«Distorted Reality»

«Memory is a copper board covered with letters, which time imperceptibly smooths out, if sometimes it does not renew them with a chisel»

Locke D.

***

The door banged loudly on the jamb when closing. A young guy was standing on the threshold, trying to catch his breath. Settling down on the mat, he closed his eyes and began to whisper, trying to clear his thoughts: — That's how it happens?! How could I have mixed up the stops?! And this is the fifth time in the last month! Can I ask my dad to take me to the doctor? Once again sighing heavily from misunderstanding the situation, the guy reached for his sneakers, but opened his eyes in fright after a second. Under the palm was the cold tile of the kitchen, Omega himself was sitting on the mat near the stove. — How?... — the guy grabbed his head getting up from the floor, — I'm going to the doctor myself, I have obvious memory problems. And probably with orientation in space. Perhaps with his head. Or maybe all at once. The teenager ran out of the kitchen and cautiously examined the apartment. His. I didn't mix it up. With a slightly forced smile and taking off his shoes, the guy went to his room, not paying much attention to the fact that a trail of dirt from sneakers stretched from the kitchen to the living room. But there were no traces from the front door to the kitchen…

***

— Good evening. This is Malory Lindgren? — said the person who called from an unknown number. — Good. Yes, it's me. Something happened? — the teenager clarified, turning off the noise source in the form of a tap that he turned on earlier to wash the dishes. — Yes, it happened. Earlier we hoped that everything would pass, but... it won't work to hide it anymore...— the man on the other side of the tube said sadly, and after a couple of sighs he continued, — We decided to warn all students of the 9th and 12th grades not to spread rumors... — And what happened? — the brunette clarified, nervously tapping his fingers on the table, he did not like this tone. Intuition told his master that something bad had happened — Is it connected with Mr. Smith? — Yes, Malory, you understood correctly. Your literature teacher has recently been admitted to a mental hospital in another state. As we were informed by his relatives, he was diagnosed with paranoia and an acute phase of schizophrenia. So you will have a new teacher. — The voice on the phone stopped, but after a couple of minutes continued, — Please do not mention this situation at school, this is a tragedy for Alex Smith's family, and we do not want to conflict with them. — Okay, I get it. This will not happen. Goodbye. — The guy said, trying to digest what he heard. — I hope not... Have a nice day...— The voice said quickly and disconnected. Malory sat down on a chair, putting the phone on the table. The information that their literature teacher had gone mad was known to him. After all, he was one of the first to find out... The next day, after he slept at school until the evening, some unrealistic nonsense occurred. When the whole class came to the literature lesson, and went into the office, everyone froze with shock. Mr. Smith was sitting on the windowsill and banging his head against the window. When one of the omegas called out to the teacher, he turned around and, opening his eyes in fright, began to beat his head harder against the glass, saying some rubbish about a green-eyed demon that wants to take his soul. Twenty minutes later, after a multi-voiced scream was heard throughout the school, an ambulance took the teacher away. It was a week ago, during this time, various rumors spread throughout the school, which ranged from completely insane to more or less adequate, there was only one similar feature. A Green-eyed Demon. And despite the fact that it was a tragedy, the teenagers decided to build cancer theories and invent all sorts of nonsense. Many decided to argue who could be this very demon. One of the most popular "theories" was the one where the green-eyed man was a real demon, and Alex, wanting to get eternal youth or something like that, called him. The second was more adequate, if I may say so. In it, "Demon" was a conditional name. In fact, this is a maniac who got into school at night, and since Smith was late, the maniac drove him crazy with torture. The parent's of the students were also aware of Smith's condition. Many of them expressed sympathy for the young teacher. But not all of them. Malory's dad didn't know about this situation. He didn't tell his only parent about it himself. Why? Miriam Lindgren, for some unknown reason, was terribly afraid of green-eyed people. Just to the point of panic. All the acquaintances that Malory mentioned in conversations with his dad, and inadvertently, were described with the mention of green eyes, were first carefully checked, and then turned out to be banned. Not wanting to make his dad nervous, Malory kept silent about it, saying only that the literature teacher had problems with his head. With another heavy sigh, the teenager got up from his chair and went on to clean the apartment. He needed to calm his nerves. And as soon as possible.

***

Click. The door opened with a soft creak, and a dark silhouette stepped into the apartment, he quietly walked to the sofa, rustling something bulky. When the silhouette almost approached, the light abruptly turned on and the one who turned it on spoke softly: — Where on the carpet? Take off your shoes, and then come in. — Honey, how do you imagine it? My hands are busy, and I can't untie my shoelaces with the power of my mind," an elderly man with black hair and pale skin smiled weakly, against which black circles under his eyes and an ugly mole under his lip stood out strongly — Let me put the bags on the sofa first, and then take off my shoes? — No. I'll take the bags, and you'll take off your shoes calmly, don't bother with unnecessary gestures.— Said the guy taking the aforementioned packages, — I cleaned up today, so don't even think about going on the carpet. — Good, good, angry, — the man said smilingly, raising his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. There was a tattoo on his right arm depicting a fanged monster with a heart in his hand, — Please tell me which of us is older and which of us is a parent and who is a child? — This is a stupid question, Miriam. — Malory said from the kitchen, rustling food packages, — You're my parent, and you're older than me. That's a stupid question you ask almost every night. — That's who you're like? Miriam said in a half-whisper, taking off his shoes. — I wasn't like that at your age… — Maybe I took after my father with my character? — Malory asked, opening the refrigerator, and continued — Well, or grandfathers? — Yes, probably still in them ... — Miriam smiled faintly, and looking into the kitchen, he rolled his eyes in surprise, exclaimed — Mallie, my God, where are you putting this? What kind of child is that? Give it here. The man quickly approached his son and grabbed a can of coffee, and carried it to the other end of the kitchen. Malory just rolled his eyes as he continued sorting through the groceries.

***

The small living room was in darkness. An ominous blue light faintly illuminated the sofa and the people sitting on it. The dark plaid on the background of the beige sofa contrasted strongly, but somehow combined in an unimaginable way. A couple of packages of food from the store, a pizza box, and two cups of strong coffee. There is a horror movie on the TV, a couple of young students are sorting things out behind the wall. That's how their evenings usually went. Malory always liked to hang out with his dad like this, even though he didn't say it out loud. Miriam Lindgren was an omega of 40 years old, with a rather inconspicuous appearance: black hair, heavily beaten with gray, with barely curling ends, a very thin and angular face, with cunning hazel eyes, sickly pale skin and a lot of wrinkles. He was not a handsome man, but the lack of appearance was completely covered by the character and intelligence, which not many could boast of. Raising his son alone, by the way, against the background of most single dads, he stood out strongly with a rather combative character and the inconsistency of stupid stereotypes that came from the Middle Ages. But not always. And now Miriam Lindgren was nervously tapping something on the case of his phone, and after a couple of minutes of reflection, finally exhaled softly and turned to his son with a weak smile, asking: — Malory, honey, I wanted to know what's going on with your class? Do you communicate with anyone, or have you made friends? I've been wanting to ask for a long time, but I haven't had time… — If permission to write off homework is considered to be "communication", then yes. Miriam, how many times do I have to repeat, I don't need friends, I feel great without them. Yes, and I have social skills. — Cheating doesn't count as communication, you know… — If that's what you're talking about, then I'm talking to the librarian at our school. He is a smart man and we have a lot of topics to talk about. —Fuck... — Miriam breathed, leaning on the back of the sofa. Catching the surprised and indignant look of his son, he explained, "Malory, don't look at me like that. It's just that your words have opened up the gift of a fortune teller in me. — The man closed his eyes in an actor's way with one hand and pointing the other at his son, he spoke in an eerily affected voice, — I see you are 45, you work in the city library, you are wearing a shawl that has grown together with your shoulders and back, glasses whose diopters are two fingers thick, and hair that is gathered in a mouse tail on the back of your head. You live in a studio apartment nearby with a job, with 15 cats. And when you come to work, you drink sweet tea and yell at everyone who raised their voice a little… — You're exaggerating. — Malory whispered, frowning, barely suppressing laughter, from the image that appeared in his head, — The fact that I love books and wear glasses does not make me a librarian. — Yes, by anyone who represents a gray mouse! Even as a registrar, even as a teacher! — unable to stand it, Miriam jumped up from the sofa and began to walk around the room, covering the TV with himself, and starting to speak out to the surprised teenager, — You yourself will lower your life into the gutter if you don't stop moving away from reality! I would have turned a blind eye to it, but in the last six months you have been moving away from me too! Malory, what's going on?! The older omega looked at the younger with huge, red and swollen eyes from lack of sleep and tears. Malory looked into them, bit his lip and lowered his eyes to the floor. He didn't want to upset Dad, and the understanding that trying not to involve him in his problem, he unknowingly hurt him, ate him up from the inside. Malory, having weighed the pros and cons, decided to tell his parent about what happens to him after the New Year. Sighing heavily, he began to speak: — I'm sorry. But I didn't want to involve you. I have been having problems with memory and sleep for the last six months. I constantly confuse stops and streets, metro stations and establishments. Because of this, I started going to school two hours earlier, because I'm afraid I won't make it. — The guy squeezed the edge of the bedspread and without taking his eyes off the floor, continued, — I have even more problems with sleep. I am constantly tired, although I sleep according to the old regime. I can fall asleep in a couple of minutes and very soundly. Can you get me an appointment with a doctor? I really need it. The guy fell silent, feeling like he was being hugged and stroked on the head. Raising his reddened eyes, he looked at his dad, who was trying to calm him down. The man smiled faintly and pressed his son's head to himself, saying: — God... Why didn't you tell me before? Do you realize that you could have confused the apartment or even worse the bus, and left in an unknown direction? And also your drowsiness! What if you fell asleep while walking? — Miriam quietly chastised his son, stroking him on the back, — The main thing is not to panic. We will solve everything and fix it. Wait for the holidays and we will solve everything! Ok? Malory whispered softly, reproaching himself for not telling him about it earlier. Miriam calmed his son, thinking about a plan of action. It's not normal. What happened to his boy can not be called normal. But he was familiar with these syndromes. And their solution, too. But Miriam didn't like this "solution" at all. But only Malory's life and safety was higher than his unwillingness to do it. And we need to solve this as soon as possible. Before it's too late…

***