askdiscordwhooves:

Things… Are about to get serious…

How did i miss the part when they were having a lot of time doing their nasty things? Gonna reread.

“However. Anyway.” - I said having sighed air through the clenched teeth . Has thrown back a head and exhaled as if trying to start up a water stream. “Calm down, it not the end, I couldn’t remain one. It’s simply impossible” - I spoke to myself. Each part of a body as if got out of hand and started to shiver under the influence of an electric current. Silence turned round me, sneering and gloating over. “Go to hell!” - I have screamed having drawn aside a dirty hand back from glass and from what that irreconcilable rage brushed away all service standing on a table to the floor. “Isn’t present, no, it isn’t possible. What in general is going in this mad city?” - Rushed about in my head. Anyhow porcelain with a shrill ring has fallen to a floor, into smithereens, as one big clod of snow has scattered on thousand snowflakes. I choked with this air. He as though tried to squeeze my throat more strongly while definitively won’t kill. I have looked back and have run up to the window, but it was as if is hammered by nails to the basis. I needed to get out from here urgently or this room will ruin me. I have moved back and have clumsily stumbled about a lace of the boot, rested back on a wall. Ah what twist of fate. Heart fought influently as if it wants to jump out of my breast and to escape away. I have been held down on hands and feet, isn’t capable even to rise. “Not again.” - It was distributed by whisper from my lips. I have risen on my four extremities and have spread. The room squeezed me. Which as I have crawled to a door, choking and shivering as if the prisoner on an electric chair. Here it, the purpose - the door handle. I have stretched hands and have hooked on it rested downwards asking about that the mechanism has turned. The latch has opened, and then I has fallen out outside. The head hooted from an event. Without losing seconds of time I kicked a door and that has slammed. Everything has stopped. As though someone wanted to rush on me with moral storm, but it wasn’t possible to it yet. I was spread on a floor. For me time has stopped. I has closed the eyes. Again the world played on a strings of a silence. “Darn.” - it was carried by at me on mind. All stock inside. Slightly having risen on elbows, examining a door of a room from which just has dropped out, I have muttered from uncertainty shares:“ All right, it only my fears, such more than once have already happened ”. So has said in low tones, just like someone could hear this conversation me with myself. Though, who knows. In entrenchments under squall of bullets everyone can believe in god and here not an exception. After things which here are created it is possible to believe in Santa Claus. Things vanish in this city, and new one appears. Streets are interchanged the position, and some and at all disappear. Having leaned about a handrail, I have risen and recovered the breath examining a vestibule. The door of an input from last my visit and was open, the wall had the big wooden hours which arrows have forever stiffened on figure seven. Such facecinating that here the most part of a house is made by tree. On a wall the picture and in the corner near an input a small case with clothes hung. The ladder didn’t inspire special trust, but actually was quite strong. I have approached to the door in a room and opened its sharp movement. All was as it should be and only the heap of the broken porcelain reminded of that that has occurred. With the doubled eagerness I have seized a lamp and matches which have imperceptibly dropped on a floor earlier, during a nervous attack. The parchment piece has been put by me in a pocket of the jeans. All that was necessary with me and I run out from a room. In a head one phrase shouted: “Run!”. I was threw downwards on a ladder and have dexterously rounded hours below as though specially put that I have stopped. But here, last step and I Outside. It is Not enough. But here, I have stumbled about a threshold and have fallen to asphalt. It painful sick, but isn’t deadly. All things including a lamp have escaped. Rested on a foot of the right foot I have risen.

The morning, one of the most ordinary in this place. When because of a fog it is not visible anything further twelve meters. Despite all unpredictability of events, it was possible to tell precisely that time here flows, but it is unusual. It flows too slowly, as the river which has slowed down the course because of dams, constructed by beavers, and maybe has absolutely stopped. It was autumn. It’s time when trees dump the turned yellow foliage on the earth and remain bared to keep itself during winter. Small house, in that street about which I wrote in a note, stood easy as if in it and there was nobody. Again I have woken up on the second floor with a parchment piece, in one of rooms. Searches didn’t result me. Having felt that I wake up, I have brought to head of a hand and have tried to move apart eyelids with my fingers without allowing to sink again to myself into somnolence abyss. Not the best way, but the most effective for me. “Again.” - with a spiteful note of weariness in was distributed from my lips. Having heaved a deep sigh I has risen on feet and has slightly reeled half asleep. The room was small.It was brightened up by a small tea table in the center, with family service on it which for some reason was conspicuous. A small sofa of a brown coloring and the closed window at once behind it. Having made pair of steps I has noticed as floor boards creak.” Such old, any more one family of bark beetles has lodged in them “, was carried by in my head. I have lifted small oil lamp at a window which I kindle every night, thinking that someone can see its light outside. But all is vain. Taking matches found me earlier. Unexpectedly, having turned, I have noticed a mirror. Big, approximately in the two third of my growth hung on a wall with salad wall-paper. It all has grown with a web and has become covered by a dust as though it have specially covered with a piece of a white fabric. I have risen and have reflected. In me rushed about some thoughts, one of which I tried to catch. But nevertheless having remembered that such focuses not a rarity I have approached to a mirror. Stylistics it reminded the nineteenth century. On its frame the half-fallen down pieces of a tree, as if ready to be scattered in chips from only one touch of my finger to their surface in places flaunted. Irresolutely having raised a hand against level of a chin and having hesitated for a time to steam of seconds, I one movement have erased a dust strip from a smooth surface having dirtied the hand. The person of the person looked at me. He was about one twenty - twenty three years, It was pale, and bags under eyes let know about sleep debts. A direct accurate nose slightly pointed by the end, black eyebrows expressing frankness and and the severity, and also my long black hair licked back, already began puffed and become dirty. “What a pig.” - I have told peering into the reflection as if being sorry about something.The city became empty, I had nobody to smarten up for, my thoughts were cut constantly by paranoid thought - to find somebody, the nobility that I not one in this wonderland.

City. Foggy and silent as though living by his own rules, playing strings of the unknown musical instrument I observe day by day. Spacious streets grown with an ivy, deserted paths covered with asphalt and flowerbeds with faded lilies. Houses with empty windows so drawing and frightening me since I have woken up here. All it was a part of me, as a parasite stucked the canines deeply in a skin, and this city, foggy and deaf has stiffened in my soul. Nevertheless not all was such as this place. There, nearby outside of small town, only through mile-two the lawn grew. No, I haven’t made a reservation. Boundless fields of a green grass as one continuous fluffy carpet covered the crude earth. And somewhere the apple-tree there grows. At all I do not know how to explain the phenomena occurring round me, but that I precisely feel the only thing, i’m happy to be there. I at all have no concept as I have got here, for what I here and why. Memory still can reproduce separate pictures, sensations similar to a veil of the inconsistent information which I have apprehended earlier before I have appeared in this place, that constantly weighs me and moves on searches of things which could explain everything. Something frightening is in this city that simultaneously bewitches and burns from within. That holds me here till now. I write with hope that somebody will find this record in the future. I spend the night in the house number ten which is located in the street Camomiles as the inscription on the index says. If you read it, please, find me there shortly, I ask.