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It’s a…bird?

“Okay, I lied. I didn’t actually hook up with Brendan”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Well, that was a pretty mundane assumption for a bunch of PhD’s,” she said, throwing her bag on the couch followed by herself, with equal vigor. “All you saw was me leaving the party with him”

“Uh, and your text?! ‘Hfb gyus hokng p w2 brdn!!!!1’?”

“Wait, give me that,” she said, grabbing the phone out of Merrel’s hand. “Okay, that’s totally supposed to say… Have you guys seen a bird. Because I lost…my bird.”

“Your bird?” Merrel asked, half-amused, half-skeptical, as China chimed in, “the letters don’t even match—”

“Yes, okay. My bird. My aunt got me this bird when she was here visiting, and I kind of lost him”

“Whatever Stace. My only problem right now is I can’t tell if you made up the text or if you actually did hook up with him because of this new bird thing”

Stacy rolled her eyes and said, “Not my problem. Anyway, I gotta get to my meeting. Love you guys, bye”

She pulled out a pair of sunglasses that covered most of her face (she had a pretty small face, she told herself) and strode out into the sunlight. She cursed her black hair for soaking up the sun. “Can I get a break?!” she screamed upward.

As though to answer her, a cloud snuck in front of the sun, and Stacy muttered a grudging “thank you” as she put her lipgloss on. This meeting was important.

What makes art so devastating?

What is it about art that makes us so vulnerable? Like my skin is going to crumble around me and my heart is weeping, weeping, weeping…

What is it about a wood and a few strings that can play the melody of your soul? 

About reading a fictional character has been doomed eternally to the black hole that is cancer? He’s not real, nothing is real, but I am real, and I am falling apart.

What makes art so devastating? 

"I’m a lucky guy," Evgeni says.

But how does he show his appreciation? Ivan Semochkin, his former youth teammate, can tell you more than most.

In November, Semochkin’s wife, Larisa, was diagnosed with blood cancer. She went to Germany for tests, and to have the treatments she needed would cost 150,000 euros (about $205,000). Ivan went to work in Magnitogorsk, putting out feelers all over town. The team and the factory were willing to help, but time was running out, and the Semochkins still needed $1 million rubles (about $30,000).

Semochkin had heard that Evgeni was very generous with people back home. He had not spoken to Evgeni in nearly a decade, but he did not know where else to turn. He got Evgeni’s cell phone number and texted him the story. With two days remaining before Larisa would have to return to Russia without having the surgery she needed, putting her life in danger, Ivan got a text message from Evgeni.

"Check bank account," it said

The money was all there.

"Fiction," Ivan says, shaking his head months later, with a wife in remission and a happy 1-year-old daughter, Lubov, climbing all over him.

"For me," Larisa says, "this story is like a fairy tale."

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(Source: elizathornberries)

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