...and raindrops fell over the city. A storm had been gathering for the past few days. At least that was how the locals found solace. The scorching heat and pressure killed any activity that could be called life. The wind mercilessly tossed wet sheets of paper, from which all meaning had been washed away by the rain. The storm lingered over the city for a long moment, completely enveloping it in dark clouds, and buried its inhabitants in concrete cages, awaiting a better tomorrow. Those unable, or with nowhere to take shelter, sat on the curbs, staring at the streams of water rushing down the street beneath their feet. Staring blankly. Staring without noticing the details that flowed in unknown streams deep beneath the city. Staring without looking. Seeing no bodies of drowned rats, no future debris, no traces of tomorrow, no children's toys drifting far away—to a place they, the surface dwellers, couldn't even imagine in their worst dreams. Toys? Traversing the murky waters of the metropolis' center, bumping against stones, scraping against the curb in the terrifying rush of the small river where so many creatures had already lost their lives, a small rag doll sped along. Shielded from the gaze of passersby, by the effective lack of desire to see it, with no chance of rescue, it sped deeper and deeper into the abyss, passing things that shouldn't be there. The entire journey would have ended in the nearest gutter if not for a soaking blind dog in the pool, who caught it in its mouth, thinking it was a rat. He spat it out with disgust a few steps away, searching for a new target. The doll was left in the middle of the street, wet, riddled with holes, forgotten by the world and the unfolding reality. It would most likely lie there until something crushed it completely into the asphalt, or a dog snatched it for some unknown purpose. Fate had other plans. If dolls had feelings and a higher meaning of existence, she would surely have known that something had been watching her since the careless mutt had thrown one from the river of death. She would have known that the black silhouette would approach her, sniff her intently, twitch its ears, and, looking around, take her in its mouth. She would have recognized the cat, who had plans for her. Gently treading with black paws, he floated through the city, leaping fences with her, traversing alleyways, hearing conversations and footsteps, hiding in alleys. Finally, with a confident step, he entered, peering around, into an alley with no exit. No one from the city had come here for centuries. None of the happier ones. The doll, waiting amidst the cat's breathing for the next course of its journey, hung over a dark canal, most likely leading to the heart of the city – the underground. It was thrown into its depths. If she had been given the gift of hearing, she would have heard the screeching of rats everywhere; if she could have seen, she would have seen a distant light above and the dark silhouette of a cat looking down. If she could only reason logically, she would have known she was lying in the water of the city's underground zone.Where it should never have been. The cat jumped out a moment later and grabbed the soaking wet doll again, carrying it deeper into the sewers. He was clearly afraid, as he walked in a rather large slalom in the corridor and kept looking back. The underground is a strange place. Without laws. A place where cats are afraid of rats. The doll, tossed left and right, dangled carelessly on the fangs of its savior. A hero it had never asked for. The cat moved quite quickly, so after about 15 minutes of walking, he found what he considered his destination. He strode proudly up the small steps leading to the doorless entrance, which had surely been there once, long ago. He sat on the top step between the worn doorframe, placed the doll on the threshold, and meowed. A faint voice could be heard from the darkness, yet it was present in the room, yet somewhere far away.
"You're back... you always come back..." the cat walked toward the wall, purring amicably. If the doll could see, she would have noticed the woman, or rather the girl, crouched in the corner of the room, rocking regularly from side to side, toward whom her rescuer was heading. She would have seen the girl extend a slightly trembling hand above the cat, then, as if searching for something, slowly lower it onto its head and begin to tenderly stroke it. A delirious smile appeared on her face. "What did you bring me from outside? A rat?" the cat returned to the threshold. "Today must be Tuesday... somewhere in the middle of summer... or maybe it's already winter..." the girl seemed unaware that the cat wouldn't answer her; after all, she was speaking more to the space than to anyone in particular. "Do you think there'll be chicken for dinner today?" The cat snatched the doll in its teeth and brought it to the girl. She didn't seem to notice until the cat approached and brushed against her knee. She looked blankly at the floor.
"Is that you?" She placed her hand on the ground next to the doll. It took a while before she managed to fully grasp and lift the rag. "Who are you?" The doll slipped from her hand, and the cat meowed. The girl petted it, "Thank you..." The cat climbed onto the girl's lap and snuggled. All she could do was place her hand on it, which slid down on its own, and she only lifted it. The cat purred.
^*^ ^*^ ^*^
Rain. Wonderful. That was all he needed. It wasn't perfect in the blazing sun, but at least he could walk. He was now traversing another stretch of wasteland, suitcase in hand, mud sloshing beneath his wide, heavy military boots. Holding his hand against his brow, he placed the suitcase down for a moment and gazed out at the horizon, where the outlines of a metropolis were already visible. Then he glanced above himself, but seeing no hope of improvement in the weather, he pulled up his hood and, taking up his suitcase, began to walk towards his desired destination. He didn't know why he had come here. He had no idea what awaited him here or what he expected from this place. He knew one thing: the prospects for the future were brighter from here than from where he came from. The suitcase didn't weigh him down, even though it contained all his belongings. He wasn't from a wealthy country.
He had been walking for a good 30 minutes when he reached the mighty gates of the metropolis. Bored guardians of the future stood on either side of her. They didn't speak, couldn't. He approached one of them.
"I'm sorry..." he said, but only a prolonged silence answered him. "SUCK!" Silence again. He walked up to one of them and tapped the armor they wore. The sound echoed inside. "Unless..." He picked up the suitcase and, as he passed them, jumped again, as the armor was much larger than the man inside. He waved to one of them before emerging from his helmet of sorts. Nothing. He put the suitcase down and climbed onto it. He tried to reach the top of the 'helmet' and try to open the armor. When he found that impossible, he jumped on the suitcase, grabbed the 'helmet,' slung it over the guard's shoulder, opened the flap around his neck, opened it, hit it with his hand, and... fell on his back. As soon as he opened his eyes after the fall, he noticed that the armor had split open, and the body of a long-dead guard had fallen onto him. Panicked, he jumped to his feet and, stripping the body off himself, jumped two meters away from the spot and collapsed onto the wet ground. He looked at the body with eyes widening to the size of his fists and silently cursed under his breath. He picked up his suitcase and hurried to the panel operating the metropolis' massive gate. It was located in a recess that formed a sort of gate; it wasn't wet, as the drops of long-awaited rain had no access. He set the suitcase down, leaning it against the massive door, which, when opened, would reveal a brighter future. He took a few steps back and looked around again. To his left and right, the colossal wall surrounding the entire metropolis stretched to the horizon. He turned, raised his hand, and waved. With that triumphant smile, he bid farewell to 24 years of the past. With a quick movement, he brushed his wet hair back from his forehead and entered the space where he had left his suitcase. He glanced at the wall and found a warped, rusty panel. He pulled the flap to reveal the keys. It didn't budge. He repeated the action several times, and when the flap still wouldn't budge, he lifted his booted foot and kicked the lock. The door dented and fell with a dull crash, revealing 12 keys and a tangle of various cables. He picked up the suitcase and opened it, then pulled out a strange device inside, which he automatically connected to two cables. He tapped a few commands on it, then heard a loud crack, then another, and another. Then only the sluggish scrape of steel on sand—the gate was beginning to open. Smiling to himself, he picked up the suitcase, having previously stowed the device inside, and with a brisk step, head held high, stepped from the sandy and dusty past into the future encased in steel and cement.
He walked deeper into the skyscrapers and warehouses pressing in from all sides, carefully scanning every step. From now on, this cold place would become his home. Home. A home that remained somewhere far, far away, beyond the colossal wall that protected this place. Protecting it, or at least holding it together. Water poured in torrents through the empty streets, occasionally crossed by a stray dog or a child. Here and there, drug addicts sat by the walls, pointing out things only they could see. Despite the downpour, the city remained alive. He could hear, albeit distantly, the sounds of clubs, and from the radio speakers, he could hear a voice announcing some new revelation—a local radio station, perhaps? He liked the place, even though it was the second time he'd seen it. Once, when he was still little and the city was much cheaper, his father took him here on business. It was the first time he'd seen so much splendor. He hadn't understood then that the people he saw were junkies, prostitutes, and drug dealers, but that only added to the magic of this mysterious, magical community within the wall. It was starting to get dark, and the rain hadn't let up. He gripped his suitcase tighter and headed for the smoldering neon eye sign nearby. He pushed open the door, which clanged against a small metal bell attached to the ceiling. The whole thing was one giant drinking game. The Evil Eye Caffe was conveniently located so that the bell could be heard over the music and conversation. Now, it was also full of people. He waited a moment at the entrance to let his eyes adjust to the smoke. From the opposite end of the room (or so he thought), he heard singing. A woman's voice was shouting something about how "shallow life on the streets" was. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an empty seat at the bar. He walked over, leaning his elbow on the counter. The "neighbors" to his left and right suddenly fell silent, looked at each other, then at him. He pretended not to notice, simultaneously searching for the bartender. He didn't have to wait long. The bartender, or rather, as it turned out, the barmaid, approached rather quickly after noticing the new face in the crowd, brushing herself off from the café's patrons along the way and pouring a few pints down the pants of pushy customers. Finally, after a long walk, she reached him and, smoothing her hair, exhaled with a smile.
"Can I help you?" "She said, leaning over the bar and eyeing the newcomer up and down, carefully examining his shoes and suitcase. "New in town, I see. Permanently? Just passing through?" She licked her lips and then bit her tongue.
"We'll see..." he gestured at the "neighbors" who were watching them closely and giggling to themselves.
"Bert, maybe you should mind your own business, hmm?" The barmaid tossed her braid back. Bert and the neighbor laughed loudly and left, leaving empty seats at the bar.
"So, what can I get you?"
"I don't know..." He narrowed his eyes slightly and ran his hand through his hair, shaking off a few drops of water. "Anything to recommend?" A forced smile.
"Hmm," she replied, surprisingly, but it was either unforced or she was very good at it. "I'll pour you some local special..." With a deft movement, she grabbed a glass from the rack above her head and then bent down to grab a few bottles. She poured the right proportions and then poured a little powder into the glass.
"Voila!" She handed him the glass.
"Jes! How long the fuck do I have to wait here for you to deign to move your sexy ass and hand me a beer?!"
"Hmm... oh well." She stroked his cheek. "Work calls. I'll be back later, you can tell me about yourself." She licked her lips meaningfully.
He watched her walk away to the customer, who turned out to be a beefy punk dressed in leather. After about two minutes of their conversation, about three-quarters of which were about him, judging by his gestures, he glanced at the glass sitting before him as if nothing had happened. He took it in his hand and took a long sip. Something inside was damn strong, and the smell alone irritated his mucous membranes. However, he'd had worse, so with practiced calm, he placed the glass back on the counter. He glanced around the room. People were slowly starting to file into the bar; the party was about to begin, and he was exhausted from his journey and felt like he wouldn't last even until two. As he drained his glass, Jes returned.
"Where did we end...
" "Duff," he introduced himself curtly.
"Duff." "The barmaid smiled. "So, Duff, where are you coming from?
" "St. Jaddis, a little backwater south of here.
" "Uohoo... it's a long way... and from what I understand," a distinct smile said. "Nothing's been running there since that refinery accident.
" "Old times. Yeah, if that's what you're talking about, I got it from the shoe." The barmaid looked deep into his eyes, clearly amused.
"You must be tired." She drew the last words out clearly. "Aren't you looking for a place to stay?" She looked him over again, from head to toe, so he could clearly feel her gaze.
"...do you have anything in mind yet?"
"I can rent you a room for the night... for half price." She stopped mid-sentence.
"If...?
" "If... you invite me over." A wink.
"I'll take the whole... how much?" The barmaid didn't even flinch, quite the opposite. "
I'll add it to your bill; we'll discuss it when you leave." She handed him the key, turned around, and moved on to the next customer. "Behind the toilet, turn left and up the stairs."
He grabbed the key, reading the smudged 9 on the key ring. He dropped the key and caught it, standing up, then, scanning the room again, headed up the stairs, not sparing his suitcase by the railing. He came to a narrow hallway with a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall and a plastic "NO SMOKING" sign with a crossed-out cigarette. He accidentally knocked over an ashtray full of cigarette butts with his suitcase. He passed a window at the corner of the hallway and turned left, where he noticed the slightly rusted number 9 on the door. He took out the key and opened the door, which gave way at the first tug. He turned on the light, as the one in the hallway wasn't very effective. The room had the standard furnishings: a dresser, a table, a nightstand, a bed, which he noticed was exceptionally large; and a tacky painting. In the corner, he spotted the bathroom door, begging to find a shower there in the morning. He turned off the light and locked the door behind him, then tossed the key on the table. He sat down on the bed and took off his shoes, which brought immediate relief. He sprawled on the bed as he was, then promptly fell asleep; the last thing he remembered was the crucifix hanging above the bed.
The sound of raindrops pattering against the window woke him. He sat up, grunted, and reluctantly ran his hand through his hair. He looked out the window, which one could it be? The wall clock read 12:23, but judging by the lack of movement of the second hand, it had stopped. The weather outside hadn't improved since yesterday, perhaps even worse. He placed his suitcase on the bed and opened it. From its contents, which ranged from socks to weapons, he pulled out a shirt and pants and went to the bathroom in search of a shower. He found it in rather poor condition, but considering he hadn't expected it at all, he was happy with what he had. Despite the cool water, he felt much better after the shower, and the clean clothes only improved his mood. He packed his things again and, placing his suitcase on the bed, opened the door and left the room, locking it behind him. In the hallway, a couple of drug addicts lay leaning against the wall, right under the fire extinguisher. They were still slightly conscious. Duff walked past them and headed downstairs. The last of the customers were just leaving, and as he entered the red and black lights of the bar, he glanced at the neon clock, which read 5:30. Now that the room was empty except for a middle-aged man sipping coffee, he could better assess the size and furnishings of the place. There were twice as many tables as he'd imagined, and the place had a striking U-shape. In the center was a bar, behind which a familiar bartender, cigarette in mouth, was calculating last night's takings for a partnership with the woman sitting opposite. In the corner furthest from the entrance was a small stage. He ran a hand through his damp hair again and approached the two women. He smiled.
"Hello..." Now he could take a closer look at the barmaid. Yesterday, her braid had been barely visible in the smoke; today, it gleamed rust-colored in the neon glow. The woman was tall and shapely; he noted her impeccable proportions. When she noticed the newcomer eyeing her up, her slightly too-wide mouth curved into a smile.
"Duff, glad you're down... how was your night?" A row of white teeth now faintly appeared beneath her upper lip. The man shook himself slightly, looked away, and, returning the smile, replied curtly,
"Fine. Thank you." He found a stool at the bar, which he almost immediately occupied. He yawned, then turned to the woman sitting across from the barmaid, a familiar face. She was in the process of sizing him up over her thin glasses.
"Grace, this is Duff, she's from St. Jaddis..." The barmaid's friend leaned forward and smiled, extending her hand toward Duff. The lamp above the bar illuminated her better. She was much prettier than Jes. Dark eyes behind her glasses studied Duff's entire figure, making him feel uncomfortable. He extended his hand toward the outstretched one and took the woman's small hand in his.
"Duff..." he choked out after a moment.
"Nice to meet you." The woman shook hands, then released her own. She took off her glasses and, wiping them on her blouse, looked up at the neon clock on the wall. "Time for me to go, nothing will happen on its own. We'll talk later." She stood up, putting on black leather gloves, adjusted her black skirt, and, putting on her leather coat, slowly made her way towards the exit, her shoes clicking against the floor. After hearing the bell, she smiled again, saluted, and walked out. Duff watched her go.
"Who was that?" he asked without looking away.
"Hmm?" Jes put down her recently wiped glass and looked at the man. Seeing his head turned away from her, she understood who he was talking about. "Grace... My friend and business partner, why do you ask?" "
She works here?" Duff continued to lean against the closed door.
"Well, I can't work 24/7... think before you ask," Jes smiled, holding her glass up to the light and carefully wiping it again.
"So where did she go now?" He looked away when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement in the restaurant. The man who had been drinking coffee had just said goodbye and was leaving. Jes shouted back, "Goodbye," and then he was gone, old-fashioned.
"To the guy. She wanted me to close the bar for her shift today." Duff nodded and glanced at the clock on the wall. He'd been talking for 30 minutes. He wasn't in a hurry, considering he hadn't managed to make any arrangements in town yet, but he felt he should leave soon. He ordered a coffee with that in mind. Jess quickly bent down to the bar, pulling out a white mug with the bar's logo. Placing it in front of Duff, she turned and walked a few steps deeper into the bar to the espresso machine. Duff smelled a strangely sticky-sweet aroma as the mug was being filled with coffee. He decided at that moment that he wasn't going to empty it. They sat there in silence for 15 minutes. All the while, Duff considered his options in this situation. He was thinking about everything from how to make money, getting to know the city, getting in with the right people, the location, to what day of the week it was and what he actually planned to do in the next 30 minutes.
"Duff?" Jess's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hummm?" He let out a long grunt while rubbing his face.
"I'm going to bed now... so either you go upstairs or leave the place until tonight... you can come with me, of course..." He caught sight of the barmaid's row of white teeth again.
"I'll go out... it'll do me good... I'll see the area...
" "What's there to see here? Just dirt and concrete...
" "Ugh..." he finished shortly, then stood up. He stopped in his tracks and, looking through the glass door of the place, decided to go back to his room for his jacket. The weather didn't look like it would change anytime soon. "I'll just grab something from upstairs and then I'll be off..."
Jess managed to say something else, but her voice was drowned out by the scraping of heavy combat boots on the dilapidated stairs of the pub. He quickly stepped past the druggies, now oblivious to their existence, and, once again knocking over the ashtray, reached the door. He took a deep breath, pushed the doorknob hard, and, throwing on his jacket, slammed it shut, turning the creaking lock. He jumped down halfway down the stairs, pocketed the key, and found himself back in the smoky pub. Seeing Jess nowhere, he called out, "See you later," just in case, and left, ringing the golden bell on the door.
A fresh gust of rainy air suddenly filled his nostrils. After a few deep breaths, a mischievous smile appeared on his face. Duff glanced left and right, assessing the situation he had just found himself in. To the left, a small street with warped asphalt led deep into the residential part of town. Around the corner, on the right, lay one of the main streets, along which rusty radio speakers, strung out on cords, occasionally wheezed. The voice of the program's relaxed host, as he recognized from his accent, was announcing that the rain would not end anytime soon. Duff stood there for a few moments longer, observing several homeless people sitting under a shelter opposite the pub. Homeless people, or perhaps customers who were currently dying. He decided to turn right—there had to be some opportunity to earn a few pennies in the city center. Dodging the endless streams in the gutters, he walked with his hands in his pockets and his head held high. A radio voice announced that it was 7:45 a.m. when he reached the city center. A large market square had been designed in the very center of the city, with what looked like a fountain in the center. Perhaps once a monument had stood there, but now a few wires jutted out, and dirty water spilled over the fountain's edges, flooding the nearby benches. The trees had long since died, so the ornamental lawns and planters stood empty. Naturally, everything was wrapped in concrete. Considering the early hour, he didn't find as many passersby as he'd expected. Only a few shops were open, and the street vendors had taken the day off. All but a few. Duff felt eyes on him. He looked around, searching for anyone watching him. Try as he might, fidgeting like an idiot, he couldn't spot anyone suspicious. He decided to explore the outskirts of the market square and see what lay on the opposite side. He spotted a small shop with a sign reading "Cigarettes" and headed in its direction. He entered a small room filled with the scent of tobacco and sought out the salesperson.
"Hello..." he said dispassionately. In response, he heard a low murmur, surely expressing the salesperson's delight in his customer. He glanced around the shop again and bought the first pack of cigarettes he came across, pulling a small bag of money from his pocket. To accumulate the amount he currently had, he had to work various jobs around his hometown. From running errands to repairing machinery. He had even once helped an elderly lady, a family friend, around her house for a few pennies. He briefly thanked her and left, bumping into an elderly man in the aisle. Immediately after bumping into the man, he caught a whiff of the man's stench. He held his breath and quickly left the shop. He glanced back, overhearing the overly loud conversation now taking place inside.
- I've told you so many fucking times that I don't sell on the Kreche!
- Just this one last time...
"The last time was 40 times ago! Last time, I had to send people after you to pay off my debts.
" "Frank, listen, I'm addicted. If I don't light a cigarette up my ass soon, I'll die right here in your shitty shop, and that's not good advertising!
" "I said no, and that's it. Now get your ass out of here and never see you again!"
"Frank, calm down... let's talk like adults."
The sound of the phone being lifted.
"Frank, don't be a fucking idiot." The man's voice cracked more and more with each number punched on the dial pad. "Okay, you win... I'm leaving now. Die in pain, you son of a bitch!"
The man exited even faster than he'd entered, bumping into Duff again. He cursed under his breath, brushing past him, spreading his stench around the area. Duff knew he'd regret it later.
"Hey... sir." "Here..." he shouted after the man, holding out an open pack of cigarettes. "Do you smoke?"
The man seemed unable to believe his eyes. He leaped up to Duff, practically snatching the pack from his hand, taking one cigarette and quickly searching his pockets for matches. Duff picked up the pack he'd just handed the man from the ground and pulled out a lighter.
"Here..." He didn't have time to finish, and the silver box was already in the stranger's hands. After the first drag, relief washed over the man's face.
"God, you saved my life... I owe you everything, son..." The man was literally chomping away at the cigarette, which vanished a moment later, leaving a trail of smoke trailing straight from the filter and spreading somewhere high above.
"From St. Jaddis, you say... it's a long way." Big J, as he introduced himself to Duff, was sucking down another cigarette from Duff's pack. "Not an easy road." I'd even say it's fucking difficult. But what wouldn't you do for money?" J grinned, showing a row of crooked, dirty teeth and slapping Duff on the back.
"Yeah..." Duff muttered. Big J led him to his little cabin not far from the square. The view from the single small window stretched directly onto the cigarette shop they'd just visited. They were now sitting in a small room, divided in half by a yellowed wall, behind which lay a toilet and sink. Duff was bombarded by a stench several times stronger than the guy's. The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling by a single cable had long since stopped working. Duff had seen the apartment building when he stood in front of the fountain, but he paid it no mind, as it didn't stand out against the concrete background.
"You know, when I saw you come to the square, I knew you'd be a young man." A sharp, open-handed slap to the shoulder blades. Another crooked smile. - I was just waiting for the pipe shop to open because I've been craving it since yesterday.
Duff realized it must have been J watching him as he stood in the square. He glanced at the almost empty pack of cigarettes, took one out, and, turning it over aimlessly in his fingers, popped it into his mouth.
"You know, J... It's interesting meeting you, but I'm off to find a job.
" "Jobs? Big J will get you any job you want! Just name it!" Duff was tired of examining the teeth of a guy who probably had never heard of a toothbrush.
"If I don't find anything, I'll call you." He cut himself off, standing up. "I almost forgot." He tossed J the remnant of his cigarette pack and, lighting his own, slammed the door. He stepped out into the dark stairwell and quickly headed out into the street, escaping the stench
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