Once upon a time, when there was electricity in the village, there was a TV set in every house, and we all enjoyed watching it. Oh, what wonderful times those were! And what wasn't on there! Every day we saw how our victorious troops were crushing the terrorists in Syria, how Ukrainian rebels were fighting for Russian's peace in the Donbass, and the missiles, what supersonic super missiles, destroying Washington, we watched on this miracle box! But all good things come to an end...
One day they said on TV that the world energy crisis had started, and now every scrapper resident had to pay 100 million rubles per kilowatt-hour. We had no work by then, so we started saving electricity. We used to take the wonder TV box to the square, put it on a pedestal that had been left over from some Soviet-era monument, and watch our beauty in droves. But even that pleasure did not last long - one fine day, the electricians came from the district center with a group of Cockssux and announced that starting on such and such a date of such and such a year, in accordance with the decree number 426, all the Scrapnuts must pay 500 million rubles a month for the rent of the electric grid, in short - to pay for the wires. The decree is undoubtedly a good one, for the benefit of the Motherland, but no one had any money in the village at that time, so the electricians and the Cockssux cut all the wires, wrapped them up, got into a car, and drove away. No one else in the village had ever seen either electricians or linden electricity. Except Semenych. Semenych had solar panels on the roof - real Chinese ones.
Thinking back to the past, I wandered north toward the district center, not even going home. What would I do there? I had some chowder in the morning, but I had nothing to pack for the road, and it was only a 50-odd mile walk. The weather was fine, the sun was shining, the mud had melted and ice worms were seeping into the boots. Oh, it's beautiful! Spring!!! Birds were flying over the fields overgrown with weeds and cawing merrily.
A long time ago, in the unforgotten dashing twenties, we ploughed these fields - back then we still had tractors in our village, and you could buy diesel at any gas station. These lands were still considered ours, I remember, we were sowing rye and oats until the energy crisis hit. That year we could not find money for diesel fuel and did not cultivate the field, and in the fall an official from Roscrapselhozrazor came to us, and fined the village - that they say, that we do not cultivate the land. But so fined that after a month there came bailiffs, took our equipment and shot the chairman of the village council at that time. Since then, the fields were overgrown with weeds, and everything was fine, but after a couple of years, the same official who fined us came and said that the fields are not ours now, as we do not use them, and therefore, in accordance with decree number 379, from that day he, the official, gives these fields to a conscientious user. And since we, the locals, are nominally assigned to these lands, we are also leased to new owners. Then they brought Semenych to us and declared him the new chairman, ordered us to obey him in everything and to comply. At first we thought that your chairman did not tell us what to do, we would not obey him. And what did Semenych do? And Semenych took out a scrapophone and called the district center, and OCON (Special Cocksuxx Unit) rushed there, whipped the whole village with their lashes, and the two scrappers were taken away, and no one ever saw them again.
I climbed the hill, panting, caught my breath, and looked out into the distance. A strip of river gleamed on the horizon. It was a pity that it was out of season; if it were autumn, I could have had a nice lunch on the river, with such delicious reeds growing there, it would be delicious! Before, when we were still sowing the fields, none of us knew that cane root could be eaten. It tastes like rotten potatoes and onions, but it feeds you better than swanbush and nettles put together. You can eat a lot of bulrush and walk around contentedly, farting and not wanting to eat for about two hours, and you're getting stronger and ready to turn over mountains of black soil. One thing is bad - according to the law you can't eat reeds - if caught, you may be sentenced to hard labor. Of course, Chinese drones are not protecting rivers and marshes - besides forest they are not interested in anything - but if one of them sees it, he can report it to FSB, and they will catch you and beat you up to pieces. That's why you have to eat reeds quietly, so no one will see you.
Previously, I remember fifteen years ago, it was not customary to write denunciations on each other, somehow even considered bad luck, but then the times were different, and there was no benefit. Now the FSB rewards snitches pretty well - for every snitch they give you an extra ration, and if you write a hundred snitches in a year, they might even give you something valuable.
There used to be fish and tasty frogs in this river, but one day they all died out and the water turned sour - you get drunk on it and your stomach hurts for half a day afterwards. I remember that Fedka, the one who was killed by the Chinese, two years ago started a rumor that the Chinese had built a factory in the east and were pouring waste into the river. But when Semenych heard it, he kicked the gossip columnist in the teeth and said that he was a fake, and if he continued to intrigue, Semenych would kick him out in front of everybody on the main square. Fedka shut up. Fedya was a mutineer, it's not for nothing that the Chinese killed him. As the saying goes: "God is not a prick, he sees a bit," he punished Fedya for his lack of faith.