Vladimir Riabinin

I have no memory of what November 18, 1983, was like. At that time, I was serving at a military airbase near Tbilisi, repairing and adjusting aircraft electronics. That was my job. Those two years were mostly a stretch of monotonous days I had to get through, and that day seemed no different from the rest. It was Friday evening. We had finished work, the weekend was ahead, and our thoughts were only on what we would do over those two days. Everything changed when a pair of duty fighters urgently took to the air, and an order was broadcast over the loudspeaker for four more jets to fire up their engines and stand by for takeoff. It was a clear sign that something serious was happening, and we could say goodbye to our weekend plans.   While we were exchanging glances, trying to figure out what was going on, an order came to grab our weapons and take our positions in the vehicles. Soon we learned the reason behind all the commotion: terrorists had hijacked a plane. It was about to lan...

    Julia grew up an impressionable girl. “A hopeless romantic,” her mother sighed with disappointment. Being an accountant, she was well protected by her practical nature from all the suffering that usually comes with love. She wasn’t unfamiliar with men, but all she really needed from them was a paycheck and the ability to fix the toilet if it started leaking. Julia was different. She grew up on fairy tales about a prince on a white horse who always arrived just in time to rescue the princess from yet another monster. She stayed obsessed with them for years. But then she discovered a book about the scarlet sails, and it completely enchanted her. It was a story about a little girl named Assol, who lived in a small village by the sea. Her father made toys to sell, and one day he gave her a little ship with scarlet sails. While playing, she set it afloat in a stream and ran after it. The ship soon disappeared from sight, and she had already said goodbye to it forever when she s...