ACTION - REACTION

Action causes Reactions, right??? He stares at it with a quasi-green gaze, as if about to dissipate. He looks at humanity and practically demands answers about whether it qualifies or not.

Warning, warning, a state of irritation has been introduced. Shake once, twice, before use, and read the package insert. "

A pathetic spectacle," whispers a certain Malchik, rising from the seat next to him and fading into oblivion. "Okay, and I'm holding on to the railing, disassembling the rhythm, and catching it in my fingers. I automatically put some waste in my mouth and cover my mouth, because I want to scream and cry at the same time. Emotions are shattering the atmosphere, I can feel it, paranoia is taking over without fail. It's a great time, I sharpen my vision.

There are no more people, they've gone. No one is swaggering around anymore. It's supposedly good. Only substitutes remain, trampled into last year's grass. Well, I think I'll have to write the ending of this movie myself.

Someone nudges me from the side and tells me to get up from the ground because it's like a snort and rain has poured into my mouth, a complete paralysis, doused with tobacco, and my cigarette butt is still pressed to my heart as if it were my lover, finished, but still full of a supposedly fiery ember.

I say freeze frame, I say replay. But Master, he won't even hear about cleaning up. Supposedly, the action has already begun and the mechanism is unstoppable.

Okay, okay, Herring. You'll get there yet, I hear Master from behind. Picking yourself up from the ground isn't some catharsis, rising from the ashes, having your mask washed away by the rain, complete unmasking, it's more like frantically searching for a way to the store for a birthday present.

Something's warped, the frames have overlapped perfectly, two space-time continuities perfectly aligned, I think at first. Someone's tapping out of time, I quickly catch it. It was supposed to be one, two, three, four. And then someone brazenly messes up the rhythm with a short, broken, completely arrhythmic scream. Out of time, out of sync, and I'm still getting up from the ground.

My eye is downright rudely large, and everything tells me I'm seeing too much. I'm getting ready, and it takes a long time to get ready. I recall the supposedly noble reasons I'm here. This is a party. Eeeeh, well, that explains it all – suddenly the correct answer appeared somewhere between my eye and my fear.

To the left, I think I see some bodies, between black plastic sheets, typical garbage cans, still twitching. The action draws the reaction towards itself. I see it with multiplied force, position 666 in my one eye. I like sixes, it slips through the leaky helmet on my head.

I think, they've forced me into some medieval setting, and the plot is just plain bland and dark. I glance to my left. Completely disgusted by this, I say, what a fucking indiscretion, and a slap in the face in company. Someone there is completely sowing musical intolerance and pushing their utterly tuneless philosophies of existence against the rhythm of the earth, which I've undoubtedly felt ever since I found myself at this wake, among the plastic, bodies, nicotine, and the "give it to me" aura from some American reality TV hanging on a hanger right by the entrance.

I don't know what's going on. Is this an action movie, undoubtedly divided by three? Action and Reaction. Like Something for Something. Okay, I'm definitely on my feet now. I want to get closer to the dumpster on the left. The horror crackles incredibly, until I feel like I'm about to spit out my bottled-up content. I take steps like a child, terrified. I don't know what's going on with what, it's basically Czech action cinema mixed with real live television. Later, they'll probably turn my treading on the grass into a kind of stunt run. You know, Cavaliers who know their stuff can process everything and make it an impression, an indelible memory, a scar across my face in honor of all the nations and languages ​​that prevent me from catching my breath.

These sounds distract me, a complete and gratuitous irritation included in this package. But I'm going there. Automatically, without any assistance, I crush the grass under my weight. I almost understand what's going on and I see the entire situation that took place, all the details, everything in general, the entirety and the center of focus.

How am I supposed to convey this now to the humanity that's sat there, staring? Oh my God! I can't speak. I can almost imagine someone calling a friend and telling them a lousy plot that I supposedly artificially created for them. I don't know what to do! What kind of character am I supposed to be in here, huh? There's no Estro around, nothing to hold on to, no support.

I kneel before a pile of black plastic. I know what happened; they don't know yet. It's some kind of massacre, an abomination, the red shimmering and sliding across the dark plastic. Something is shaking so clearly beneath it, something is squeaking, moaning, as if slaughtered, violated by the abnormality. God!!! They're waiting. I fall to my knees and cry. I pray, fucking God, get me out of here! My whole body is shaking, all at once, completely out of sync, and I'm throwing out the contents. I choke. I'm falling to pieces, my head shatters against the sharp sensations, and I shatter glass.

I come to myself in three breaths. I open my eyes. I look. Among the pile of papers, beer cans, glass, and spilled cherry vodka, all dressed in black sacks, three feral dumpster cats are frolicking. Even more so now I reflect on this whole phenomenon and cry.