Don′t look in mirrors. The first experience



Don′t look in mirrors. The first experience

­- What do you want from me? Why do you go for me to popyata, you spy when I wash and you send dreadful dreams about as if I tear apart dogs and cats on a part at night, eating their interiors? I don′t understand you. It is sure, you are very deep, mild essence, but … What do you want? – Lips were moved by itself that evening when I stayed at home one again.

Parents left for the whole month. At last I could light, sit down at the new story about Oleg and Dimetra′s adventures quietly. On the twentieth page of the thirteenth part of the Sit-round gathering the story clogged, in an empty pate there were no thoughts, four o′clock in the morning showed hours. I smoked one more cigarette, stretched having felt an ache in a numb back and decided to lie down. Light burned in the room in all lamps and I don′t remember as failed in a dream.

Gray concrete walls of the rainy city framed emptiness and silence of this strange place. I right there found a look the only inhabitant. It was it. It! That Oleg Kovalyov, which I saw him when writing stories.

- Hi, Dimeter. – Its androgenic voice expressed friendliness. – I waited for you one million years.

- Oleg? – the lips shivering with fear I whispered.

- Look, I learned! – He precisely as my hero blinked the eyes and grew stout in the most cunning smile.

- Went, - he gave a hand.

The vivacity surprised him if it is so possible to be expressed GENUINENESS. He wasn′t viscous from an ektoplazma as it happens at tactile contact with ghosts, it wasn′t cold as frozen glasses of winter trams. It was the living, real person who took me is careful by hand to show round the city. Behind an exception absence of people, except us, and electricity the city looked is realistic to it is impossible: the damp warm asphalt of the street, postrain freshness dressed in the forged fences blossoming red record players a bindweed, the blossoming roses and a huge pool. Instinctively I hung the head, to look in its water, and he drew aside me and from all force on its hypothetical reflection so that it wasn′t just painted by ripples, and razbryznutsya by the fast-evaporating drops on hot asphalt.

- Never try to look here in mirrors and other reflecting surfaces, - he strictly warned.

- Why? – I didn′t keep from a question before the opened look.

The street conducted to the wide highway, on both sides ogoorozhdenny a barbed wire, proceeding leaving also on both sides for the horizon is dazzling yellow sand instead of the earth.

- You won′t like what you will see.

- And …

- Yes. – he read my thoughts. – And you any more never here will return.

- It is your city? From a surplus of questions the head was turned (I want to ask it so much!).

- No, it is our world.

- It is real? – I was stunned to a limit.

- Only for you.

- And you are real?

- Only for you.

It was not the dream – it was something bigger, than a dream. Dreams, regardless of positivity or negativity, are identical with a strong current. Dreams as if pick up and carry away also you not in forces of nothing to control. Here I for all hundred percent realized: I sleep, in reality my body peacefully snores on a bed and in too time of the highway shrouded in sand and It.

- We possess all this world, the wonderful world?

- Yes, the Dimeter it is ours. And we can walk some here, nobody will prevent. You though run though jump though get into fountains though shout in всесь the thin children′s voice – nobody will tell anything to you against.

- And I …

- Yes, you can come here when you want, - again, having read my thoughts, it interrupted.

Having woken up I felt terrible weakness in all body, bones ached, and in hands and ногав there were no forces to move at all.




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Рубрика произведения: Проза ~ Мистика
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@ Copyright: Дмитрий Плазмер, 26.08.2021г.

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