However, with the onset of pre-dawn twilight in the sixth and seventh departments, there was a stir, and the five doctors still had wonderful dreams. We are not ready for such a turn of fate.
"It's still dark!" Let me sleep! - I asked.
But Nicholas did Wake her up.
"The psychics are awake! Come on!" Nicholas said.
So they found boxes of ice water, built long hoses, connected the device to a water tower, and then - dragged the machine through the rooms, pouring frozen water on those who broke things and tried to slip out through the ventilation or balconies outside the hospital fence; they managed the electricity, but the rioters broke the staples on the doors, threw firecrackers into the emergency rooms.
Aggressive patients understood where the banks and tanks with chemical poison were located, took away the remaining devices, and launched a chemical-compounds of fluorine, manganese, saltpeter, and sulfur. The territory was infected, our people lost consciousness due to lack of oxygen, and six of them had torn fabric on their clothes, and they died immediately.
While retreating to the second floor, Richard, I, and the head of the Department found cabinets of gas masks and protective suits in time, got dressed, and got out of hiding. Then they ran with their weapons at the psychopaths, shot and chopped down those who dared to attack. Some quiet patients dragged to the third floor, in otrezvitel item, closed the Windows and doors, cleaned the room, threw the victims on the "black" output, took information out of the infirmary with quiet patients, locked entrances. The building was lit up with multicolored flames and burned down. The gas valves exploded. Many of the dead.
Bandits were treated here, they didn't think about it, just performed our duties. And the leaders of the city ran away with those who had already fled before the accident.
Nicholas just waved the hand that held the notebooks and left. They should have drunk more coffee than they should, or they would not have missed such a sad event. Now I'm sitting at my Desk, looking out the window and seeing the dead silence.
Recently I remembered the words of Igor Guberman - "today, after drinking coffee in the morning, the wonderful felt peace in himself; it's funny, because I know that I will die, but there is no faith in this," - and I thought: "Why?" There is a premonition, an obsessive thought, the surrounding space becomes alien, and the person himself feels it." There was not a single encouraging answer. Unless you walk down the street and go to a psychologist, hold counseling sessions to forget about the strange event.
The radio said that the city administration, together with the police, had gone to a healthy area, a dome was installed over the buildings, and the gates were closed.
Again, the TV in the living room shows colored stripes, the cat looks at the closet door, although there is no reason for this. The house had never looked so shabby before, and there were people living in the city. I leave the hall, open the door, and go outside.
The city is dead and haunted when the sun rises at noon. And in the house there is order, calmness, but the same mustiness as in other people's homes.
Mikhail Bulgakov wrote the words in the book "the Master and Margarita": "Pay attention to the profile in the moonlight, - the cat climbed into the moon column and wanted to talk more, but was asked to be silent, and, answering: - Ready to be silent. I will be a silent hallucination."
Although I often walk around at night, letting the wind blow through my jacket. So sorry for myself, it's raining in five days, according to the calendar schedule. I continue to give myself a sad mood and remember the past.
Igor Guberman is a person who has printed a lot of thoughts. For example, this one: "Call late at night, friends, do not be afraid to disturb and Wake up; the hour is terribly close when you can’t and will have nowhere to call." This is also true.
Part 1. Chapter 2.
Ivan Bunin wrote these lines: "One day I will disappear, and in this empty room it will be the same: a table, a bench, and an image, ancient and simple. And also will fly a colored butterfly in silk to flutter, rustle and tremble in the blue ceiling. And so will the bottom of the sky look out of an open window , and the sea beckons with a smooth blue to the empty expanse..."
The question is-there is no sea here, because it is a city. People used to live here. Symbolist and abstract artists-the inhabitants did not understand and drove them far away, and they left darling in 1864. A hundred years later, there are others here-those who cheat, frame. And after that, there was no one left.
In the history books of Nederland it is written: "1668-1678 years of England were occupied by the inhabitants of the Tribune. On the night of August 1 to 2, 1668, Gwenog Stewart and a large army rushed into the vicinity of the city. According to the plan of George Martinelli retaliatory steps followed with the greatest impact. Stability was disrupted, and the fortress was returned to the Romans after a two-hour assault.
10.08.1668 the warring States signed a peace Treaty. Now it was allowed to cross the border under special circumstances...»
I remember the day when we were given reports about those events in the classroom, and I showed pictures on slides - drawings and photographs of geographical maps. It was interesting only to my classmates. However, if you find the very places where the battles took place, you can imagine yourself as a great General or a dastardly Archer. But we could certainly go the same way as those who fought for freedom three centuries ago.
One day I started reading the book" the Cairo international", created by Andrey Simonov. The main character, Sergei Kovalev, studied at the University to translate from Arabic to Russian, was looking for a job, agreed with a classmate Azamat about a temporary part-time job, found himself in a desperate situation, settled in the apartment of an old sage to hide.
"Things, even if they cannot be seen, must be disentangled from thought, because if you let them get confused, you can go mad. You should never go too far beyond your thoughts, for only things make sense. And if I don't understand something, or I'm getting bored with it, I always ask myself, "Hey Shay?» "and it all falls into place at once.
Life seemed like a toy, and the ideas he read out seemed like magic wheels: once you spin them, the toy is sure to go in the right direction.
Cowardice has acquired a very special meaning: fear means that a person is hooked on something, and if so, life will beat him for it. After all, a person should be completely free by nature.
They (their peers) had an assertive vitality in their eyes, and a flexibility in their words and movements that more and more often baffled me.
In life, the winner is not the one who knows how to think, but the one who knows how to react quickly. He was glad that there was at least one person to talk to, and perhaps, without noticing it, he was playing a little fatalistic and hopeless; I had assumed the role of an unsophisticated Saint. Sometimes he would insult me with something like, " okay, don't mess with my head," or tease me in front of others, then I would feel that he was duplicitous, like a flat piece of paper that I was reading on one side, trying not to notice what was written on the other. If it hadn't been for him, I probably wouldn't have been able to endure this relentless series of humiliations.