Confessions

He had worked so hard on himself these past months, had grown physically stronger, had pulled himself together emotionally, but still... No, of course, now he wouldn't be ashamed to appear as a wreck, like six months ago, and yet...

The evening passed in complex reflections.

At sunset, he began to cook. He didn't even know what exactly. A pie? Pastries? It turned out to be a mess. His hands trembled, everything slipped from them, waves of anxiety overwhelmed him.

"I found the meaning of life in continuing myself, but am I ready to meet this continuation?"

No, he wasn't ready, neither then nor now, but he had motivated himself well with this imaginary readiness. He felt ill. The eggs slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. He had wanted to mix them into the flour. Nothing worked. Absolutely nothing. For the first time in many months since the day on Frau Schicklbraun's lap, he curled up on the floor and cried helplessly.

The approaching Fluffie began to lick the yolk spread across the floor.

"Don't eat," he sobbed.

He had to clean up.

"I won't cook anything. I'll better prepare myself."

Four small violet pills, a glass of water — and sleep.

Frau Schicklbraun still hadn't taken Fluffie... and it was already past midnight... no matter... let her stay... she purrs so contentedly at his feet anyway.

Something whistled and pierced the window. Out of an old, learned-who-knows-where habit, he pressed into the mattress. But Fluffie hadn't been taught such habits. The second bullet must have torn her in half. Choking on a sense of impending danger, the old man crawled to the door. Two eyes outside the window — who? Two eyes in the room — Fluffie?

He crawled to the door and dashed into the corridor as he was — in a tank top and underwear. Somewhere this had happened before. There it was no longer dangerous, he straightened to his full height, took two steps to the left, and knocked on the door:

"Frau Schicklbraun! Frau Schicklbraun!"

She came out sleepy, in a nightgown, clearly not understanding what was happening.

"Frau Schicklbraun," he tried to catch his breath, "I'll... now show you... where the attack on me... was being prepared from."

Without letting her respond, he pulled her along. They took two steps to the left and entered the apartment. Frau Schicklbraun decisively stepped forward.

"Wait," he pulled her back, "it might be dangerous here."

"No," she turned on the light and decisively walked through the entire room, "it's not dangerous here. The glass is intact."

"Indeed," he pressed his forehead to the glass, not believing his eyes, "but how?"

He shook out the blanket, but there were no glass shards anywhere. Moreover, Fluffie was gone.

"Maybe I imagined it, and she just ran away while the door was open?"

"No, it's not dangerous here. But we need to go. Get dressed, take your keys, I'll get dressed too, and we'll meet in the parking lot. We agreed on seven in the morning, but well, circumstances changed, as I see" Frau Schicklbraun commanded clearly.

Ten minutes later, they were speeding down the Triumphators Avenue. To the left flashed the Triangular Square with all its gilded pyramids.

"Is... someone... chasing us?" he timidly suggested.

She remained silent, gripping the steering wheel tighter. The avenue ended.

"Checkpoint! Stop!"

"I see, I'm not blind."

"Stop, it's the military police, I've walked all over, I know them all, let me negotiate!"

"It won't work anymore, I'm afraid," Frau Schicklbraun smirked, placing her hands on the wheel.

The patrolman was familiar to him.

"Guys! Hey! Don't you recognize me? It's me, driving with my neighbor, need to treat the cat urgently, maybe we sped a bit..."

"There are no night veterinary clinics in Chernostok. Your documents," the patrolman shone a flashlight on Frau Schicklbraun.

"Can I at least take my hand off the wheel then?"

A nod.

She pulled an ID from the inner pocket of her jacket. The patrolman read it.

"Safe travels," and ordered the barrier to be lifted.

They drove on.

"What was that?" he wondered.

She remained silent.

"Did we slow down?"

She just slightly pressed the gas. Then she pulled over to the side. Turned on the hazard lights. Took a thermos from her bag. Took a sip.

"Drink," she offered.

"But I..."

Sirens sounded behind them.

"DRINK!" and it was a threat.

He brought the thermos to his lips.

"It's not poisoned, silly. I just took a sip from it for you," Frau Schicklbraun smirked.

A sip.

...archive disclosures, torture, abuse of power, violence, overstepping authority, military police have proven crimes of the governor's authority, numerous citizen appeals, investigation underway, criminal cases initiated, universal jurisdiction confirmed regarding the crimes of the "Дед" regime, La Liga in cooperation with all interested parties is conducting an investigation, the International Commission for the Protection of Justice is opening an official process on crimes against humanity in Chernostok, based on evidence collected by La Liga...

"Drink, drink..."

...numerous episodes of violence against political opponents...

Memories struggled to pour in, breaking through the sweet syrup of the serene and fully approved life by Frau Schicklbraun.

...mysterious disappearances of civil activists...

"Keep drinking, don't get distracted," she watched with almost sadistic satisfaction.

...unlawful violence against detainees...

All this happened, all this didn't just happen, but occurred under the clear directive of a single person.

...violation of the rules and customs of war...

He looked at Frau Schicklbraun with sadness, already understanding that he would have to drink the cup to the bottom.

On the day when external control was first established over Chernostok, the rabid dog broke off the leash. People who had no obligation to go there were thrown into the meat grinder of senseless resistance...

He choked and tried to throw the thermos out of the car window, but Schicklbraun held his hand tightly.

"Enemies — to destroy! The disobedient — to pacify! The unruly — to punish! AND WHAT WAS I WRONG ABOUT?"

"Drink."

...the task was not completed.

...for the next eight years, the task of physically destroying all negotiable forces regarding the preservation of Chernostok's peaceful status was systematically carried out...

...a radicalization of resistance approved at the highest level occurred...

...as a result of excessive focus on the search for so-called 'internal enemies,' a critical undermining of national security occurred, which resulted...

...on November 19...

...one thousand seven hundred and fifty dead, more than two thousand wounded...

...the Joint Committee of La Liga decided to conduct a special operation to maintain public order in Chernostok...

...during resistance by Governor ******* *******, better known as "Дед", significant excesses of permissible self-defense levels were discovered, such as: use of non-conventional weapons, use of civilian objects for military purposes, coercion to armed resistance in the absence of officially declared martial law, application of military censorship measures in the absence of officially declared martial law, as well as...

He drank the thermos to the bottom and looked into Schicklbraun´s eyes.

"Yes. I am Дед."