenya obliged and gently pressed Dina’s hand with his, but she squeezed it so hard that he felt like she was actually giving birth. Fancy that, bearing a child through her nose—sounded like the start of a horror flick. But it was not horror, nor a flick. Dina gasped a few more times, each gasp getting increasingly louder, until it culminated in an ultimate:

“AH-CHOO!!!”

But instead of teleporting, through her nose she ejaculated a lavish amount of mucus (gross…) and, even less expectedly, a mouse with a jetpack and a machine gun which began firing away rotten cherry tomatoes.

“We haven’t even started,” exclaimed Dina after recovering from her life-altering sneeze, “and they already hate us!?”

“Hey, look out!” shouted Zhenya as he pushed Dina out of the way and took a hit. Those tomatoes hurt quite a bit.

“Woah, thanks for that!” Dina said, slightly bowing her head toward him. “I owe you at least five different life rescues—”

“Save the chat for later! We have a little demon to deal with!”

Luckily, Dina remembered to bring the helmet with her that time and she put it on her head at once backstage, where Zhenya had also gone to splash himself with pink paint. He felt the mop-stick was unnecessary at the moment, given the space. Lucky bastard, thought he, referring to the mouse floating in air. He scrolled through his book of spells, seeking one that was most appropriate for the present situation. He found the page containing the Pomidor udachi spell, which was rather useless to him since, despite the weight of those cherry tomatoes, they were not much of a threat. Wait, were rotten fruits not lighter than ripe ones? He guessed not while being rapidly fired.

“Aha!” Zhenya uttered, having located an intriguing spell. But he required some assistance. “Dina! Over he—huh? Dina?”

He shortly found her. She was peeled to the ceiling. He also noticed that the mucus had been disposed of—or so he thought.

“Sorry, you’re on your own,” she said, waving below. “This vermin used my own slime against me!”

“Why is your… slime so sticky that you could fix a chandelier to the ceiling with it?” Zhenya asked.

“Well, that’s because—”

“Never mind, you can tell me later! Actually, please don’t…”

A tomato almost hit his face, forcing him into even more motion on the podium. He withdrew from using that spell and was going to find another one. But then, he realised two things. Firstly, Valeria. She was smiling from ear to ear. No way she was enjoying his struggle to that extent! Unless she had something to do with it? Secondly, he was wasting time scrolling through pages upon pages of useless, more so absurd spells for even absurder situations. Like, why would he need to summon a fighter mouse? Was one mouse in the room not too many? Or turn water into champagne? Who was he, Jesus Christ? To materialise a baseball bat? There was one right there, behind the curtain! Instead of placing the book back into a conveniently sized pouch attached to his waist, he threw it to the audience before pursuing said baseball bat. He also felt that the tomatoes were getting sturdier. Quite literally, too. They hurt a lot more now.

Once equipped, Zhenya began deflecting all tomatoes hurled his way, but he forgot why that parasite had caused Dina so much trouble. It disappeared any time a deflected tomato got close to touching it, before appearing somewhere else. Zhenya could only swing so many times before finding himself out of breath once again. It was useless! How did one succeed in striking a mouse from the future holding a machine gun, of all weapons?

"Bottle!" someone from the audience shouted.

"Pride!" said a child alongside them.

They repeated this odd combination of words until it clicked inside Zhenya’s head. There was indeed a spell like that, he remembered, but he was unsure of what its use was. Then it hit him. It was a purification spell, one that was only visible to the caster. It was perfect! But how was he to lure the mouse where he wanted it to be? And what was the gesture he had to make with his wand and hands? A bottle? No, that was not it. He had to consult the audience below.

“You, holding the book!” Zhenya shouted to an adult. “Sorry, what am I supposed to do to activate the spell?”

The person looked below to read the book’s contents before turning to Zhenya to ask:

“What spell?”

“Uh, the bottle pride one, or whatever it’s called.”

“Bottle pride… ah, butylka gordosti[9]. Found it. Uh… Clasp your hands, trace your wand along your outer body, then clasp your hands again, utter the spell and fire it in desired loca—”

“Butylka gordosti!”

Three steps ahead of the person explaining him the spell, Zhenya pronounced it and fired a projectile in a random direction. He had five bullets he could fire with a single spell. To his and everyone else’s surprise, the mouse had teleported right in front of the projectile. Thus Zhenya landed a critical hit, knocking the mouse to the ground. Even though he had hoped this would happen, he still whinced at the sight. The audience, however, cheered him on. Before reaching for the mouse, he made sure to unleash Dina from the ceiling by casting the vacuum spell. He tried to catch her, but only served as a cushion which broke her fall. Still, the audience heralded him as a hero and chanted his name.

“Thanks for that too, krasivy malchik,” said Dina after regaining ground, “now I owe you ten life rescues.”

“It’s fine,” Zhenya replied. “As long as you’re near me, I feel perfectly safe…”

“Oh? You like havin’ me around, do you?”

Yes, he did. But he did not say it out loud. He did however blush, which carried the same message, which Dina received quite well. No time to waste, he thought to himself as he made his way toward the mouse. It was unable to move. Zhenya grabbed it by the tail and hoisted it.

“Poor thing… It can barely move its paws. What if I just…”

He shook the mouse, making sure not to let go of it, and it seemed that it did the trick. The mouse began to squirm.

“Don’t worry, little one. You’ll be alright. Let’s get you back on the street, shall we?”

“Are you crazy!?” Dina shouted from the stage. “That is a rodent you’re holding!”

“Rodents have the right to live too, Dina. Now come on, mousekin… I’ll be back quickly, don’t start without me!”

Zhenya went back into the backstage where he opened a window leading into the outdoors. He carefully placed the mouse outside the room, but made sure to quickly close the window so it did not sneak right back in. Having successfully done that, he watched as the mouse leapt from the window, onto the ground, then scurried away as a black cat gave chase to it. Mother Nature would take care of the rest.

After Zhenya returned to the stage, Dina introduced him in front of the jury, and they gave them the green light. The music was on. While dancing to the rhythm of Pavarotti’s grand voice, holding hands, Zhenya noticed some requisites in the background. Were those… fireworks? They had not been there before. Had Dina brought them in while he had been busy helping the mouse evacuate? Was that not against the terms of the contest? He had studied them long and hard, yet could not remember if pyrotechnic devices were allowed. Using common sense, however, he deduced they might not be. But on the other hand, he was confident that the device Dina had brought in would not cause property damage or injure anyone. So maybe it was fine? He trusted Dina with all his heart.

The dance was routine to both of them: largely uneventful, spent thinking about other things. For Zhenya, it was the fireworks that might be lit up shortly. For Dina, if he were to wager a guess, it was the trophy that they might have a chance of claiming. They glanced briefly at Filat who was recording the performance on his phone, while Valeria had her eyes deep in a handheld console. Only Natalia was the attentive of the bunch. After all, she had been Zhenya’s dance teacher, and she was grinning.

It was high time the song ended. Dina quickly prepared the device while Zhenya backed out in order to perform three consecutive somersaults before landing safely in Dina’s arms. When she set it ablaze and winked at Zhenya, he took a deep breath and began performing them. The first one was flawless, the second one almost as good. The third one had to be the best so Dina had an easier time catching him, which it sort of was. As she supported him from his back in her arms, the song reached one final crescendo and the device began to glow. Those were not fireworks—those were sparklers. What a relief! And it made the scene even better without sacrificing a human life!

“Time!” Dina and Zhenya shouted, full of vigour.

Zhenya was slightly panting, but he was satisfied with their performance. The audience below went ballistic with the applause. Just as they were about to leave the stage, however, they heard a loud sound of someone clearing their throat.

“It’s judgement time,” Dina whispered to Zhenya.

The sound came from the upper floor, but the man decided to meet the two contestants face to face by leaping from said position onto the stage. An impressive leap, indeed.

“Evgeny and Dina, right?” he greeted. “I admit, there was seldom anything incriminating about your performance. You’ve seen what we’re critical of on this festival. The promotion of proper values, the safety of our children, the respect of one’s own fatherland… Sure, I personally believe it is a gentleman’s duty to catch the falling lady, but we can easily overlook that. There’s just one problem…”

The man grabbed his face with both hands, and that was when they realised—it was a face mask, with hair and everything. When it came off, an entirely different face was revealed to them.

“Surprise!” he said, having even changed his voice. “I’m actually the owner of this theatre, and guess what!?”

He pointed upward, Dina’s and Zhenya’s eyes following the direction.

“You… you made a hole in the ceiling! That part of the room alone costed me about a million, nay, a billion roubles!”

“I thought it was at least two undecillion,” Dina joked, or at least attempted to.

Then, she got an idea, so she turned to Zhenya and asked:

“Hey, krasivy malchik… You don’t happen to have… read the rules of the competition in its entirety… surely?”

“Wh… what about it?”

“Did it… say anything about the use of pyrotechnic devices?”

“Hm, let me think…”

“Think? Wasn’t it so obvious that you’d remember it?”

“What do you mean? That book is huge! There are rules upon rules, and even subrules!”

“Okay, well, what DO you remember?”

“Oh, I know, sipping strawberry juice in particular is banned. Then, there is a rule about illumination, how you couldn’t have more than five sources of light on stage. Then… wait!”

“Huh!? Did you remember!?”

“Yes, the rule below said… uh… well…”

“Oh, out with it! It can’t be that hard!”

Shoot, why was Dina getting so irritable? Did she really want to win the competition that badly? It was true that she possessed a competitive spirit, unlike Zhenya, but was this not rumoured to be a show competition, much like how there were show elections—meaning, just for show?

“What if I told you,” Zhenya said, his thoughts escalating, “that this isn’t actually a competition at all? What if this was just a Guinness World Records stunt?”

“A Gui… what? Impossible! They would’ve specified it as such! Also, you didn’t answer my—”

“Maybe having an antenna has its perks after all,” teased Zhenya.

“What does having an antenna have to do with—Wait… you… you watch TV!? In the century of the Internet and social networks!?”

“Why? What’s wrong with that?” Zhenya was a little confused, but apparently more so ignorant.

“Why… The reason my household doesn’t own an antenna is because every single channel that is owned by the government—and mind you, that’s a lotta channels—spouts propaganda twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week! And you’re one of the countless old farts who still fall for said propaganda!? Do you know Russian state television supports mass mobilisation of young men to die in wars!? Do you know Russian state television glorifies the ruling party as the one true Russians’ party, and the president as the president of Russians worldwide!? Do you know Russian state television treats gay people like crap!?”

The audience gasped exorbitantly loudly. Amidst the silence which followed, a child could be heard asking its parents, “Who is gay people?”

“They… do…?” asked Zhenya quietly, but…

“Well then, it’s time to announce the winner!” the man who had been mostly ignored until now interrupted both of them, holding a trophy. “The winner of the all-Russian Festival of Good Vibrations is… drum roll, please!”

The drum roll played on speakers for ten seconds before the man ultimately shouted:

“Nobody! Because the last girl broke not one, not two, but THREE rules of the competition just now! Thank you all for coming tonight, but alas, maybe next year we’ll have a winner. Adios, do svidaniya, arrivederci!”

With that, the man, with the trophy, was no more. He exited through the backstage, leaving just the audience, although they began evacuating, Zhenya, who was scratching his head, and Dina, who snapped at him immediately:

“Why didn’t you stop me!? We didn’t have to go out like the man before us! You know I can’t talk politics the same way others do!”

“I didn’t know that! And why did you even bring politics into all this?” Zhenya asked, trying to protect himself. “Plus, I was still ruminating over what you said about state TV…”

“We came here to win, not fuck around and lose, krasivy mal—no… you’re no longer pretty to me. You’re just like the other boys. You may only look different, but at the end of the day you boys are ALL the same! You’re unbelievable! You… you… gryazny durak[10]! Fuck you, too!!!”

“Wait, Dina! Don’t leave!”

Too late, however. Dina was already gone with the crowd. Zhenya was sweating profusely. The room temperature lowered, but he felt immense heat. What had he done? What had SHE done? Did it even matter whose fault it had been? He was all alone, again. It was back to September, to square one, to the time he had been friendless. That thought alone was enough to form a single tear in his right eye, but the moment it touched his cheek, he screamed. But not because he was angry, or sad, or disappointed in himself and the world around him. He screamed because the tear physically hurt him. His skin burned and he fell to his knees. Was this God’s way of telling him, “Boys don’t cry?” But why was it so painful?

“Jeez, I’m such a drama queen,” Zhenya whispered before capitulating on the ground, bereft of energy.

END OF CHAPTER

Footnotes:

[1] The State Duma (Государственная дума), the lower house of Russia’s Federal Assembly.
[2] Fun fact: Russia has a moratorium on the death penalty, meaning it is de jure legal but de facto has not been carried out since 1996.
[3] Фестиваль приятного ощущения, meaning “Festival of Good Vibes”.
[4] “Tasty meal”.
[5] “That’s right, father!”
[6] Russian: Театр на Таганке.
[7] Moscow Police slogan. Russian: Служа закону служим России.
[8] Blin (Блин) refers to a type of pancake (though blini is more correct), but it is also a euphemism for blyat’ (блять), a profanity.
[9] Бутылка гордости, meaning Bottle of Pride.
[10] Грязный дурак, meaning “filthy fool”.

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Pub: 20 Jan 2026 15:33 UTC

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