Intmate I woke up when I decided that the cat lay on my chest.

To those memorial in the evening, I went through beer and fell to sleep, not even disabling the monitor, only putting a film pause. It was Friday, and I decided that I quietly watch it tomorrow ... That is, today, as it was for midnight. And here, in the early morning, the gray light of which penetrated the window, I understood with displeasure that the baking fat cat sat down on me and prevents me from breathing. Return to drive a soup animal, I opened my eyes and suddenly remembered that I had no cat. To breathe, in the meantime, it became harder. I tried to raise my hands. It just was just a movement with the greatest labor, as if gravity on the planet had sharply increased. Or like a sheet, under which I (Nagishm, as usual), I slept, began to weigh a hundred kilogram. And this weight increased everything. I have almost could not breathe, the impermanent imagination was helpful, as a minute, my chest will be crushed by this invisible weight. Asthma attack? I have never had asthma, and why is paralysis? Wasting and howling, crying from fear and annoyance, I rolled down with a pretty work out of bed and burst into the floor. By that time I was sure that I was off the stroke or something like, and I swear myself for an unhealthy lifestyle in general and drunk on the eve of "Zhiguløvskoye" in particular. It was necessary to get to the table, get mobile and score 112, 911 or what it believes there in such cases. For some moment, I even felt myself the hero of the series about Dr. House and mentally grinned. So, I fell from the bed ... and the severity was disappeared. Lights with a quiet crunch Ryoebers dealt, absorbing the living oxygen. I got up and listened to my body. As if everything is in order. Inspected bed. Nothing. Climbed the switch on the wall. That is, I wanted to click - the key was not pressed, as if it was glued. Dreaming, I went with bare feet into the kitchen - a mercilert of the dryer after three liters of beer. A jug with boiled water someone tightly stuck to the table. The taps on the mixer were not rotated. The light was not lit. "Or all this is the continuation of the nightmare, or someone's evil joke," I thought about myself and almost broke my fingers, trying to push the curtains. Do you understand? The fortaway was ajar, because in the evening I smoked, sitting on the windowsill. The curtains slightly broke on the cool morning draft, but they seemed to the touch made from Titan. I convulously went around the whole apartment, besides the toilet, because his door was closed and did not open. I tried to touch and move things, jerked the doors of the cabinets and books on the shelves, Painal Curtains, Billed in a glass and computer monitor, pushed empty bottles. I did not even succeed in lubricate the beer left on the table - she was solid; Still and disadvantaged, like a rock, as in general everything is here. When I sat down in despair on the iron, judging by the sensations, the bed, I was painted: it stopped time. Time stopped, and for some reason I do not. And now I am incredibly quickly moving around the apartment for a third-party observer, as if some Flash or Superman. Therefore, I can't move anything. Temporary anomaly. A good theory was. Only I was wrong. Yes, and he himself quickly understood - the clock went, people on the street also walked, shouted the children from the school around the corner, drove cars. At nine in the morning, he won the alarm clock and fell from the table phone; I did not catch him, because he would crushing all my bones, but calmly fell to the floor. By that time, everything became more or less clear, although for order I still shouted in front of the door on the staircase until the hoarse. Sheet. In the morning I almost strangled the ordinary sheet at the moment when I began to lose ... materiality. The sheet simply wanted to fall on an empty bed, and it's good that I do not sleep in shorts. Is it funny? I also sometimes happen ridiculous. Sometimes I laugh for all days - I laugh up to exhaustion, without ceasing. For two weeks, I contemplated the same frame from Tarantino's film, left on the monitor, walked from the room to the room, looked out the window, for people. Hunger and thirst did not visit me anymore. From the sensations, only pain remained, and to make yourself feel at least something, I fought face about items and walls, cut my hands about the edge of the tablecloth, I even tried to leave an angle left on the table of the newspaper. Blood walked, but hardly anyone could see her. And I did not die and then, neither then. In the end, and the pain left me. Two weeks later, a fuss began. Brother came, then parents, then parents and militia, then brother and some other people. Mom usually cried. Movers arrived and took something from the furniture, brother took the computer. I did not see me, did not hear. I realized that it was better to sit somewhere in the corner so that you would not be demolished on the move all these dense, material bodies that came to your sarcophagus. By that time my mind was first clouded. You ask, why didn't I try to get out, run out, break out to the street, while the door was open? Oh, I tried at first. Ha. Ha. All the evil, the cruel irony of the universe was embodied for me in a curtain of wooden beads, which hangs on the jacket of the front door. Stupid and tasteless, this decor element has become an impenetrable wall for me on the way to freedom. Climbing immediately behind the backs of incoming and leaving people, the threads with black and white beads did not leave me the slightest chance of escape. Two or three years have passed. I no longer walked on an empty apartment, I tried not to even open the eye. A pitiful, invisible and not leaving traces of the creature, mashless in their imprisonment, I sat in the dusty corner of my own former room for months, clasping his knees and staring into the darkness under closed centuries. What could I? I did not want anything else. Probably exactly like this turns into ghosts. Then know that the ghosts are the most unhappy creatures on earth. Sometimes I was standing for a long time at the window and looked down where the sidewalk did not suspect people, watched the day of the day replaced by the night darkness, which the morning comes to shift. It seems, once I saw a little baby. He absently drove through the windows through the windows, and then looked with huge eyes, it seemed right on me and with a loud roar ran into the arms of the mother. Then the first tenant settled in the apartment. Behind him is another one, and more. They changed quickly - I did not follow. Maybe my presence felt, and they did not like it. Now there lives a young girl with long hair colors of the wing of a cemetery crow and an old name Victoria. She pumped candles, books in magic and occult. She smokes with friends in the evenings, and then they talk about parallel worlds and other entities, invisible by a human look. I first gotten interesting. I began to leave my corner; I sat down behind my back and listened to the conversation. And recently, Victoria was fascinated by the theory, according to which on a magnetic audio film, writing sound in an empty room, you can hear the voices of dead people. She did not have a tape recorder, the girl acquired a regular digital voice recorder with a mobile phone. She began to leave it included in the big room at night. For the sake of interest, I once walked something in it. And the device recorded my voice. Through the noise of interference and cracks of the static. Vika, my girl was impressed. I learned a month again. For you, for yourself. At first I went out only howl, but now I can already speak apart - you hear? You again left your voice recorder, thanks. I was able to tell my story. You just wanted to hear something? Isn't it? I spoke for a long time, and the next morning comes outside the window. I'm hoarble and tired. Now I will be back to our room, sit, as usual, near the bed and become you to stroke you on the hair with your jarred hand, singing silent lullaby.