ONE (translation of "ОДНА", см. Литературное Произведение)
extractShe have not looked at myself in the mirror. Mirror stood dim and splotch, and reflected the dull and it is unclear what was in front of him. Why wipe a mirror? Why see it yourself? - You're too skinny ... - I? - Well, I did not! Ho, ho, ... amused. - I do not care ... Thin, skinny, skinny .... How many times can you hear it? I hate my body. It does not belong to me any time. It was too naughty and alien. I lived in it, as in the shell and looked blankly at all, because - that the robot performed not my team. He happened lobotomy, and this was all I lobotomy, as I sat a stranger and indifferent in the head of this robot, which has just ate, slept, watched TV, smile or clenched lips, intending to whimper, although it is not always crying, and not he would always smile. - Hey, baby! There is not one pair of shoes ... it's not gray! - The man on the head wig. The robot looks at him and says, mechanical slow voice: - Mr. is not gray, it does not color, it's dirt adhering to the fabric. A man looks at my empty eyes. - Girl, what's wrong? He is surprised and frowns. I see his wrinkles, they're going on the forehead, as ripple. With me, nothing happens, because I have not got the team to do something, and I just ordered stupid smile and smile. I know my body. It limp. I want to raise your hand and hit the glass counter. And I see myself from the outside with chopped hand, on which the blood flows slowly dripping on the floor, and yet, I want to tear off his head this unnecessary piece - a wig. - What have you done? - What did you do? - Can you hear us, Suez? My blood sticks to the plastic floor and pulsating in my brain. I whisper to someone - "It's not gray, it's dirt adhering to me." I want to shake this mess, but I can not move my arm, it flows with blood, broken glass all around, people who opens and closes the mouth. I do not hear anything, and only in the brain pulsates "it is not gray, it's dirt adhering to me" And in a moment again: THIS IS NOT A GREY, it is dirt build-up on me ... It's not gray .... it's dirt adhering to me ... it's dirt .... I turn around and fall to the floor. Very slow to get scared. In my brain pulsing "as they all turned to look at me, they open and close the mouth, but I can not hear them, these rag dolls! These dolls are waving their hands and silently open their mouths! ". I hit his head, and everything shuts down at this moment. Only silence, my brain freezes and I lay on the floor in the shop on Wellens - Street, in a pool of blood, with chopped by hand, and all around me people running around. Give her air! Give the air! GIVE HER THE SAME AIR! In my world, where I am now - silence and darkness, but somewhere very quiet bell tolls. Quiet, quiet! Very quiet! Slowly! He lulls me and I again lose its sound. He went off. Silence again! Then again - silver sound is not loud and clear. He's coming. And then began to lighten, as - as if seen photos, the first all very faded, black-and-white, gradually brighter, lighter, and here it is color - pink! And then, I see - yellow! Again - pink, dark. Now - yellow, it is blocking - ... pink. A voice, very quiet, almost inaudible, I strained to understand what it is and whose voice it. - Suez! Can you hear us? They are - as if whispering. - Sueezy! .... Can you hear us? Who the hell are you? And what are you talking about the pink shade in front of me? Or are you whispering ... - Suez answer! ... Can you hear us? .... Again, I'm in the dark, pink and yellow glaze. The impression is that there I wander, groping, trying to come to light, but what I was not letting go. "What do you do to me? ...". My life unconscious filled darkness, voices and glimpses of consciousness, reminiscent of lightning: they blinded me with its brightness, and then disappeared before I had time to grab out of the darkness at least the outlines of what I was. I did not know what it is. For the most part, I was wandering in the dark, did not realizing, and bumping into something, but from time to time consciousness returned to me. - Suez? Can you hear us? ... The answer? ... Here we go again! These pink and yellow voice again come back to me, and I see glimpses of them, like the glow. I go to him, softly, to the touch. They're coming, and envelop me as wool, cotton candy, which I bought at the fair ancestors in the suburbs of the Criven - Rock. "It's not gray, it's dirt adhering to the ME" "Lord Jesus" "ARIZONA" I hear those voices, they say nothing to me, except maybe - the last? "Arizona". What does it mean? Arizona? I was not there ... and can be had? From there, my mom! Arizona, Arizona, Arizona .... And again, a little voice whispers to me: - Arizona, Arizona ... .... Arizona .... It sounds like music: - Arizona, Arizona. Arizona .... Damn .... And again: - Arizona, Arizona, Arizona .... It merges into one continuous line - arizonaarizonaarizona, without gaps and stops, as - as if something is stuck, even if it is broken, and not a hard one, the same! Arizona, Arizona, Arizona .... Enough! Shut up already!