Short stories about Lenin

 

 

 

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Lenin in Albania

There is a small town in Albania where they collected all the statues of Lenin that used to infest every town in the USSR. Behind this village in the woods stand ninety Lenin statues together in a Lenin-themed amusement park. they have all kinds of Lenin – hungry train-waiting Lenin, smiling shouting Lenin, book-clutching invisible Lenin, Lenin erasing himself out from the pages of Russia’s histories, Lenin’s feet smashing and stamping on a Moscow nightclub floor-

‘Therese why don’t you call me I feel like flying tonight. I got a half a gram of ice and one of the DJs from Underworld is playing, give me a call. it’s Lenin.

 

Lenin in Tibet

I sat with him in a hot spring in Tibet, neither of us speaking. A snow leopard tracked noiselessly off the snow, lapped at the edge of the warm pool we were immersed in, and then curled up on the warm rocks and went to sleep. For six hours we neither of us made a noise. In complete silence I inscribed a tattoo on Lenin’s back.

When he dressed himself back in uniform you couldn’t see it, but when he took off his top it revealed a patchwork of random lines, clusters of spots, smears and shapes. None of it signified anything, just as he’d instructed.

Lenin in Argentina

Lenin crawled towards the cave’s entrance, sticking like a lizard to the slimy rocks. The cowboy-guard snapped his gun around and hissed in the dark. He smelled something, he smelled something, but he couldn’t see…

outside the crows that had followed Lenin all the way to the Andes landed on the most fragile drifts of snow, scratching with their claws and beating with their wings until at last they unleashed an avalanche down the mountain. that’s how Lenin travelled, surfing avalanches with birds clutching every raw bit of skin.

the cowboy-guard howled in rage and stood at the cave’s entrance, shooting down the slopes after the bird-clad figure, but it was too late. the snowy waterfalls kept smashing down and nothing could stop Lenin that afternoon.