Ontology of Crime (beginning)

Once upon a time somewhere in world...

There was a boy who looked like Pinocchio. But he wasn't really the Pinocchio that Carlo Callodi invented. His name was Buratino. Although he wasn't literally Buratino either. Because Pinocchio and Buratino were just archetypes. Like an Americans have Uncle Sam, Italians have Pinocchio, and Russians have their own Buratino. As the reader can guess, this boy was Russian.

His father was a seasoned retired corporal from the Napoleonic Guards. Naturally, it is important to note that Russia has not seen Napoleons for the past two centuries. We imply ones as archetypes also.

Much of our lives are shaped by these archetypes. As a hero from the old movie wisely remarked, "Fate is merely an illusion. Everything has already transpired in this world." Similarly, a significant portion of the stories we share are simply variations of familiar archetypes. This retired corporal, whom we shall refer to as Carlo, has long since stepped away from the Imperial Guard. In his leisure time, he made the children soldiers. His wife, Matrona, ran a shop of handmade, where she sold Carlo’s wooden toys. Initially, their business thrived, as the city officials supported commendable endeavors of the Kalody family. You know: In Russian, the term ‘kaloda’ encompasses several meanings: it could refer to a piece of wood used by Carlo to create his toys, or it might signify a pack of playing cards, which Matrona also sold in her store. The third interpretation could also suggest the woodblock for a convict. That typical "Simpsons" family dwelt in Russian Sicily. (near the Tambov City. Not the best place for a such business.) They assumed that if kids played soldiers, they wouldn't play gangsters. In no other way did that area resemble Sicily.

As we have said before, half of all our life is assembled from metaphors and archetypes. The only thing that distinguishes the cycle of familiar faces and events is the conflict that breaks the chain of monotonous repetitions and turns them into a new story. And so it was destined to happen once time.

All kicked off when Carlo stumbled upon a rather unimpressive log—one that wouldn’t pass a military fitness test if it tried. It was all bent out of shape with a knot that looked like it had been through a wrestling match. Sure, it could’ve made for a fantastic coat rack or perhaps a rustic wooden bucket, but Carlo, being the dedicated craftsman he was, only had one trick up his sleeve: crafting wooden soldiers. And let me tell you, this particular soldier was more of a “don’t” than a “do.” He was more slumped than a sad puppy, sporting a nose that seemed to have its own zip code. Forget about lining him up; his nose had a way of crashing the party, poking out of formation like it was auditioning for a starring role. So, he was banished to a lonely shelf in the toy shop, where every one could saw him well but for some mysterious reason, nobody was reaching for their wallets.

Do you want to know why all toy soldiers are immobile and retain all their lives the only pose, which was given to them by the creator? Because they live by a charter. Everything in their lives is decided and spelt out for them. And there is not a single reason for them to make a single independent movement. But imagine, if one incident occurs and all the prescribed laws and rules break down in a single hour because of the impossebility to solve its consequences. That's what happened here. Alchemists and other scientists could not find a plausible explanation for this event. Perhaps the growing entropy of uncertainty reached its limit and one day Buratino suddenly came to life. He easily jumped from his window shelf and, causing indescribable feelings in the shop assistant Matrona, ran out into the city street. The chuck is only woody inside. When it goes outside he becomes a character