//------------------------------// // When a Darkened Sky Is Considered a Form of Hope (Aralsk, Kazakhstan) // Story: Life Is Grey // by redandready45 //------------------------------// Arman felt tremendous anticipation as he slowly pulled the fishing trawl out of the water. He let out a squeal of joy as he saw dozens of fish flopping around the half-submerged net. With one final tug, he pulled the trawl out of the water, and emptied his catch into the hold. Arman felt a strong hand pat him on the shoulder. "Very good son," his father Nursultan said from behind. Arman turned to face his father, and gleamed at proud smile hidden underneath his father's bushy moustache. Behind him was their fishing comrades, who also gave Arman proud smiles. "Will I become as a good a fisherman as you?" Arman asked Nursultan. His father gave him a facetious frown. "Boy, I expect you to catch 100 times what I catch," Nursultan said a tone of feigned disappointment. The warm smile returned to his face. "Come with me son, look at the sea." Arman got to the edge of the trawler and saw the vast expanse of the Aral Sea before him. His father put his arm around his shoulder. "The Aral is our home. Our livelihood. We exist because of it. Our ancestors have been fishing since the time of the Romanovs. Before that, they were the first masters of the horse-" "Father, you told me this story," Arman said with a sheepish smile. "And I shall tell you again. And you will be grateful that I told you this story many times, because you won't ever forget. For when you become my age, you too shall take your son out on the boat and tell him the same story." "Yes father," Arman said respectfully. "Anyways, back to work," Nursultan ordered. The two began preparing the trawl for another catch when a sudden storm blew in. The wind knocked them both to the ground, and sounds of thunder crashed across their ears. "Father, what is happening," Arman asked. To his horror, Arman saw a look of panic on his father's normally brave face and their comrades screaming in panic. "Father what shall we-," "Turn the ship around," Nursultan bellowed to the captain. But before the captain could do anything, a massive wave crashed into the side of the boat, capsizing it. "Father," Arman screamed as he fell into the freezing water. After splashing around in a panic, Arman swam to the capsized boat, gripping the hull like his life depended on it. He looked around, trying to find his father or their fellow comrades who also fell into the boat. The storm picked up even more, making the water more chaotic, and making it harder and harder for Arman to grip the boat. "Father," he shouted. "Father," he shouted again. He shouted for his father more and more, his scream getting louder as both his panic and the intensity of the sea and storm increased, and his ability to grip the boat decreased. Arman turned to his right and saw massive tidal wave about to consume him. Unable to do anything, Arman let out a desperate cry as the massive wave consumed him. Arman let out a wheezy gasp as he was jolted awake. With a tired sigh and another exhausted cough, he pulled himself out of his bed. It was a donation from America, as shown by its rotted state. Despite him being thin, the aged bed creaked as he lifted himself out of it. He looked around his threadbare room and walked over to the old car mirror he used as a personal mirror. He saw a face made crusty by years of dry weather and winds, a grey beard that was big as Rasputin's, a bald head, and tired red-rimmed eyes. He wondered why he hadn't just laid down and died years ago. But then he remembered as heard soft snoring in the next room. With a sigh, he picked up the broom and began beating it against the thin wall. "Aruzhan," he shouted, smacking the broom over and over against the wall. "Time for school! Wake up you lazy bum! Don't make me come in there!" "Yes grandpa," the boy said through the wall. He heard some rustling, and dropped the broom with a satisfied smile on his face. He took off his pajamas and put on a second hand dress shirt, a white sickness mask, and used khakis. He walked out of the room at the same time as Aruzhan. The child was half his height. He had a mop of brown hair and a tanned face, the same red-rimmed eyes, but he had a smile in place of the tried frown that Arman always seemed to wear. He wore an old American Coca-Cola T-shirt and faded blue jeans. "I'm ready, grandpa," the boy said cheerfully as he put on his white sickness mask. The boy was in many ways Arman's opposite. He was always cheerful, which both annoyed Arman and brought him joy. The pair exited their hovel and walked to school and work. "So you could stick your hand in the sea, and you would always get a fish," Aruzhan asked him excitedly as they walked to school. "Yes," Arman said, gesturing toward the rusted remains of fishing trawlers that once fueled Aralsk's economy. "You could catch enough fish to feed all of Russia." "Were there sharks," Aruzhan asked. "Yes. They tried to eat me, but I defeated it them with my bare hands," Arman joked. "We're there mermaids," Aruzhan asked. "Yes," Arman said with a sly smile. "I ate them!" "Why?" Arman asked with genuine horror in a high-pitched tone. "I was hungry," Arman said with a small laugh that descended into a fit of coughing. Aruzhan waited as the coughing fits stopped before they continued walking. They soon arrived at the school: an old fishing shack that had become a one-room school house. "Off to school, little one," Arman said. "I am growing," Aruzhan said with cheerful jest. "Soon I will be bigger then you." "Oh, we shall see," Arman said. He gestured with his hand to the school and Aruzhan ran to it. With another wheezy cough, Aruzhan skipped to the building. With a shake of his head, Arman walked to work and looked at sandy remains of the sea with a sad sigh. The Soviets had been guilty of many, many crimes in their desire to "liberate the workers' and the peasants." Several of Arman's ancestors had perished due to terror and famine. But to Arman, the greatest crime of the Soviets was destroying this once great sea. Being men of great ambition and no accountability, they plotted to drain the sea and grow cotton in Uzbekistan. To this day, the Uzbeks continued to drain the corpse of the sea to grow the white plant. They even forced children and schoolteachers to pick it for sale to the West In his youth, the Soviets long denounced American racism toward blacks. How ironic that their dream of growing cotton would create a new form of cotton slavery. Arman hoped to one day fish with his own son, but the last time Arman fished was in 1986 and his son was two years from birth. By then, the draining of the sea had become noticeable. Over 30 years after that, the sea only continued to drain. While some dam raised the sea a little, the once productive fishing had still not yet returned. At many others accepted that it would most likely never returned and fled elsewhere. Arman's own son Bolat had fled the barren land, trying to find work in Moscow. Bolat and his wife left Aruzhan with Arman until they could buy a bigger house. But they were killed by a pair of ruthless gangsters, and Aruzhan had no one but him. Lacking a sea to fish in, Arman could only tell stories of the Aral to Aruzhan, speaking of its size and abundance. Aruzhan, as a young child, thought of the Aral as a myth and a folk tale. A thing as mysterious and fantastic as Atlantis. Arman still looked with anger and despair at the dry air, the winds which carried the chemicals from the former seabed into the air, the rusted boats that told of a more prosperous era, and the abandoned homes of fishermen. Aruzhan had grown up in this wrecthed world. But knowing nothing of the sea, he was cheerful and innocent. He was used to the poor air, wearing a mask, and looking at the rusted boats. Of course, you can't miss what you never. For this, Arman envied his grandson. The only thing worse than despair, however, was false hope. Which is why Arman looked with a scowl at the news crews and tourists from around the world arriving and others in the town greeting them with joy and hoping to profit from outsiders. He read of these creatures who could bring rain to desert areas, but he believed it to be a ludicrous fantasy. "Just as the great Soviet nation was," Arman thought bitterly. With another sigh and cough, he walked toward the supermarket, put on a smock, and began sweeping the floors. Aktau, Kazakhstan, 1700 kilometers away As a member of the Kazakh Naval Forces, Lieutenant Kaysim Mamim had learned to always expect the unexpected. He had joined the Soviet navy in the twilight years of the Soviet Union, believing he would one day fight a war with the Western nations. He never expected Kazakhstan would gain independence within a few short years. He entered his adult years believing his nation would remain obscure as most landlocked states were. He never expected his nation to gain international attention thanks to some vulgar British comedian who portrayed Kazakhs as a pack of anti-Semitic village idiots. He certainly never expected that his career would involve working with a pink Pegasus named Lovely Day. The creature was female. She had a water-blue mane, a light green mane, lime-green eyes, fluffy wings, and had an equine body as big as a cat. She declared herself a "Captain in the Equestria Drought Relief Organization," wore a blue helmet with a water drop picture on the front, a black headset, and spoke decent Kazakh. They both stood on a naval ship along the coast of the Caspian Sea, watching dozens of other Pegasus fly around in some odd maneuver. "What are they doing?" he asked the pink Pegasus. "Drills in case they lose control of the cloud," the equine said with a rough accent. Everything these ponies said seemed to upend everything Mamim knew about the laws of physics. These creatures claimed they could create and move clouds around. They also claimed they were responsible for weather in their world. Using their powers, they had brought rain into drought stricken areas of Africa and Asia on television, earning enormous goodwill from around the world. Despite knowing about their powers, Mamim was a bit skeptical when these ponies claimed they would revive the Aral Sea within a decade. Their plan was to use their powers to bring rainwater to Uzbek farmers, so that they could reduce demand from the rivers that flowed into what remained of the Aral Sea. The plan also called for rainstorms themselves to be used to replenish the Aral Sea. Today, they were testing this plan by generating a large storm cloud and using various teams of Pegasi to move it 1700 kilometers into Aralsk. Mamim thought such a goal was lofty and ambitious. But his time in the Soviet Union, the economic chaos of independence and capitalism, and the corruption that dominated his homeland made him wary of those making large promises. "The greatest promises are made by the most odious liars," Mamim thought to himself skeptically. "So, what is this?" Mamim asked, pointing to the large copper disk sitting on deck of the boat. The object was connected to electric wires that were heating it up and would burn off a person's skin if they were stupid enough to touch it. "That is the Cloud Generation Plate," Lovely Day said proudly. "Once we create the waterspout, it will rise up high into the air. Then we'll throw the Plate on top off it, creating the steam we need for the cloud. Until we can set up a proper cloud city to make clouds, this is our only option." Mamim once again rolled his eyes at the whole physics-defying plan. "Well good luck," Mamim uttered. "By the way," Lovely Day pointing with her hooves to the headset hidden underneath her helmet. "This..um… "Headset?" "Headset is really awesome," Lovely Day said with the joy of a child witnessing his fireworks display. "This makes coordination and communication so much easier. I wonder how us pegasi lived without them!" Mamim let an amused smile form on his face at the little pony's squealing. To Mamim, these ponies and their ways of living were one big fantasy. To these ponies, the idea of people not being able to generate their own weather and the ability to communicate wirelessly was a fantasy. Everything, as they say, is relative. The Kazakh Naval Forces formed a perimeter of roughly 6 square meters around a patch of the Caspian sea 10 kilometers off the coast of Aktau, per the instructions of the pegasi leaders. This space had been reserved for the Pegasi to be able to work without fear of causing injury. The Kazakh navy were prepared to use force to keep others out. Surrounding them were various boats being manned by news crews and tourists from around the world wanting to get as close as possible to the spectacle without angering the Kazakh sailors. On the military boats, dozens of pegasi stood on the boats with eager expressions on their faces. They looked at their watches, as the time slowly reached 3 PM (or 15 Metric Time). Time seemed to slow as everyone watching from their boats eagerly watched at the clock ticked, slowly reaching the moment of truth. Even Mamim watched the clock tick with some anxiety. He looked at Lovely Day, who was coordinating the operation from the deck using a microphone set up for this occasion. She too looked at the clock with fierce anticipation. The clock struck 3. "BEGIN," shouted Lovely Day. The pegasi took that as their signal to fly. With surprising speed, they shot up into the air. After a few minutes, they were rotating around the middle of the patch of ocean. Every second, their spinning got faster and faster. Mamim watched this more directly, using a military camera drone. The Lieutenant quietly admired their ability to work together despite such high speeds. "Maintain formation," Mamim heard Lovely Day say. After a few moments of spinning, she said, "The cyclone is beginning to form. Do not waver!" To Mamim's astonishment, a massive waterspout was slowly rising out of the Caspian. All around him, the tourists in the boats and the people lined up along the coast let out uproarious applause. "Bring the plate," Lovely Day said. Two large Pegasus flew under the plate, and the two lifted the massive copper disk into the air, using the side that was still cool. The waterspout rose up and up. "Drop the Plate!" The two pegasi dropped the plate onto the top of the waterspout, the water hitting the ultra-hot side. The impact generated a huge amount of steam. "Steam needs to coagulate," Lovely Day ordered. The pegasi use their magic to collect it. After a few minutes, a massive storm cloud formed. "OK, now bring the baby bird to its nest," Lovely Day commanded. A drone camera filmed the pegasi not only landing on the surface of the cloud like it was solid, but began pushing the cloudy mass further inland. As the cloud departed Aktau, the crowds of tourists on the boats and along the coast let out an uproarious applause that seemed to shake the ground. Several pegasi landed on the ship in front of Lovely Day, where they were given salutes by Kazakh naval personal. Mamim joined in as well. "The people of Kazakhstan thank the ponies of Equestria," Mamim's naval superior said. Mamim saw the cloud move and let out a small tear of joy at what he was witnessing. "God bless you," Mamim said quietly, a small smile forming on his stoic naval face. Sixteen hours later Arman continued sweeping the floor of the supermarket, the early morning sun lightly striking his face when Aruzhan burst in. "Grandpa!" Aruzhan shouted. "Yes Aruzhan," Arman said with annoyance. "The clouds will arrive in 30 minutes," Aruzhan said with excitement. "Come and see," the boy said. Aruzhan rolled his eyes at this grandson's sentimental display. "Yes son, I will be there soon," the withered man lied, looking down at the ground. "OK grandpa," Aruzhan said, not picking up on his grandfather's reluctance. He excitedly ran out of the store. Once Aruzhan left, Arman let out a disgusted sigh. "Naïve moron," Arman muttered angrily. Aruzhan fell for this pegasi garbage. The boy and those other desperate fools who longed for a long gone era fell for the idiotic belief that the Aral Sea would return. That's why he was working alone in the store. Because he would not fall for the kind words of charlatans. These ponies were liars, just like so many others who claimed such grandiose nonsense. The crowd gathered along the former coastline of Aralsk, watching as the light of the sky was blocked. For the young local residents, the sky was ominous. For the old local residents, the darkness was a sign of optimism. News crews and tourists excitedly watched cloud move in. The cloud stopped moving, covering much of the former coast and part of the downtown. A news drone revealed the Pegasi were getting ready to stomp on the cloud. After an alarm went off, the pegasi all pushed down at once. A lightning strike went out. Arman was spooked by the noise, dropping his broom in shock. He dove under a table in fear. After a few more rolls of thunder passed, a drizzle fell. After a few moments, the drizzle became a massive downpour. The young people looked up at wonder, having never seen rain or experience rain. The older people looked up at joy. A massive applause sprang from the town. Tourists and locals snapped photos, recorded footage, took off their shirts, hugged each other, and opened their mouths to drink the rainwater. The noise pulled Arman out of his shock. Slowly, he walked outside. To his astonishment, he saw rain fall from the sky, and the townspeople cheering and applauding its arrival. He stared dumbly at the scene for several moments, ignoring that his clothes and beard were getting wet. He was distracted by the sound of running. Aruzhan ran toward him, his boots caked with wet sand. The boy looked at him with hope on his face. "Isn't the rain wonderful," Aruzhan said happily. He opened his mouth wide to catch some rainwater. "Yes," Arman said quietly, a feeling of...hope surging through him. He looked up again at the storm cloud, euphoria spreading through his body being cooled by the massive rainfall and winds. "Could the Aral Sea return?" Aruzhan asked Arman hopefully. Arman stared dumbly at the boy. The euphoria of the crowd, the good feeling of the cool water on him, and the breeze forced the answer out of him. "Yes Aruzhan," Arman said quietly, a small smile forming on his rugged face. "Yes. It will." Without warning, Arman picked his grandson up and held him into a hug. The boy, who rarely got direct affection from Arman, melted into the hug. Arman felt water flow down his eyes, but they were not because of rain. They were tears. Not the tears he shed when he gave up fishing. Not the tears he shed when his son and daughter-in-law were murdered. They were tears of hope. The continued cheers and his grandson's hug made the tears flow more and Arman's smile grow wide. Arman had a new dream now. His dream would be that he lived to see the Aral Sea reborn and that his grandson would take him fishing one last time.