In general, it all began normally. In the morning, the director gathered all of us and politely explained that everyone can consider himself free, or go on indefinite leave without pay. I chose the latter.
It was necessary to eat something, therefore, having turned over with brains, I went to call in a taxi. The job is not dusty, 50% of the order is mine. In the front seat, the mount looms unnoticed, in the glove compartment there is a trauma. You can live, in short.
Twelve hours behind the wheel. The back falls off, the annoying cramp leads to the ankle. Normally, in general.
He caught me by the end of the shift. Then, when I was annoyed to the limit and hated the whole world. During the day I had time to hear about the diseases of my favorite aunts, find out what quotes on the oil exchange, and agree that Stalin is a hangman.
In my frivolous universalist, a large body pushed hard and stared at the window with a dull gaze.
- Where we go? - I asked him out of habit.
The administrator of the address, of course, called, but suddenly the client changed his mind.
The client took a deep breath and suddenly said:
- Shi vox in beauty, like the night
Of sllesles climbs and old skyys
End al zats best of dark and bright
Mit Ying Hyo aspect and cher ice ...
In the car, my people are different, but for the first time I saw such a miracle. She turned her head, opened her mouth, and just in case prepared to swipe. I am, in general, an unrestrained woman, and in a rage I have little control. Given my 179 cm. Growth of pure goodness and philanthropy ... Usually, rarely anyone would like to ask again what I had in mind.
But this strange type stared at me with radiant eyes and continued spite. That's just out of luck, not otherwise.
- Van Shade the Mo, Bath Ray the Forest,
Head Home Impired Theme Names Grass.
htw wave in in evri raven trace ...
- We are going where? - I managed to squeeze out.
He sighed again. Bitter and bitter. He shrugged his shoulders, lifted the collar of his jacket, and looked like a huge, ruffled cock.
- Outside. House 45. Last entrance.
The customer is always right. I squeezed gas and pulled through the darkening streets. In my opinion, he fell asleep, and all the time I looked at him in the rearview mirror. Could not in any way consider it in the dark cabin.
- We arrived.
The car slowed down at the entrance, the passenger awkwardly nodded at the back of my head. He doused with hot breath, muttered “Thank you” and held out two hundred-hundred pieces of paper.
Package. He got into my car with a black plastic bag that didn’t fit his figure like that. And now he pressed this package to himself with such diligence, as if all worldly wisdom was hidden there.
He opened the car door, tried to get out, touched everything, and ...
“Damn it,” I heard a whisper, “eggs ...”
Honestly, I thought he pinched. Well, that's it. She imagined how it hurt him, pulled the seat adjustment lever and tried to free the captive male nature.
“Mom will kill me,” the strange passenger continued.
“And is there mommy here?” I thought.
But she said aloud:
- Well, do not worry you so. Happened and got more. Here my husband told me ...
I just wanted to throw him an officer's bike from my late spouse purely in order to support how the client exploded:
- Yes, and where is your husband ?! My mother will kill me if I do not bring her eggs. Where will I buy them now?
In my clouded twelve-hour shift, understanding crept in. He crushed eggs. Not his, of course, and chicken. I started to giggle. Then laugh. Then frankly laugh.
And he finally got out, and now he was standing right outside my door, throwing lightning out of his eyes, no worse than Zeus.
“I don’t see anything funny,” my night passenger said. - My mother is sick.
It was here that I looked at it in all its glory. Not to say that handsome, but ... Become, form.And rage gave him a completely unearthly charm. True, his mommy in this context was completely superfluous.
“Forgive me,” I said, laughing, “let me take you to the supermarket for free.” And you buy there fresh eggs.
He agreed. Not to say that with joy, but got back into the car and was silent all the way, like an angel of conscience.
I went to the supermarket with him. While he was maneuvering between the rows, choosing eggs, I looked at the view that opened up to me. His ass was all right! He asked the price, almost sniffed and checked every egg for the expiration date. During this time I managed to fill my cart with all sorts of things: from beer to gaskets.
Finally, we were near the ticket office, and then I decided to take the first step.
“I'll pay,” she told him when he was ready to get his wallet. - In the end, after all, it was in my car that you broke the gear for the sick mom.
He gave me his radiant look again and suddenly smiled.
- Will you punch the goods? - I heard the dissatisfied voice of the cashier.
I threw a thousandth note on the counter, raked the change, without looking, and we rolled out of the store.
For some reason I did not want to part with it. I do not know why. I felt that he had not finished telling me that entertaining story in gibberish language. There definitely should have been a sequel, and I wanted to hear it.
But the passenger was silent. He picked up the collar of his jacket and stared again at the road with an unblinking look.
“Take care of the eggs,” I advised him at the entrance.
He turned around, carefully put the package on the ground and waved to me. He took the key out of his pocket, put it on the doorphone lock, and then I screamed:
- Wait ...
She saw her shoulders shudder and began to speak. Quickly, quickly, until he came to his senses:
- Let's drink some coffee. Here, around the corner. I treat, I had a good change. This does not oblige anyone to anything. Just drink coffee, and you read me poems.
“This is Byron,” the man turned to me. - Did you like it?
- Yes very.
“Then wait for me for half an hour, I’ll only feed my mommy, and come back.”
***
He is back. We drank coffee, he read me Byron. His name was Cyril.
- Let's go to me - I put my hand on his arm.
He started, pulled his fingers out from under my palm, and was suddenly embarrassed.
- Mom will be worried.
I felt funny. He is thirty five years old, and he is afraid that his mother will be worried.
I started to giggle again. Then laugh. And then he jerked his chin and almost cried out:
- And let's go ...
It was a strange night. He was gentle and affectionate. He was energetic and able, but ... I felt like his mommy. And only in the morning he began to speak.
By this time, I opened the champagne. It turns out that he almost did not drink, because mom does not tolerate the smell of alcohol. And I did not smoke either, but I smoke like a locomotive. We drank champagne, lit up the whole room and I heard his voice in a floating drunken mist.
- I do not remember the father. I do not remember at all. I was raised by my mother. As far as I remember, there was always only me and her. No one else. She said that I am a freak, all in the father. She said I was a moron. She said that no one and I would never need me except her.
“Tell me,” he grabs me by the shoulders, “I really am a freak?”
In the light of the full moon, I look at it carefully. I run my fingertips over my face. Big features, fleshy nose, full lips. Light blond hair and bright green eyes.
- Well, that you, - I reassured him, - you are handsome.
The iron grip of the fingers relaxed, Cyril exhaled and continued.
Mother came to his bedroom on the day of his sixteenth birthday. Came and stayed for almost twenty years. She turned him into her lackey. A year ago, she had a stroke.
I do not know why I deserved such a revelation of Cyril. Apparently, he was too long without a woman.
I visited her a couple of times. One day, while Cyril went to the store, I bent over her bed and whispered:
“If you weren't an old, lying stuff, I would kill you.” For everything you did to him.
I swear she heard me. Steel splashed in her dull pupils, she even tried to raise her hand to me.
No, I'm not merciful. I still have to pull this thirty-five year old boy out of the quagmire for a long time, but I will pull it out.
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Suddenly.
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Cool storyline. Worthy. This opus can only be assessed as a true work of art - a story. Short, bright, disturbing and catchy for the inner world of the reader. Thank.
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Oh, yes, you're burning, eco, you're Mom, something ... Congratulations on your debut, I heard you.
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All such prickly, but in fact gentle. And the story is gentle and touching. I don’t know whether you like such compliments, but what you feel is what I write :)
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Unusual, gloomy and interesting.
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She loved me for torment, And I for compassion for them))) 10
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And what, I can only say bravo. Believe it. On one page they managed to place so many things: loneliness, fear, pain, tenderness, hope for the best.
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Thank you. Mom died a month ago. Consider me cruel, but I insisted on the absence of a gravestone. The title of mother must still earn. One fact of birth is not enough. And the memory of this aunt should grow grass.
Cyril has three languages in the asset (English is German. Fr.), and he worked as a teacher at school. A worthy profession, but he did not like it. But Mommy thought that her son was obliged to continue the family dynasty of teachers. She was an honored teacher of Russia.
Now Zaya works as a translator in a large holding.
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But did it not turn out that you became a new mom for him, only a good one? instead of the old, the bad. you encourage success, put you on the right path, helped you get a job ... if not, then great.
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Even so. Each with their own interests. Everyone is happy, everyone is happy.
I have 179 cm of height and 41-foot size. The classic 15-17 cm is not very convenient for me, and the hare in this respect ... is slightly outstanding.
Cyril tears the umbilical cord with blood. I did not celebrate 9 days, I am not going to celebrate 40 either. No anniversaries or commemorations.
I even went to the cemetery authorities and said that the site was such and such - unowned. Let them dig for horseradish and bury them in a new one. If I had my way, I would have passed it to the poorhouse at all. Let her die there. But he couldn’t go to that anymore.
Maybe in five years he will leave, but for now ... As long as he confesses his love to me and makes an offer in three languages.
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if he leaves, he will be healed. Only to me, it is unlikely that a person has little left of a person after such a childhood. he needs to be repaired, and you focus only on erasing his former memory from him. to a psychologist, oh.
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Well, so far. Because:
We will destroy the whole world of violence
To the ground, and then ...
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Mmmmmd)
10)
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I understand that I liked it. Just in terms of writing, I am a new man, so I do not immediately understand everything.
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I am glad that I read the story and did not pass by. It's nice when interesting newbies come, whom you want not only to read, but also to communicate with them. Do not rush to escape from the site, write something else in your style. May God grant you family happiness.
And finally: do not rush to harden your heart.Whatever the fault of the deceased, it is unworthy of a man to treat her like that. It is not in our Russian Orthodox tradition to take revenge for the deceased, it is unworthy of man. Try to understand and rise above their grievances. Dead shame not ymut, they do not care. But alive is not all the same. Show everyone that you will not be like her, but will be better and kinder. Do not nurture, do not cultivate anger in yourself - it is eating away at your soul. The power of a person in love, kindness and forgiveness ... Do not be angry with my instructions: you just liked me.
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Thanks Evgeny3. About the "write" can not promise anything. I am not strong on fabrications. This strange story is a certain kind of psychotherapy. And for me, and for the hare. I have been alone for a long time (my husband died 5 years ago, the son is serving now), and Kirill ... With him, in my opinion, everything is clearer.
Regarding family happiness ... Sorry, but I am absolutely violet to this. If the hare demands, or rather, if it comes to demand, it will be. Even a child will be for him if he wants it badly (here is a joke to his son: he will come from the army, and there he will be a brother or a sister).
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Could not pass by. Please listen to Eugene. You can not take revenge on the dead. And "I insisted," "I did not cope," "I went to the authorities." Are you sure that Cyril is tearing the umbilical cord? For your "I" can not hear the voice of your "Bunny".
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His mom didn't like Byron. Preferred Robert Burns. And he loves Byron.
And I'm a takersha. Former officer. Well, who ever read me poems all night long? Especially in the original.
Horror, how romantic, agree.
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In part, I envied you in an amicable way. And let someone say that romance asks age: yes, she doesn't care how old you are. And do not wait for the weather from the sea, but tactfully and methodically hint to the faithful that the family is the basis of society, each boat must have its own pier. And the stronger he understands it, the better it will be for both of you. In every case there must be clarity, and between lovers and even more so. And do not be afraid, give birth. Afraid of wolves - do not go to the forest. Forge iron ... I think you understand me. Good luck to you!
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You have a black soul, I'm scared for you ...
Go to church, repent ... We are on earth people temporary ...
And also if you are taxing. Firms usually take from 15 to 20% of the city and from 10 to 15% intercity. 50% - this is ripping you off ...
And you literally focus on penis size. Usually it is not women who suffer, but men. Those who are small ...
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Fucked up New mom he just found. But this is no longer the case. You wrote well, hard, I liked it. But it's always scary about that ... It seems to me that you are the hardest here. Will you just pull out such a big boy?
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Oh well, business for three pennies. He already began to swear at me. That's it, and we will take to beat the plates. Joke.
Here the difficulty is that he himself understood what he is. That he is not a freak and not a moron, but a normal man. Even better than many.
And the fact that the second mom found. Yes such is full now. But unlike my rabbit, they are not trying to grow up. So they sit under the skirts. First at mummies, then at little women.
After all, he did not even know how to laugh at first, but now he constantly laughs. He sits on foreign sites, reads jokes there and translates them to me. This, you know, super ... Especially German.
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I would be scared. I would not believe that at 35 you can seriously change. But I also believe in miracles. Perhaps this is the case ...
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It does not change, that's just the point. He just becomes himself. What should have been, if mom had not tried. She just filled his personality with cement, and now the cement is cracking. And Kirill is slowly getting out.
This is my husband's friend explained to me - the medical officer.
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And I can not put an assessment. For me, this is not a literary work, although it was read in one breath. A terrible confession.
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I think there is a sea of horror under the cement. With which to work and work.
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We'll see. In the most emergency case there is a medical officer. The hare himself will not go to him under any sauce, but he will give advice.
As Serega (doctor) also said, the task is greatly simplified by the fact that sexually, Kirill is absolutely normal. He is not impotent, not inclined to dominate and vice versa.
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What inclined, dear Krapiva, Cyril You do not really understand.
In any case, I sincerely wish happiness to Cyril and to you, both individually and together ...
:)
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Thank.
What inclined, dear Krapiva, Cyril You do not really understand.
So it is, but he will not go to the doctor. Until.
“Do you also consider me a moron?”
“Well, that you. Of course not"
“There’s nothing to do there.”
He is sure that he is all right. Fine. Just like others. Normal and cacific is his thing. Work, home, woman. A set of average men. For Cyril, this is very important: go to the smoking room and tell him how he was given a blowjob in the morning. Not my mother (which, by the way, she did not love. She needed just the opposite), but a real woman.
At least so says the doctor.
Well, then we will see))). At least, the sense of healthy humor in it was already cut through. And it costs a lot. In frank maniacs, as Serega says, it is usually sad with this business.
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Maybe the psyche is strong. But if at the age of 16 he allowed it, then up to 16 were well pressed ... Good luck!
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10! +++
Got the same to nettle!
A wonderful, vital autobiographical tale! Congratulations! Debut a success!
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You did come back) Congratulations.
Yes) and I read your story. Not here, but where it is hot).
“Oh, no, the author, no, it will never end” - the phrase was spinning, or right, with anguish - it beat in my head.
You know, I hate you))) I hate that you write so sometimes. I hate that you only write this sometimes.
It will be funny if I made a mistake and the author is not you, it will be strange to realize that someone else is writing in this sound.
I do not want to write there, and I do not want to register here - to write to you in PM. Well, you yourself understand everything. Someone has only seen people for too long)
P. S. That story came across quite by accident.
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You are not mistaken. This is my story. Rather, half the story.
Desperate recognition. But thanks for it. I think, as an author, I can be proud of him.
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Completely) Especially you should know that I hate the author, not the user))
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By the way, it seems to me very much that I gave you my vote. Not where it is hot, but on another, parallel, competition. I'm right?
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No, they are not right) I understood what you mean, but iron horses are not my horse (stupid pun, I know). But in the next I promise to participate
And yes, I know, writing is so very easy, probably because it’s true that it’s already hard to keep. Although I could be wrong. You can write about a milkshake or cotton candy, but it turns out all the same.
Sometimes you want to give another to read)
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And yes ... writing the way I write sometimes (TM) is actually easy. It takes only a little: open your veins.
It's really easy if you are ready to swim in an alcoholic stupor))))
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Still, I will add here - I did not understand what it means (TM).
I'm not ready to swim, and never swam - it's not mine. And in someone else's - someday I will tell you what I see in such stories. Yes, if you see fit, you can delete comments.
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Congratulations on the pedestal))
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Thank. I did not expect myself, honestly.
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Is your offer of help still valid?)
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Of course. Contact me in PM either here or there. I will say more.
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Where is more convenient for you?
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Better there.
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