Yuri Markeev. Spider Zhigulev (№ 354345)

Nausea is a usual thing. The toxicity from the burden of troubles. Hair disheveled, as the Pithecanthropus, crazy eyes, yellow, red, bristle tufts. Go-delirious in the darkness of hell almost to touch to the bathroom in shorts and holed jumper, mumbling prayers and regret the whole world. You see the spider in the toilet – cry. The spider completely dry without flies. Martyr. Notice the ceiling in the bathroom mosquito cemetery to cry. Stupid creatures, they flew into the light bulb and went to hell. You should try to wash up so not to be sick. If only with your eyes closed under a stream of cold water. And without sudden movements that could cause the esophagus.

In the mirror do not look. I'm afraid. Know who meet out there. Why aggravate? Nerves so on edge. Old love. On the way to the bathroom – a double door in the parents ' room. Stained glass painted Papaver somniferum. The soporific poppy. Each petal is like a living creature. My father asked me to do. When he was alive. And mom was happy with my work when I was alive. They closed their room key, through thick and painted red flowers stained glass, I could not see if anybody was home. But if the light filtered through the stained-glass of the poppy head, I knew that the parents don't sleep, and I can borrow money. Gave because he pitied me. Five years they are already in another world, and I sometimes in the morning, imagining that there, behind the oil poppy heads, like a Church dome, there is a light coming. And I can hear them whispering. And it's like angels singing.

– You promised son?

Promised, mom, Yes, no more strength.

– In the hall hanging my coat. Take money out of his pocket. Just not take it. Bread leave.

I'll get it, mom. Only to stop the run, health will correct and work.

– Only in the cafe don't look. There, our factory workers, all friends. To beg would be to drink a hundred grams. And you can't by mother father. Don't forget about it. Impossible. Contusion. Not to aggravate. Buy medicine and to work.

– Don't drink, son. Contusion. Again climb into the fray. Or you will be beaten. And you don't remember what it was. Take in the coat pocket of money. Bread leave. The rest take.

– Okay, mom. Thank you, father. I will not drink. Remember everything. Buy medicine and to work.

No more of my mother's coat in the hallway. There is no money. And work in the form in which it was five years ago, also. And poppies on the stained glass Windows remained. Close my view of the world. Yes. That is, that light.