What is the most annoying sound in the world? What is the most annoying sound in the world that is able to wake up someone with an intent to kill? What is the most annoying sound in the world that could be described as a “crime against mankind”? What is it? It’s questions like these I ask myself while just lying in my bed. Staring at the ceiling while I gather the remains of dreams and unfinished thoughts. Thinking about what I should do at this time of day. But then I slowly begin to remember: today is Friday, it is currently 0600 hours. And the most annoying sound in the world, that is able to wake up someone with an intent to kill, that can be described as a “crime against mankind” – the most annoying sound is the fucking alarm. I reached for my phone, which was resting on the edge and was soon to drop onto the floor from all the buzzing, cracking the screen yet again. Not even looking at the screen, I tap onto it for the alarm to finally shut the fuck up. Now I could sleep a bit more, but instead I get out of my warm bed and get into the bathroom, stepping onto cold as a pack of ice laminate flooring. Strangely enough, the bathroom is cleaner than all the other places. And warmer. At least my feet didn’t want to curl up from just stepping onto it. How can it be that the laminate flooring is somehow colder than a fucking tile one? Whatever, I just need to get myself in shape. Walking out with such a face would get me a death penalty, for sure. I put both my hands on the sides of the rather new and clean ceramic sink, and look up into the mirror. The mirror itself, its reflective surface, is clean, as if it is completely new, as if it was here for only five seconds, not realizing the horrors that is the other rooms – with all the dust wandering around like desert sand forming a dune, with all the filth and mold creeping into the weak reinforced concrete. Oh god, did I think about this again? I mean, it’s nice to think in a different dimension, but not entirely. Whatever, it’s just my sleepiness wearing off. I just should hit my face with a hand of cold water, that would get me up and running. I turn the valve on the cold metallic faucet. Soon, the ice-cold water blasts out of it, with a force of a thousand suns. I fill my hands with it and before I’ll get a frostbite, I dive into the water. The coldness was more than enough to finally wake me up. For a second I felt like everything in my body received a hard reboot. The blood rushes inside my veins, warming up my hands and my face. I place my hands back onto the sides of the sink and look at myself in the mirror. Lo and behold, fuckface. I don’t think there will be a second face looking so lifeless, dreadful. The man I see in the mirror does not look like he is 21 years old. Much more like… I don’t know, 30? 35? As if he had hit the line, but not entirely, as if he’s still clinging on the margin, but was given a choice – pull back into the safety, or plunge into the abyss. My hair is quite long, hiding my gaze. Strangely enough, I don’t see the hair, maybe because my eyes have adapted to avoid it, thus giving me a clear picture, while my interlocutor doesn’t even know where I look. And the eyes… Oh, my eyes. Those are the most depressing pair of eyes a man has ever witnessed. Toxic green, full of contrast, and yet nothing behind the cornea – complete and absolute nothingness. It’s a gaze of pain. My beak looks completely normal, and so does my giant crest, slicing in half that messy mass of my hair. Under my beak is some kind of a formation, either a crest or actual hair, making me look like I have a goatee. Whenever I talk to someone, they always bring it up, as if it is obligatory to know what this wicked formation is. I like it, it gives me additional character. I took a piss and left the bathroom, completely ready for this utterly boring day. I walk into the kitchen and quickly make myself breakfast, that would make me last until the lunch break. The cup is still dirty; it was clean inside before, absolutely shining – now it’s almost brown from all the tea that was left in it. For me, that doesn’t matter that much – besides, disgustingly warm black tea without any sugar tastes better when the mug is dirty. The sandwiches are simple and rather depressing, but despite their look they get me a long way in college, which is nice. I quickly devour my breakfast and walk out of the kitchen back into my bedroom. I check the time: an hour minutes until the first lecture, I need to get going if I don’t want to get late. First thing I do – open up my wardrobe and take out a fresh pair of socks. One more remaining. I should buy them sometime later. After putting on the socks, I look around the room in search of my coat. I took it off in the middle of the night because I was almost dying. Soon I found it, my beautiful thick army green coat. I put it on with ease. It feels like a second layer of skin, protecting from everything, except for mental damage. That one hits in the guts even with the coat on. That’s just sad. I walk into the hallway. There, I put on my typical sturdy shoes and check the bag if I missed anything. Soon, sure that I didn’t miss anything, I leave, lock the door and get outside. A typical early morning. Silence stretches wide across the barely awoken streets. The sky is pale and blueish. Rubbish all around. Depressing, yeah. Just like my fucking life. Fuck it, I need to move. I shake my head and get moving to the nearest bus station. It’s a long walk, but I walk rather quickly. There, under the beaten remains of steel and wood, I sit down on a fucked up bench, looking at the fucked up buildings on a fucked up street. I don’t even question why things are fucked up anymore. I left this for philosophers, poets and other bullshitters, who can’t do anything normal with their lives, aside from blabbing typical shit that was talked about thousands of years ago from time to time. This is really annoying, and what annoys me the most is the fact that this is completely true. The bus, looking rather new in comparison to everything around it, slowly made its way to the stop. The door opened, I got inside and sat down. It was rather empty, aside from some other people with a desire to be somewhere else. I can understand them. It’s really hard to do nothing, even harder with something to spend time with lying right beside. The bus driver is definitely an impatient person, but for me that’s a win. Gets me an additional couple of minutes before the bell. He stops and opens the door, and I’m the only one to leave at this bus stop. First things first, I look around. The district is nice, much nicer than that hellhole I’ve been living in for quite a while. The buildings looked fresh and new, the sidewalks looked taken care of. Even the sky, already taken the gauze of typical gray, even the fucking sky is shining differently. As if whoever is behind the lights control favors everything, except for poverty. Capitalism, my ass. I walk down the streets. I know where I go, there’s no need to rush or anything. This path is the quickest one to the college. Soon, after going around yet another corner, I see the building in the distance. Monstrous, brutal, it stands high with pride against the surrounding army of identical apartment complexes. Looking at it like so switches something on inside me. The same volitional pride. Standing, surrounded by the world. Except for the fact that I barely remember how pride feels, and standing against the violent beings on this carnivorous planet only makes me more confused and a bit afraid. I look at the time, and increase my pace. My poetic side is kicking in really well lately, I don’t like it. Makes me miss important things. But, on the other hand, it is a bit better to feel something about my surroundings, no matter how bland and unappealing they can get sometimes. I rush inside, pushing away some unknown freshman, storm the staircase and make it to the class just in the nick of time. The adrenaline kicks in harder than heroin, my heart, feeling like a heavy ten-pound freight, pounds like crazy. I take my usual seat, and notice that I don’t have my casual mate Dave Buster near me. Strange. Maybe he got sick? Whatever. The teacher goes down the list, marking the presence of students. After that, he looks around his PC searching for material to give us, giving others a moment to whisper and giving me a moment to take control over my heartbeat. Never again. Finally, the teacher turns on the projector and gets the lecture going. In between writing, I’ve been thinking about Dave Buster, and how I got to know him. Long story short, it was quite an interesting occurrence. I like sports, quite a lot actually. Definitely one thing that I can do without any motivation – just on my own, my little volition and my dream to be a mass of indestructible muscle. Of course, I was not aiming high – that dream was only a joke that made the process a bit easier to handle, – but even then I really got into it. Hooked onto doing sports like people do drugs or alcohol. I was acing things in P. E. The teacher, who actually looked quite the middle ground between a fatman and an ex-commander, looked at me with pride, thinking to himself: this is my boy, right there. People in my group looked at me with either awe, disgust or envy (thinking about what they’ve felt about me made my head hurt a bit; I decided to leave it as is, unclear. That would be better.). And then I got paired with someone in abs training. That someone was Dave Buster. At the time, and even now, he is a man of his own desires, truths and moral values. People call him weird and make jokes about him, but he doesn't mind, knowing how little he actually care. (I really envy him on this one.) The whispers surrounding him were common, and soon, after someone found out his profiles on the internet, he earned himself a wicked nickname. I was the only one that didn’t call him like that. Either “Dave” or “Buster” (because “Buster” sounds really nineties-esque cool). When he got paired up with me, I didn’t hear a singular snicker. Not even a distant echo of one. They were all up to their business, leaving me with Dave, on our own. At the time I thought that I really am an object that one must fear, but now I believe that others were caring about their own things rather than “o-oh, Greene got paired with Dave” type bullshit. To say the least, I enjoyed this privacy. I began first, and finished sooner than Dave thought, making 50 reps with an ease. Then it was his time. He told me he can’t do 50, so I persuaded him to make 25. He told me he was weak and thin and he can’t do 25. I persuaded him to make at least 10. He sighed, but then agreed. I felt something glowing inside me as he said it, something of hope. That was my little victory, still, to this day. But I’m getting lost in details. After that, we quickly became good friends. There’s not really much to say about how it all happened exactly, or what keeps us with each other (the forces after), or what drove us together in the first place (the forces before). And I don’t really care. Because I’m here now, and Dave is one of my friends. The teacher left, around ten minutes before the clock. He said something to us, but I didn’t catch it. When it happens, I resort to observing my classmates and their behavior. They are all simple. Chaotic, driven by distinctly visible egoism. Almost everyone either has a pack of cigarettes, a pack of papieros or an e-cig, which is the pinnacle of tobacco consumption. Give your lung cancer a mango taste. Soon this lecture is over, and me and the rest leave the room. My throat was a bit dry, so I took off my bag and opened it to search for a bottle of water. Cold and fresh, it gives me another boost of energy, so I could go through the second lecture without any significant problems. I follow my classmates and get to the next room. The hallways are crowded. Constant talking that will get someone crazy. I sit down on a strangely empty bench and delve into my phone, to skip some time. I’m not spending it online, just making a face that I’m delved into it so that people can fuck off. While I sit on the phone, showcasing my nonchalance, I try to hear everything around me. There are a lot of different voices, a lot of different conversations taking place, but out of all of them I hear: — …I guess we share a room… — …another group?... — …so much fucking chaos… — …I would be able to talk to him!... All of this means that some other group had their lecture replaced, and now we have to share a classroom. Interesting. With which group do we share it? I hope that it will be a group with Tommy, because otherwise I’d fucking die of boredom. The other group slowly shows up to the classroom. Those who know each other begin to talk, I find myself alone, yet again. But not for long, as my favorite trustworthy dino takes a seat near me. — Really fucking boring. At least they could’ve tried and changed it so we won’t have to be here at all, – Tommy said, as we shook hands. – How are you doing? — Dying of boredom and loneliness, as you can see. — Oh, I get you. The first lecture is always like this. We sat in silence for a few seconds, gazing upon the hoard of students. Constant noise and reeking of sweat and tropical vapes. — I don’t even know how the teacher will get us to sit properly, – Tommy said. — He won’t, I think, – I respond and look at Tommy. – He’ll give us a work and get the fuck out while he’s still alive. Tommy chuckled. — Yeah, that sounds quite reasonable, – he says. Soon, the bell rings, and we make our way inside. Lucky us, we managed to secure ourselves a good table with steady seats. Others weren’t that lucky, they had to bring in the benches from the hall. The teacher, that old ass who barely gives a fuck about us, gave us a four page long test and quickly left. What was interesting is that he didn’t even say anything. Well, that was interesting for the first time me and my class had to meet him – as the time went by, it became a usual thing. Maybe he’s mute, that’s why he doesn’t speak? Whatever, the test is more important. Me and Tommy began to solve the enchanting table of chemistry, passing the problems from one to another. If we were on our own, I don’t think we would be able to solve it quickly. Hell, I don’t think we would be able to solve it at all! But when we’re paired… we are an unstoppable mind force. Before we knew it, and after what felt like 30 minutes of nonstop solving, we got the test. We didn’t care if we failed miserably – we solved it first, we wuz kangz. We took our solved test and began to wait for the bell. We weren’t rushing anywhere, so we just sat, thinking about our own things. And while I was sitting static, as if my entire body turned into marble or concrete, making me a literal statue with a pulse lower than a dead man and a gaze more frightening than the gaze of a broken soldier, – and while I was sitting static, almost meditating, Tommy was always in motion. He couldn’t sit straight. ADHD? — Jesus Christ… – he said all of a sudden. I looked at him and noticed his eyes piercing my very being. I tilted my head slightly to the side, silently asking him a question. — How the fuck can you just sit and do nothing? – he asked. I turned my head back to the table, the varnished wood with a solemn pattern was something mesmerizing. Then I just shrugged. — I don’t know, really, – I said. – A habit that I got from somewhere, maybe. — Your childhood? – he guessed. The word made me shiver a little. He didn’t notice, but I felt like a wave of something bad flushed over me. — Maybe, I don’t know, – I responded and looked at Tommy. He leaned away. — Alright, keep your words, magic man, – he said, smiling. I chuckled a bit. — Yo, wait, what? You guys already solved everything? – someone asked from behind. I turned around and saw a familiar face of one of my classmates. He was one of the annoying ones, but what separated him from typical “annoying ones” was the fact that he could make the entire classroom suffer with him. — You have the answers, bro? – he asked. — For you – no, – I reply. — Why? What the fuck did I do? – he asked, surprised. — Because of who we had to sit until 5 PM when we could sit until 4? – I asked him back. My question dumbfounded him. He dropped his eyes. Either way, even if he was nice, I wouldn’t give him the answers. I just forgot them. Around half an hour later, the teacher finally returned, noticed the papers and let those who had done the test leave the classroom, which meant me and Tommy are now free like never. We made our way onto the first floor, into the empty cafeteria, where it reeks of chlorine and salt, and where the shitty food is priced higher than a good pack of cigarettes. Or two packs of papieros. I decided to spend some cash here. I’m too lazy to go to a shop across the street. Tommy takes a seat and waits for me, while I wait for that old dino lady to give me my meal. Soon, I joined Tommy and began digesting whatever I bought. — How does it taste? – Tommy asks, curious and mischievous. — Like dog shit, – I reply and take another bite. He asks for a bite, I oblige, and – nom – half of that thing is gone now. I finished it and cleaned my hands with a napkin near me. Tommy audibly swallows the food, clearly not liking the taste. — Damn, it does taste like shit, – he said and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. – Why did you buy it? — Cause I was hungry, – I replied. — The store is just over the street, are you that fucking lazy? – he asked, genuinely surprised. — Yeah, I am. — Don’t you have, like, a prepared meal or something? I thought you always had those on you. It clicked. A meal. I open my bag and search around. Only to remember that it is now in the fridge, at my home. Far away from here. I leave the bag and lie onto the table, in defeat. How could I forget this simple thing? And it’s not like it happens to me daily, this is a rare occurrence. — You forgot it, – Tommy stated. I didn’t reply. — Poor you, – Tommy said, then stood up and left. Now I was alone, in the cafeteria. Lying on the table in silence. It still reeks of salt and chlorine. The table is cold, but I barely care. The baleful lights illuminate my presence. Right now, in my stomach, a monetary equivalent of a book, a pack of papieros or a nice meal outside this forsaken place, is being digested. I spent those dollars for nothing, basically. The bell rings, telling me to fuck off into the different place. Before this cafeteria will get crowded, I make my way outside the cafeteria, onto the needed floor and straight into the classroom. The luck of the devil – Tommy’s group is mixed up with my group yet again. — That’s just amazing, – Tommy says, sarcastically. – I could understand once, but twice? In a row? With the same group? I nod. There’s just too much to allocate, making this occurrence much more absurd than it is. — Eh, whatever, – Tommy brushes his hand aside through the noise of the classroom, – I like to spend some time with my friend, and I’m sure you do too. I check the time. 10 minutes remaining. A lot to talk about remains too. ­— So, what’s with the book? – I asked. – Did you resolve everything? — Yeah! Now it’s all done for, – he says, – and soon the book will be out in the field! I thought that it would be done next week, but as the publisher reports to me – it will be right on Sunday! Just as I’ve planned. — You’ll give out free copies on the flatshow? – I guess. — Not only that! – he continues, ecstatic. – Signed copies! I nod. — Good job, man, – I reply, unable to find suitable words for this kind of thing. — There is a lot planned between me and the publisher… – he begins, and soon delves into the topic of writing and publishing. I found myself in a turmoil, listening to all the terms and vibrant phrases he uses. He emits the power of literature. And I am the fucking vampire, burning alive from the heat of this power. The more Tommy talked, the more I found myself dying from the mass of all he said to me. I thought I was going to pass out. Up until I suddenly felt something really soft and warm press against my back. — Hey, hey, heeey.~ – whispered in my ear. Sera. How can one forget her voice, of a one-of-a-kind blasphemous lust? How can one forget her hands, clasping like shackles around the body? And how can one forget the feeling of her chest pressed against one's back? Poetry aside. Sera is a nice girl, don't get me wrong. She's just too... obnoxiously horny...? I should give a proper story. It all began in the first year of college. My blood was still fresh, my mind was still murky, and a singular thought about the future was considered worse than a brain tumor. At that time I was an avid visitor of a gym I spotted near the college. It was relatively new, not taken over by bodybuilders or egoistic gals. With some extra cash I had, I decided to buy an annual pass into the gym, so I could spend my time a bit differently from just staring until I go to sleep. Going to the gym after a busy day was tough, there's no need to say anything. But the more I did that, the more I went to the gym after college, the more my body adapted to the rhythm. And with this adaptation came a huge change. My body began transforming like crazy, not even four months in I already gained quite a staggering amount of muscle. But enough about that. The day I met Sera was somewhere in the middle of May, before the college exam which shall decide whether you're worthy or not of its filthy “pissers” and pissed off teachers. That day I did my usual thing – went all over my body, leaving a bit of energy to make it back to my home. I was in the middle of my workout, taking a break, gazing upon how beautiful my body looked. I definitely looked like an ideal soldier – mind off, body jacked, ready to kill without remorse. And then I spotted her. She looked like she saw some kind of a miracle, her face was one of true ecstasy. I could read her thoughts: I want you in my bed, tonight . Or something like that. It was quite a long time ago, so I may be lying. But to say she was amazed by my virility is to say nothing. At that time, and still to this day, I hated triceratopses like her. There was just too much shit from the army that I can't forget. But whatever I told her, whether a polite and respectful "please leave, you're disturbing me" or a straightforward, but sincere “get lost, trigga”, – whatever I told her, she just stood her ground, in awe of my masculine body, mumbling something about me and definitely thinking about a proper mating press for the cause of reproduction. Unlike other people that could be me that moment, I caught her awe relatively quickly, and made a bodybuilder pose. She gasped, and a quick thought came over to my mind with an electrochemical discharge - she wanted me for good. Strangely enough, I didn't feel like hating her. Of course, she was a triceratops, and I hated them fucking assholes, but she felt different. Caring, respectful, understanding. And horny. Two hundred percent horny for me and my caveman-like masculinity. There was no doubt about that. I sat down with her, to spend some time talking. She was constantly asking me about who I am and who my parents are. Something told me she was into humans. Maybe because their dicks are larger and they are not stingy with their words. I told her quite a lot about myself and my parents, and I think that clicked something inside her; at least her gaze, which just couldn't be any more horny, told me so. I thought – fuck. Now I'm on her hook, and she wouldn't let me go, because she knows that my dad was a human. I already was thinking about buying a casket and throwing myself inside it, when it clicked to me that I actually know that girl. At least as much as observing her with the edge of my eye could tell. I asked different things, and soon we found out that we are in the same college. What's more interesting – we are in the same fucking group. Now that was a dream come true. (Did I even consider it a dream? Or was it a nightmare I called it? Whatever.) When I returned home I thought about this for a long time, but I didn't come to any proper conclusions, and soon just went to sleep. After that day, other days went short, passing by like a cigarette passed around between three tobacco craving mouths. A drag, a cloud, pass the cigarette - that's how quickly they've gone by. I breezed through the exam, breezed through the summer, when I worked at a liquor store near me, and then breezed through the first months of college. And now I'm here. Sitting between Tommy, who was still giving his literature monologue... — ...and all that I've said can be summarized in one good phrase... ...and Sera, listening to him, torturing me with her chest pressing against my back. (That second, for some reason, I thought: God will not save me on this one.) It is hard to listen to someone passionately talking while there is a girl behind who is clearly head over heels for you. So I just nodded away, in hopes that everything would pass like it always does. And it did. Soon Tommy left to take a piss, and I was now all alone with Sera. The time until the next period – five minutes. After the following period will be the lunch break. Good, because I'm getting quite hungry. Sera looked the same, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. The tip of her tail was wagging side to side, slowly. She sat opposite me, taking Tommy's place, and just looked at me, eyes full of something I already know about. — Why are you so sad, Greene? – she asked, her fingers intertwined in her long purple hair. — It's just how I look, – I replied. — Oh, come on, don't lie to me, – she said and put her other hand on my knee. – I know a sad Greene when I see one. — I'm not sad, alright? – I said. — I know what will cheer you up, – she said, not listening to my response, and leaned in; her face was stuffed with horniness; I imagine it spilling out of it like water out of an old beaten keg. – My mom won't be at home tomorrow. And you and I will be alone for a long time.~ — Another study session? – I asked out of the blue. That caught her off guard. She definitely had other plans for tomorrow. — Y-yeah, – she said. – Another one. I sighed. Sometimes even the smart girls can be stupid. — What is it again? – I asked. — Maths. – Something told me she was lying, but I decided to keep it at bay. — Alright, – I reply polysemously. – As usual then, right? — Yeah, as usual. She stood up and, as she left, she put her finger onto my shoulder and made a line – from that shoulder, onto my head, to the other shoulder. — I'll be waiting.~ – she said, almost whispering, and left the classroom. And now I was alone. Again. This loneliness feels just like home sometimes. Sitting at an empty table, surrounded by people carried away by their own things, filling up the space of this classroom with constant talks and other shit. In a moment like this I completely disconnect from reality, open a door to the other side and proceed into the river of illusion that is nostalgia. A lot of things have passed from the days when I was young, a lot of feelings are now collecting dust inside the crate that is the memories about the army. Everything feels different, when you ponder about them long after the events took place. Tommy returned just as the bell began ringing in the hall. He obligingly closed the door and sat at the table. And then we just sat. For five minutes. Turns into ten minutes. Turns into twenty. It seems that either we got something wrong or the teacher was too lazy to even show his tired, frustrated face in front of us. I sit in silence, so does Tommy, sitting to my left. But instead of just complete static position and abruptly leaving the reality I’m in, I delve into the faces that I buried deep inside my mind – not the memories of those idiots I’ve met in the army or those from my childhood who I willingly forgot, just those friends I’ve made in the last year. Tommy… Tommy’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with him. He has it all in his hands, and he doesn’t look particularly tired or anything. Seems that he actually enjoys where he is, with all this work grouping up on him like thugs while he’s a superhero – taking down task after task, one by one. He’ll go a long way, with his writing and, possibly, music careers. Nasera is cool too, being around Tommy definitely changed her for the better. It seems that she became much less… sentimental, as she was before. And boy oh boy, her version from the first year and now is like hell and heaven. Now that I look at this, truth be told, I think that there was some kind of a chain reaction. Tommy helped Nasera, while Nasera helped me with some small issues I had. And this chain reaction is still going. I think it’ll not go for a while, so I’ll make the most out of it while I can. Claire was a surprise, being a human and all that. Also being the youngest out of Tommy’s siblings. She’s fine, but I don’t know much about her, so I’ll leave it like that. She’s fine, and there’s nothing else to add. And Sera… Jesus. There’s just too much for me to say about her, yet in the meantime it is clear enough for others and for me. There’s definitely something going on inside her mind, no questions here, but in the meantime I feel like I know everything – the reason, the possible perspectives, the ways to tackle this… Everything. I’ll leave pondering about Sera for another time. The bell rang again. Fuck, did I just spend the entire “empty lecture” thinking about my friends? Well, to be fair, thinking about them is a thing that can entice for good, it’s just that… Well, I don’t know. We left the classroom again. Now it was lunch time. And I didn’t have any lunch, so I have to spend some more time. Yet fucking again. In moments like these I want to be smitten by God’s wrathful hand. (I could even pay for this to happen.) Anyways, I make my way to the other classroom on the floor above, which also is the last floor in the college building. My class is already there, crowding up against the door of the classroom. I sit down far away from them on the free bench and just look at them. Despite their overall uniqueness, in every way possible, they are almost the same. I heard from somewhere – if everyone is unique, then no one is unique. Instead of individuals, with their own goals and interests, I see a mass, desiring the same thing, doing the same things. And I’m here, behind them all, like a social pariah. Except that I’m not a social pariah, despite looking and maybe even emitting an aura of one. I just don’t know what I could talk to them about. There’s nothing good coming up in my mind. And I sat like this, staring at the crowd, waiting for the bell to ring, up until I felt someone sit right beside me. I look around and notice Sera, giving me the same wicked smile she uses all the time. There was not any malice, just lust, and that lust alone was enough to make this smile ten thousand times more wicked than it was supposed to be. ­— Tommy told me you forgot your meal, – Sera said. As she uttered, I felt the food I bought inside my stomach crack and turn, dissolving in the acid. That audio cue was more than enough for her, it seems, as she pulled out a rather big container with pre-made meal. And not like simple sandwiches or anything – like a proper meal. She gave me the container and metal utensils. I popped the lid open and began eating. And Jesus fucking Christ, her meal was amazing. There was a lot to it, enough to make the taste vibrant, but not a lot, keeping the saturation at a golden level. I thought that this was unreachable, but there it is, right in my hands. As I eat, I glance around the hallway. Aside from some students here and there, and my classmates at the door to the classroom, I notice a pair of students. They’re almost like us. A pink female raptor and a yellow dino in a white jacket. They were handholding. A sight to see, for sure. — They are almost like us, – Sera says, looking at them too. I nod. I look down into the container. It’s half empty. Eating everything up makes me feel uncomfortable, it’s Sera’s meal I’m talking about in the end. But maybe Sera has her own meal, and this container is made for me? Whatever, at least I’ll show that I’m not a retard. I close the container and handle it, with the utensils, back to Sera. She, smiling nicely, takes the container and settles it down inside her bag. — Is this your last pair*? – she asks. — Yeah, it is, – I reply. – What about you? — My last one too, – she says, – on the second floor. There are some things that I have to take care of on the top. — Like what? – I ask, curiously. — Typical classwarden** bullshit, – she says, and gives me a bit of a pleading look. – Will you wait for me? — Not like I have to run somewhere, so yeah, – I reply. The bell rings. She gives me yet another her typical lustful smile. Then we hug for a quick second, and as we embraced each other she whispered into my ear: — I’ll not keep you waiting for long.~ She soon stands up and leaves, her hips sway wide. The constant flirty tone is something to be worried about, but I barely care. The girl has some plans, and I don’t. I should be envying her for having it all clear. I stand up and make it inside the classroom. I take my usual lonely seat. The teacher rolls in slowly, checks the list of present students and gives us a short lecture about whatever because I forgot. Not even the half in, he gently tells us to fuck off somewhere else. That is just a win after a win. I quickly descend to the first floor and leave the college building. Immediately, I was punched in the face by a blast of the wind. The coldest wind a man can ever imagine. I could feel my ears curl up and my organs turn inside into liquid. I slowly walk down the concrete staircase, but stop in the middle, step aside and sit down onto the concrete stair. I have Sera and Tommy to wait. Besides, there is someone else I want to meet today. I took out a pack of papieros. Only two left. Shit, how did I manage to smoke them so quickly? Looking at an almost empty pack makes me feel my wallet shrink and then disintegrate before my very eyes. Whatever, I’ll still have my scholarship*** soon enough. I take one out and light it up. Take a drag and exhale a small cloud of blueish gray smoke. It spins, witnessing the constant battle, soon to dissipate into nothingness of the sky. The streets around me go endlessly in all directions. Go into one – you’ll leave the city. Go into the opposite – you’ll get deeper into the city. Go into the middle – you’ll get to the abandoned asylum building on the hill. In the north there are cities better than this, gentler and nicer than this, more violent than this – and yet this city feels much better than any place, much gentler and nicer than any place, much more violent than any place. And on the south there is an ocean shore, leading up to the horizon and afterwards. And above me, above all the tallest buildings, above all this endless meat grinding and machinery – and above all is the endless cosmos, hidden by the dense flooring of heaven that is this overcast sky. I shiver, and I feel the world shivering with me as one. — Boo you! – I heard it coming from the right. I turn my head and notice Tommy, standing near, looking at me with a cheeky smile. He always says it when he notices me smoking, so now I just barely give a fuck. Instead, I silently offered him the cig I was smoking. He sat beside me on the cold concrete stair, took it and made a long drag, completely finishing it. As he exhaled a huge cloud, he threw the smoldering filter onto the ground. — That was the last one , – I say. He didn’t look like he listened. He reached into his pockets, and then suddenly held out to me a pack of papieros. The pack was new, looking beautiful, and the brand was not a cheap one. It wasn't pricy, but definitely out of my financial grasp. — As a thanks for yesterday, – Tommy said. — For what? – I asked, surprised, and took the pack. — For keeping Nasera entertained, – he said, smiling, – and for keeping her out of the rain. That's a wicked reasoning. Eh, whatever, a pack of papieros is a pack of papieros. I opened it, took one into my mouth, gave one to Tommy. We lit the sticks up and soon began to melancholically ponder upon things that are already clear enough for us. It became a habit for us to smoke at least a couple of cheap nicotine ziggies before going home. — Days are getting tougher, – Tommy says. I look at him, trying to be as sympathetic as I can get. — I have a part-time job now, – he explained. – It's really hard for me to keep my sanity at bay. There's just too fucking much for me. I don't say anything, just keep looking. And it's not because I don't want to support my friend and my fellow smoker, but it's because I just don't know what to say in this situation. Or is there anything to say, actually. I am too delved into my own haystack of poisoned needles. — So the flatshow is denied? – I say, trying to guess. — No, no, the flatshow will happen! – Tommy quickly responded. – It's just... No, nothing. Nothing. Don't worry. I didn't say anything, thinking that would be better than to force him to say anything. He took a slow drag, then exhaled yet another huge cloud. Showcasing how big his lungs got from all the swimming. — You'll be there, right? – he asked. — Of course, – I respond. — Alright... At least that is tossed away. He threw the finished papieros aside, to smolder in loneliness on a cold concrete. Moments like these wake up some strange empathy for inanimate objects like these – smoldering, like organic life. Tommy didn't care, for him a cig is always a cig. A little tobacco stick that he buys every day to relieve some mental struggle. Tommy looked at me, rather empathetically. — So... what's going on between you and Sera? – he suddenly asked. I was taken aback by the question. Something I never expected out of Tommy's mouth. He never was the one who would question someone's relationship, other than his own. But right now he's sitting near me, asking me about the status between me and Sera. What do I even say here? Question his sanity? Question why he's interested? I don't know. — I don't know, – I said out loud. He was silent for a second, thinking about my response, then straightened a bit and said: — It's not for me to say, but I am just like you sometimes. I get confused about who am I to Nasera. — How so? – I asked him. — I don't know, – he said. – Just like you don't know who you are to Sera. I chuckled. — What? – he asked, a bit irritated. — Their names are almost similar, – I point out. – Hear it. Nasera – Sera. Sera – Nasera. He chuckled too. — Yeah, – he said. – Fucking soundalikes. We chatted a bit more, then he stood up, shook my hand and left the scene. I watched as his silhouette slowly and slowly got tinier and soon disappeared entirely. I think to myself – that was me too. From the day I was born to my 18th birthday. I slowly and slowly got tinier and tinier, compared to the gigantic world around me, and then I disappeared. Dissipated. Because I saw the most carnivorous side of the world. I am not a person who would blame someone else, really. I just think no one deserves to be blamed. What if there was something or someone else, taken out of the picture to make everything sound plausible? But when I think about myself, about how I came to what I was, about where I've begun, I blame one person. Fuck you dad, you piece of army shit. Painted yourself in camouflage to not show any remorse to me. Taught me how to operate a firearm since 9. Sent me into the deepest pit, to continue the tradition of broken men. Like you didn't have enough. Like you wanted more, you insatiable fuck. If there was one I could hate, it would be you. For many reasons. One most important thing is that you didn't let me be. Like my sister . That is why I'm here, and not in our household. That's why I'm with them, and not with you. You don't deserve forgiveness, despite your “love” and “care”. Fuck you, eternally. It hurts to think about this, but spitting out this rabies induced saliva of endless baleful hate dulls the pain until it is completely gone. I sigh at my hatred, slowly understanding that maybe, just maybe, my dad tried to be nice to me, tried to break all of this army bullshit to show some actual love… No. In the end, no army man can be a good father. — Thinking about him again, Greene? – I hear from behind. I turn my head and notice a pair of legs in slacks and varnished leather shoes. Then I stand up and see the buttoned shirt and a nice silky jacket. And after that I raise my gaze, to notice a familiar face of a raptor named Mr. Kerensky. I shake hands with him and sit back down onto the concrete. He squats down near me. (When he squatted, on the microscopic I could feel his slacks ripping apart. God, why did he buy them if he knew they would be tight?) He asked me for a cig, I obliged and gave him one. He thanked me, whipped out his premium-looking benzine lighter and lit the papieros. He took a drag and, like a fucking sommelier, tasted the smoke. — It’s different from what you usually smoke, – he says and looks at me. — My friend gave me a pack, – I explain, – as a thanks. — Oh, I see… – he says, meaningfully. We sat in silence for a short while, smoking papierosy and thinking about our things. Mr. Kerensky is a nice person. Really nice. I can say he’s nicer than Tommy, even. Always wearing classy clothes, but not a stiff and boring motherfucker. Talking about difficult topics, but using simple words. Drinking the hardest liquors, but not getting drunk (I think it’s due to him being Hungarian). Unorthodox, but charming. He flicks the smoldering filter onto the runway far from where we sit. Impressive. — It is hard to let go, of course, – he says all of a sudden. – There are a lot of good things that one doesn’t want to forget. But we must. — And what if you can, but something holds you back? – I asked him. — To that, my broken friend, I say – observe, – he replies, looking at me with hope. – Constantly observe, not only the surroundings, but yourself. Delve into your memories if there’s no other way. Look at your feelings, look around yourself. There is a lot that will tell you what to do. – He sits closer. – You see, I was like you, at your age even. I went through the army. My head was dizzy, I didn’t know what to do. I began observing, and sooner than I thought I found what I needed to do with myself. — I think I am already observing enough. — There is no such word as “enough”. It’s just you’ve made progress. How far you’ve got from point A. And how just a bit farther is point B. He sighs, suddenly melancholically. — You see, despite my knowledge and dealing with people like you, there’s not much I can really do. I do as much as I can, of course, but a lot of things happen on your end. — I know. — I can bring a horse to the water, but I can’t make it drink. I nod. — Your case is difficult. But we will make the most out of it while we still can. I don’t know what will flip a switch inside your mind, and I certainly don’t know the outcome, but I know for sure that we are not done yet. As I’ve said it’s only a bit farther now. I nod again. For a quick second we sit in silence, and then he stands up. — A talk about nothing… – he said. — No, it was a good talk, – I replied, – about something. Thanks, Mr. Kerensky. He smiles, and we shake hands. He leaves the scene, and now I’m alone for the third time, waiting for Sera on the cold street with a handful of unfinished thoughts that I immediately discard, to think about them later. Sometimes I feel bad for Mr. Kerensky. He goes out of his way to assist me, and yet both of us feel like he pries a dead heavy door with a weak prybar. There’s not much both of us can do, and yet we are still doing something, hoping that the door will open. But the more effort we took, the more it felt like that prybar is about to give up. There are just too many locks on me, to which I forgot all the keys there could be. Maybe I prevaricate things, I don’t know. But something tells me he is about to give up. I was pulled out of my thoughts by a hand tugging my sleeve. I look around and notice Sera, next to me. She looks tired and optimistic. — They really tossed you around, didn’t they? – I guess. — Yeah, they really did, – she sighs, then looks up at me, brushing the bad away. – But it’s all done for. Let’s go. We walk down the stairs and make our way to the bus stop. There, under the steel and glass, we wait for our little thingy to finally arrive, and when it does, we barely squeeze in. The amount of people desiring to get home is really staggering, and annoying. Yet again, I feel her voluminous chest pressing against me, this time she is not in front of me. As I look down onto her for a second, she gives me a lustful, absolutely horny gaze. She doesn’t even care that we’re in a crowded bus. But neither do I, since everyone here is taken by their own things. Whatever she’s thinking about me and what I hide inside my pants, I want to get home and take a long nap. By the time the bus arrives at my stop, it is severely emptied, leaving only a handful of people, including me and Sera, already sitting. As my gaze wanders around, I notice my stop, look at Sera. She looks back relatively quickly. We share a silent hug, and I leave her. Can’t say it’s saddening, but something definitely gnaws inside me. I quickly make my way to the apartment complex. Inside, I take the stairs up to the needed floor and enter my little apartment. It didn’t change while I was absent. I take off my shoes and make my way to the bedroom, where I take everything on me off, tossing them onto the never made bed. Before falling on it just like my clothes, I take a look at the time. 5 PM. A lot to do in the meantime. I search my discarded coat and fish out the pack of papieros. With it in my hand I walk over into the kitchen, turn on the comforting yellow light and open the window wide. As wide as the construction allows. To make it into a portal of sorts. A portal for my own feelings, emotions and thoughts. Despite me having only thoughts – because my feelings and emotions are already on the other side of this window. As the cold slowly rolled in onto the laminate flooring, I opened one of the cabinets and took a matchbox. I have an electrical kettle and recently got an electrical stove, so the reason for this pack of matchboxes to exist is to fulfill the role of the missing or emptied lighter in such a moment of melancholy and depravity. I settle the pack of papieros down, take one stick out of it, light it up with a match and take a drag, as my hand instinctively flicks the used match outside, straight onto the concrete of this street. I look outside, slowly smoking and thinking as much as I can, and my gaze can only observe those beaten buildings on the other side. Where the lights in the windows are a novelty. Where no family will ever in their mind come here to live. Or, at least, to exist. Even for a second. Mr. Kerensky told me to observe, as much as I can. Even if I feel like there will not be anything interesting, I still must observe all the scrutiny around me. Even if I feel not like doing so, I still must observe with all the volition I have. With how far I’ve gone in and out of his cabinet, discussing everything I have about myself, my hope slowly burned, and this little piece of advice from him didn’t bring any oil or a stick to the smoldering bonfire. However, considering how far I’ve gone, considering how a bit farther the proper solution could be, I must at least give this a try. To use all my perception and observe. The thought about Mr. Kerensky and his advice quickly went away, blasted with a wind of the other thought. The thought about Sera. She was and is nice. She has something going on inside her head, and I’m not willing to look inside her cognitive mechanism – I’m not an insolent cunt. And that something is clearly a plan for the lingering future, something that I barely cared about. (Because I want to live, not to dream.) She has problems with some subjects, but oftentimes I feel like she just wants to spend some time with me alone, maybe to lure me into very, very long sex. There is nothing to talk about, and yet I still think about her, about the processes inside her head, about the methods she uses to try and lure me in, about her eternal lust and horniness… Why do I think about her in the first place? I should think about myself, not some overly concerned friend I have. Wait. Is she a friend to me? As that question creeped inside my mind, I violently coughed out all the smoke I had. I threw out the smoldering filter of this last stick and closed the window. Suddenly, a step before I walk out of the kitchen, I remember about the prepped meal that I’ve forgotten about. I take it out of the fridge, make some tea to accompany it and sit down to eat. But even in eating I still think. This question is still there, waiting to be answered. Tommy, you fucking bastard. Your doubts about our friendship being something more than that make me want to vomit. And yet I can’t outright blame him. He has a point. For Sera, our relations are on a level far above friendship. But for me they are still the same. And so I doubt my side of our relationship. Drinking tea and eating cold sandwiches, I ponder about love. That is hilariously depressing. Before I could come up to any proper answer, the meal was finished. I toss the dirty container and the mug inside the metallic sink and leave, thus leaving the unfinished thought inside the kitchen to thaw and to dissipate. The clock shows 1800. Still a lot of time, in which I could do so much, or in which I could walk in and out of the city. But since I don’t feel like going anywhere, since I don’t have anything to do, and since the following morning will be Saturday, I lie down onto my bed and, after playing a staring game with my ceiling for a good five minute, I close my eyes, almost immediately dropping into the level beyond human. [NOTES] *pair – common word for a lecture in Russian, used due to lectures being two academic hours long. **classwarden – idk about how Americans handle this, but in Russia it is a student that aside from other bullshittery has to frequently interact with staff regarding some questions. Basically, a cog between the class’s supervisor and the class. Typically, in a classroom there are a classwarden and his deputy, who takes the classwarden’s responsibilities if he is absent. ***scholarship – in Russia it means a small amount of cash that the HEI gives to the student. The amount varies depending on how the student successes. It is not paid for certain groups of students, such as those who are on the commercial apprenticeship. Usually it is not much, but here, in the fic, it is more than enough for Greene to live.