Pusher
Story. [End. Beginning in rooms 85, 86, 87].
(C) Oleg Malakhov (Stever)
Part of 2.2.
The young man wanted to ask: "Who are we?" - But then he saw
standing near a group of people with obvious interest and some
impatience looked down on him. But most young man was struck
not they, and what was around them. Fire. But a strange fire.
After the flame was painted in the cold (this alone is not knit
with the notion of the usual stake) Green.
- It's time to bring a little bit good, - said the stranger.
- You can be proud. Not every worthy of such honor. All my life
you were evil, perhaps without knowing it. And have your - you
have noticed. Previously, you were just a plaything in the
hands of blind chance, directing your efforts to murder of
those he chose. Because people have to die and not only a
natural death. All of its own destiny. So who, if not you, know
about it. You - the support of this fate. But consider
themselves above to whom you serve, it is very dangerous. The
forces of evil requires you to her. That's why I decided to
take some time to become your destiny. Come and help them by
arranging for you an excellent trap just in that fateful moment
when the number of murders committed by you, has reached a
critical point, and other forces more no longer wanted anything
like helping you. You do not need me smaller than those
servants whom we are is a long time. On light a little bastards
that could compare to you. While it is certainly better - the
world is not so clogged.
The young man listened, but not very well understood what
it says this strange type. Yes, and it did not care.
Much stronger than he wanted to know what happened to him now
would be. After all, this is his punishment.
The stranger, having finished his speech, abruptly moved up
close to the murderer. He recoiled back, but given the
situation in which he was, it was absolutely useless thing.
Path of retreat cut off.
Seeing the actions of his master, the people who stood by the
fire, happily moved and all as one, joined hands at the same
time formed a human chain and blocking the fire themselves.
- If you wish, you can say anything before
disappear from here forever - the stranger said. This was even
less clear a young man, and he thought it better to keep silent
mentally accept any fate, only to come to an end pain and
uncertainty.
- Well, your cause, - he heard, and this phrase has become
the last, which happened to hear the young man. In the
following second, the stranger pulled out his belt a knife (a
bit unusual, as the time to point to himself the victim - a
strange curved at the tip) and grabbed his right hand, free
from the ropes, the young man's hand. Then rezanul it around
your wrist.
Green flame fire lit the faces of people gathered around
him. At its very heart - the place where the fire erupted -
alternately twinkling, shimmering in shades of green
colors, two crystal perfectly unearthly beauty. People, like
enchanted, looked at it. And only one of them has been busy
contemplation. He carefully, trying to do everything as
discreet as possible, collected in a small bowl of human blood
is bound to a pole, which is derived from intersected by the
right hand the latter. This blood is very useful to him. The
powers of hell will be pleased. Today he will bring them the
most momentous sacrifice - their blood shall be guilty servant.
In the minds of the young man something clicked, and it
cleared up, as if someone switched the TV in his head from one
program to another. He again found himself in a subway station.
Then suddenly realized what had happened. It turned out that
all those terrible things, prividivshiesya him nothing but a
figment of the imagination inflamed. Or someone's intent. And
nothing was. There was not a truck, for which he was, was not
weird stranger, was not, finally, a terrible train made of
human bones. There was no (or young man thought that was not).
All this must have flashed through his brain in that terrible
moment when he lost his balance and, drawn by its own weight,
he flew to the edge of the platform. Guy he just tried to push,
stepped back a little and with astonishment, mixed with fear,
staring at the man who suddenly darted under the train. The
young man tried stop inwardly knowing it was useless. Now-a-
He knew that he is, and this terrible knowledge drives him
mind, finally destroying the already damaged mind, as
any house of cards.
The killer frantically waved his hands and a bag which he had
previously firm hold, slipped on the floor in front of him. He
immediately She stumbled on. And it turned out, saved his life.
The young man fell down before reaching the edge of the
platform, and through moment, the train took its whole space.
For a moment he lay absolutely motionless, unable to
believe that still remained alive and all this horrible
nightmare ended. At that moment the crowd, rounding him, poured
into a train and after some time platform noticeably empty. The
young man tried to stand, but his limbs numbed by the horrors,
would not let him do it. Directly above him, he I heard a
cracked old woman's voice:
- Well, this should be the same! Until then sunk. Already in
the subway and can not come through! Get drunk, you know, and
lies at rest. Here molodezhto gone as well! Even though people
would be ashamed.
But the young man has not paid any attention to anything.
Having performed over a wild effort, he still managed to rise
(though is not the first time). Then, staggering, staggered to
the side escalator. His bag he left there, where she fell. And
He was all of this care. In front of him there was little he
had seen and was purely mechanical. Climbing up the escalator,
a young man with great difficulty found a way out of the
subway.
The street was still hot. Cars were driven in different
directions on the roadway, pedestrians scurrying hither and
thither. Each had its own goal, each looking for something. And
all of them there was nothing to do with a very strange man,
uncertain gait walking on the sidewalk. Perhaps only he had
nothing left in life. In a life that is still broken, when he
deliberately threw himself under the wheels of a passing car,
unable to endure terrible tortures, torn mind. The driver of
the car was frightened and surprised at once, because on the
face of a strange young man suddenly jumped out onto the road,
frozen expression of transcendent bliss. If death could bring
him deliverance.
osleslovie author.
Before you put the last point, I would like to express my
deep gratitude and great thanks to people who really helped the
author in the process of writing and communicating more or less
decent state the story "Pusher". Without their support and
involvement, I probably would have never forced myself to
finish the job over the story. These men - Elena Egorova and
Catherine Solodova. Thank you for everything you did for me.
September 2, 1997 Moscow.
ONETS
