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"The glare of nearsighted car lights,

And the snow breathes hoarsely in the pattern of soles.

In the gaze of passersby, fragments of gray ice...

It's scary and sickening to search for something in them.

They're rushing somewhere like mad cattle,

Their thoughts can only bury themselves in problems.

To blow the whole city to hell and the end.

Maybe then their faces would change?!"

© Deacon

New York, December 2014

***

There are moments in life when the meaning of your existence doesn't even get lost; no, it simply dissipates before your very eyes like dust disturbed by the wind. You suddenly realize that you are infinitely alone, even though there are people who care about you. And this has been going on for so long that you can't remember when you crossed the line beyond which there is nothing but loneliness.

But you continued to live.

For some reason, you struggled, trying to resist the despair whose black depths persistently pulled you to the very bottom of hopelessness. Like a mad artist, you painted an ideal world for yourself. You invented a family and friends. Sometimes, you even fell in love, leaving bright spots of ephemeral colors on the black canvas of your days, which were immediately washed away by the turpentine rain of reality. You convinced yourself that everything was wonderful. Look, there it is, the bright lemon sun! There's the azure sky with its fluffy white clouds and the emerald green of summer, whispering sweet nothings to the warm breeze caressing it! Everything is fine! Everything is fine!!! Everything is just wonderful!..

But the desperate cry of self-deception was drowning in the thickening, sticky fog around you. The small rainbow-colored world was doomed. You heard the mirage you created moan as it died. You heard the happiness you invented howl in pain. You heard it... but you kept smiling, not noticing how the abyss of darkness was pulling you deeper and deeper, enveloping you in a corrosive cocoon of disappointment, squeezing you in the steel embrace of doom, sucking out everything bright and naive within you.

And then one day, you woke up to the loud crash of your shattered illusion, its sharp fragments swirling around in a gust of winter wind, cutting your skin and exposing your nerves, stripping away the last layer of protection, and tearing the veil of imagined well-being from your eyes.

And you saw this world. The very one you had lived in for eighteen years but knew nothing about. A world that didn't need you. A faceless, ugly world that existed before you and wouldn't disappear after you. No one would really mourn. A day or two, and that's it. Everything would go back to its usual state. Everything would return to its familiar course, but without you.

And yet, you so desperately want your existence to truly matter to someone. You long for someone truly special to be by your side. Someone just for you. Someone who, falling asleep at night and waking up in the morning, would breathe only for you. And you, in return, would do the same... to the point of dizziness... to the pain in your chest... to the grinding of your teeth from the almost panicked fear of losing... You would do the same...

But such things don't happen. Not in this life, where every person is a complete egoist, willing to breathe only for themselves and able to lay their life only at their own feet.

Just as much of an egoist as you are: craving warmth, wanting love, but incapable of giving it to another.

And if that's the way things are, then what's all this fuss about?

With this last thought, you come to understand that it's time to put an end to all of this. Why prolong the agony for several more years? Why hesitate? After all, life is so fragile... and death, it's always near, every relentless second. It's so close that if you reach out, you can touch its cold, bony fingers.

Grip them! Don't be afraid! Follow her!..

"Rika!" The thin, whining voice of his sister insistently penetrated his consciousness, shattering the fragile ice of alienation that encased the young man's soul.

The wind tossed a handful of prickly snow, hurling it against the window, and the young man pressed his hand against the glass as if trying to catch the white grains of frozen water.

"What do you want?" he grumbled, without tearing his eyes away from the meditative contemplation of the winter landscape.

The coolness caressing his skin seemed like salvation.

He wanted to go outside and spin, dissolving into the wild dance of the storm. He wanted to merge with the snow, to feel its freedom... to become part of this eternal magic. To let a miracle into his heart. Just for a moment, but to remember how the colors shine. To remember that life wasn't always black and white. And to break free from the vicious circle of despair that had been weighing on him for so long.

"Rika, I wasn't invited to the Christmas party!" Etid moaned indignantly and took a cautious step toward her brother.

She was always like that. Sneaking up like a predator, as if afraid to scare off a prey that had lost its vigilance. She was cautious, clumsily manipulative, but she did it so charmingly that it was impossible not to give in to her terror.

"And?" The young man brought the half-burnt cigarette to his lips, took a deep drag, and immediately started coughing.

His body, unaccustomed to such tortures, was vehemently against the nicotine poison. His head spun slightly, and a wave of shivers ran through his body, bringing with it a faint euphoria. The bitter smoke burned his lungs and stuck in his chest, painfully scratching his throat and trachea. The pleasure, of course, was dubious, but it helped him relax, which was sometimes just what he needed.

Meanwhile, Etid approached him closely and clenched the thin fabric of his t-shirt on his back with her small fists. From these light and innocent touches, Rika shrugged his shoulders. It was cold. Despite his sister's warm hands, this trusting tenderness seemed to freeze him from the inside, causing goosebumps to cover his skin.

"It's upsetting..." came a quiet, feigned, but perfectly polished sob. "All my friends are going, and I have to stay home, right?"

"You should be glad," Rikald took another drag and exhaled the smoke very slowly through the slightly open window, closing his eyes in hopes of stopping the dizziness that made him sway a little.

"But, Rika!" Now tears were clearly trembling in his sister's voice. The fists on his t-shirt tightened, and the girl pressed her forehead against his back, as she always did when she was ready to burst into tears.

"What?" he sighed resignedly and reluctantly turned to look at this annoying creature, the care of which had fallen on his shoulders since their distant and bleak childhood.

Their father disappeared right after Etid was born, without saying a word to anyone. The bastard didn't even leave a note. And their mother...

Rika clenched his fists.

The memories of the woman only brought disgust and rejection. But his face remained impassive. He never allowed himself to take out this anger on his sister. Not on her. Never.

"You're going. And you don't have a partner, I know," Etid said ingratiatingly, and slipping under her brother's arm, she stared at him with her big brown eyes, radiating boundless devotion.

That's probably how a newborn fawn looks at its mother, as if begging to be protected from all the hardships of this vast, unknown, and dangerous world.

He couldn't bear to look into those eyes full of faith and hope. Why did she do that? She knew he didn't like her trusting doe-eyed look, yet she continued to terrorize him.

"Please... please... please..."

"No," he said coldly.

"Rika, you don't care who you go with! Just take me there, and I'll manage on my own..."

"Manage what?" he didn't understand, and gripping her shoulder tightly with his fingers, he looked at her sternly.

"What are you planning, kid?!?" The thoughts that came to his mind weren't pleasant, and the images his imagination conjured up were even more depressing. "What the hell do you want to go for?"

"Nothing like that," Etid grimaced but immediately forced a smile at her brother. "I just want to go to the party too. But I wasn't invited."

She pursed her lips in annoyance and sighed sadly, expressing the universal sorrow over the injustice of this world.

Noticing the shadow of pain flicker across his sister's face, Rika unclenched his hand, realizing that in his uncontrollable fit of brotherly protection, he might have hurt the girl. Gently pushing her away, he spoke, looking away apologetically:

"Sorry, but I think it's better for you to stay home. Go study or something. Do something useful."

"But it's vacation..." the girl timidly objected.

"Read a book," Rika was rapidly losing interest in the conversation.

"But... it's vacation..."

"Well, I don't know," he waved his hand dismissively, "do some cross-stitching."

"But... it's vacation..."

"I know!" the young man suddenly brightened, illuminated by a brilliant idea. "Home economics!"

Etid's eyes widened even more, and she barely managed not to grimace in disgust. And at that moment, Rikald suddenly realized that he wouldn't be able to refuse her. He simply couldn't.

"Stupid... little... terrorist!" he began angrily. But something in his expression must have changed, because the girl squealed with joy.

"Thank you!" she shrieked, hugging him around the neck. "You're the best brother in the world!"

"I haven't actually agreed yet," Rikald managed to say, tossing the unfinished cigarette out the window to avoid accidentally burning Etid with it. And he absently thought that in the spring, when the snow melts, his mother would scold him for the cigarette butts in the bushes of her beloved geraniums.

His sister gratefully kissed him on the cheek, and, releasing her steel embrace, she skipped out of his room, shouting that she would be ready in half an hour.

Rika just rolled his eyes in resignation and shook his head.

This was going to be quite an evening.

An unpleasant premonition touched his soul with icy fingers, playing on his nerves stretched to the limit, and he irritably shrugged his shoulders.

Ah, to hell with it! Whatever will be, will be.

***

"You do realize all the responsibility you're taking on," Jennie said, applying brown eyeliner and glancing at her son through the mirror.

She didn't like the kids' idea at all, but Rikald usually kept a good eye on his sister, so her concern might be unfounded.

"Of course," the young man muttered, staring at the floor.

He stood by the far wall, leaning against it with his back. Hiding his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he pretended to care little about his mother's instructive advice. Rikald knew the woman hated it when he behaved this way, and he intentionally provoked her. He enjoyed watching the armor of external calm and composure, behind which his mother hid her true nature, crumble to dust. This brought the young man immense moral satisfaction, which was his reward for all the crap he had to endure because of this pretentious bitch.

"Your sister is only fifteen," Jennie reminded him irritably, burning her son with a heavy gaze filled with perpetual exhaustion and deep-seated anger.

"I remember how old she is," Rikald replied, mimicking the woman's intonation.

"It would be good if you also realized that her bright head is still empty. Just like yours, though you're three years older. Are you sure you can handle it?" Jennie pursed her lips skeptically, expressing her doubts about this idea.

"I'm taking her to a Christmas party, not to a brawl with the neighborhood thugs. What's so difficult about that?" the young man stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest.

This distrust infuriated him. After all, he had been looking after the kid since she was practically born. And he had never messed up.

"Don't be cheeky!" his mother snapped, tossing the pencil aside, causing a slight smirk to appear on Rikald's lips. "You know how hard it is for me to handle all the responsibilities alone. And you're no help. Just one problem after another. What kind of child are you? Nothing but disappointment!"

"Well, you get what you give," the young man shrugged, unable to resist a jab.

He was fed up with the constant reproaches and attacks. As if he and Etid were living in a fairy tale. This woman never had time for them. She was always busy, and not always with work.

"Anyway, I've warned you," Jennie said, putting on her mask of indifference again. She applied bright red lipstick to her lips and adjusted her blouse over her chest. Then she turned to her son and gave him a threatening look. 'All the responsibility is on you."

She forced a smile and patted the young man on the cheek, leaving a painful sting on his skin.

"Be good, don't misbehave," she advised with irony, and upon hearing the muffled honk of a car horn, hurried to the door.

Rikald watched his mother leave for her date, feeling something inside him irreversibly break. He wanted to reach out and stop her, to feel the warm touch of her hand one more time. But all he would get was a slap and a look of contemptuous hatred.

"Mom..."

His chest tightened painfully. His hand lifted slightly, but his fingers, clenching into a fist, grasped only air.

"I don't want to live anymore," a quiet whisper escaped Rikald's lips.

Hear me! Please, hear me!

"Whatever," the woman replied indifferently, and everything inside him shattered. "Don't forget to lock both locks when you leave."

"Did you even hear what I said?" Rikald swallowed the tears welling up in his throat, feeling his heart painfully constrict with bleeding sorrow.

"Rika, I don't have time to discuss this," she said coldly. "We'll talk tomorrow," she added firmly and left the house, closing the door softly behind her.

Damn it...

The young man closed his eyes and banged his head against the wall, suppressing the groan rising from his chest.

This is total bullshit! What kind of attitude is that? And she complains. As if she's the only single mother in the world.

Where did she go? To whom?

As a child, with all your heart, with your loving, vulnerable soul, you reach out to the closest person, hoping to receive what all sentient beings need. You crave love, tenderness, and affection. You want warmth. You need it like food, like air, without which you simply cannot live. But you are pushed away. First, with the excuse of constant care for your newborn sister. Then, with work. And eventually, with the absurd belief that excessive tenderness from a mother towards her son might make him grow up gay. As if that's somehow related. As if someone can grow up gay. And finally, as if driving nails into the coffin of a dead hope, you're told that you're too old to want such things. As if adults don't need emotional warmth. As if all adults are cold, indifferent mannequins. But you already understand that you'll never get anything like that, no matter how much you long for it. And in the end, you send it all to hell, only occasionally showing weakness and dreaming of a gentle touch or a kind word.

And then...

...You're thirteen, and you've already gotten used to thinking of yourself as a burden on the neck of a tirelessly working horse. You even start to think that maybe you're wrong to demand special treatment, having done nothing to deserve it. But one night, you go to the bathroom and encounter a half-naked man there, the first in a series of many. You lose your ability to speak, shrink under his scrutinizing gaze, and slowly back away, barely moving your trembling legs. And when you pass the doorway, you rush to your room, where you lock yourself in, completely and irrevocably isolating yourself from the world. You couldn't earn even a fraction of her love in your entire life... But this old bastard did!

And then they change, like worn-out shoes, or even faster. And soon you stop caring, plunging into your own personal hell, where there is nothing but despair, which, like acid, eats away at your already wounded soul. You no longer have the strength to listen to the endless complaints about how hard it is for her with you, so unruly, insolent, and... empty.

"Look into your soul, Rika. It's just filth, just like your father's!"

The eternal reproach, to which you only respond with a bitter smile. But to her, it seems like mockery.

"Useless! Empty shell! That's who you are! Irresponsible, disobedient brat!"

Each of her words is another deep cut on your wounded heart.

"Mom, what do you think will happen to this pathetic lump when the last drop of blood drains from it? Will it turn to stone? Or will I just quietly die at your feet, having lost the last of my strength to fight your indifference? Will you regret then that you deprived me of the most important thing? Will you understand? Or will you just step over my dead body and find comfort in the arms of yet another lover?"

Questions that have no answer.

And yet... how desperately you want to know.

***

"Rika, I'm ready." His sister's cheerful voice pulled him out of the dense cocoon of gloomy thoughts. "And where's mom? Has she already left?"

Rikald opened his eyes and, turning to Etid, groaned as he took in her Christmas outfit.

His sister was dressed in a pink dress lavishly adorned with lace ruffles, as if she were going to a first communion rather than a Christmas party. Her thick dark hair was gathered into two high ponytails with curled ends. On her thin legs, she wore shiny pink shoes with bows on the toes. And the whole look was completed by a white purse with pink lace.

For God's sake! A pedophile's dream! A little pink dream...

"Kid, are you serious? Are you really planning to go to the party in that?" he asked, staring at his sister with skeptical lips pursed.

"Yeah. Don't you like it?" The brown eyes rounded innocently, but there was a threat somewhere in their depths.

However, Etid did not wait for her brother's answer.

"Will you call a taxi?" She asked, adjusting the ruffles on her skirt.

"Yes... of course..." He nervously licked his lips, imagining how the whole school would laugh at him after the holidays.

Damn it! Curse anime and that idiot whose sick imagination created such an image! She must have seen this ridiculous outfit there. Rika was ready to swear it. What was Mom thinking when she bought it? Or did she still see Etid as a five-year-old child?

"Kid, have mercy!" the young man groaned. "They'll laugh at me."

"You'll survive!" the girl said firmly, smiling at her own reflection in the mirror.

Her sarcastic tone made Rika's eye twitch nervously. For the first time, he realized how much his sister resembled their mother. And it made him feel uneasy.

He shook his head, dispelling the illusion, and turned away from Etid. He didn't want to associate her with that bitch. He didn't want his feelings of resentment and anger towards their mother to transfer to his sister. She didn't deserve it.

"It's just cosplay. I specifically chose this outfit to look like Princess Yuki," Etid chirped nonchalantly, completely dispelling Rika's unpleasant associations.

"Oh, God!.." he rolled his eyes and, fishing his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, dialed the number of his mother's former lover, with whom he had surprisingly found common ground easily.

Perhaps it happened because 'Number Seventeen' didn't look at them like annoying puppies who only got underfoot, and he was always kind to them.

The man was delighted by the call and agreed to come. Apparently, there was still a spark of hope in his heart that their mother would give up her lifestyle and come back to him. Despite everything, he wanted to marry that viper, forgive all her infidelities, and create a strong family with her.

It can't be said that their mother was a whore in the literal sense of the word. No. Calling it "sponsorship," she deliberately got involved with married men so as not to burden herself with obligations. For the same reason, these romances never lasted more than a month.

But despite these exploitative relationships, 'Number Seventeen' was serious. He even offered to marry the woman.

"Did you call a taxi?" Etid asked as Rikald handed her a green puffer jacket generously covered with glitter.

"Yeah," he replied distantly, taking his winter coat off the hanger. "'Number Seventeen.'"

"Why do you have to be so childish, Rika?" his sister protested. "Clive isn't that bad. You didn't have to put him on your blacklist or call him a silly nickname."

"Why not?" Rikald asked mockingly, pushing Etid out the door. "He's no better than the rest of them. He should be grateful I'm even talking to him."

"He loves her," Etid said dreamily, and Rikald could almost physically see the stars and hearts shining around her. "And she really needs that."

"Don't start..." he muttered, unconsciously distancing himself from his sister's romantic aura. "Or you'll be walking."

Outside, Rikald lit a cigarette, trying to calm the irritation that had flared up again in his soul. The kid was fussing around him, delighted by the snowfall, catching the sparkling snowflakes in the light of the street lamps with her lips. And he, glancing at his sister out of the corner of his eye, already regretted giving in to her pleas. But it was too late to change his mind, and it would be foolish anyway. After all, his sister didn't ask for such favors very often.

"This puffer jacket doesn't go with my dress at all," Etid chirped twirling from side to side and tilting her head back to look at the cloud-covered sky. "I asked Mom to buy me a pink coat, but she didn't have enough money. But she promised to buy it for me next month."

"Her or 'Number Thirty-Four'?" Rikald asked indifferently, exhaling bitter smoke.

"But isn't she with 'Thirty-Three' now? Or am I wrong?" Etid pondered, tilting her head to the side.

"But you said she'd buy it next month," Rikald took a drag and, inhaling the smoke too deeply, started coughing again.

"Oh, right!" the girl agreed with her brother and immediately changed the subject: "Did Mom say what time we need to be back?"

"No," the young man rasped. "I think she doesn't care."

"That's not true," Etid stated confidently and, wrapping her arms around her brother's elbow, pressed her cheek to his shoulder. "It's just hard for her to find common ground with you."

"The feeling is mutual," Rikald replied, flicking his cigarette butt into the geranium bed.

Noticing a familiar car at the end of the street, he smiled slightly.

"Your carriage awaits, princess," he said and led his sister to the gate.