pain

Hammer

The blow and you failed, not understanding who did it. Trying to see who it is turning into hell. You already understand that there is no one there. But what was it? Repeat? Hit! More. And so he hovered, fixed. This pain it hangs. Only our fucking brain was made in such a way that after a blow it can hurt for an eternity. Hit the anvil and all thermal processes will fly by in a few seconds and that’s it, it’s all over for her. But we are not, we are alive and for us not everything is so simple.

I woke up from just such a blow one night, for some time I did not understand what it was and was not even close to realizing what it meant, then I hoped that there was a little time left until the morning, but, as I already said, not everything is so simple. All thoughts were supplanted by the blow, the rest was filled with pain, all-consuming and destroying pain. She lived inside me for three whole hours. My body naively believed that changing position would fix everything, but the realization that it was all in vain made the next 2.55 minutes a living hell. Coffee and cigarettes, of course, provided me with a little respite, but fatigue did not let me forget about myself. I finished my coffee, finished my cigarette and didn’t seem to feel any pain, I wanted to sleep. And upon returning to bed, she woke up in pain.

Then for the first time I wondered what my blanket and pillow were made of. No, I knew there were feathers and fabric, but what is all this made of, why is it so tasty? Over the following months, I chewed on a dozen pillows and pillowcases; they were incredibly tasty.

What are you willing to do for sleep? Kill someone? Steal? Go to jail? If it helped...

The answer, of course, is, it is incredibly simple, drugs or alcohol, or in extreme cases, drugs.

Doctor.

After standing in line, I danced a jig, hoping that when I got to the office the pain would disappear. But she only pressed. I clearly annoyed the man in the white coat, who probably never gets sick. He tortured me, and it seemed like he knew exactly what he was doing.

-Are there any bad habits?

“Smoking,” I couldn’t speak loudly.

-What?

-I smoke.

-Yeah, cigarettes?

-Only cigarettes.

-What do you think causes your migraine?

“I don’t know,” I deliberately chose the shortest answers. It was very difficult to speak, I came to him for a pill.

This cretin listened to me for a very long time, it already fucking seemed to me that Mozart and his whole company were sitting in my chest. Then he wrote something for a long time, and then gave me a direction to get tested.

Now this idiot began to speak quietly.

-This is blood, tomorrow until ten, urine, office ()

-Which?

He muttered something incomprehensible again.

-Which?

And then this fagot starts screaming.

-35!

He looked at me as if I had raped his daughter. - Prescribe me some painkillers.

-I can’t write anything out right now.

“Bitch,” I barely whispered, hoping that he would still hear.

Leaving the hospital at noon, I saw that it was spring on the street, I hated it so much, I hated people because they caught my eye, and every face of a passerby irritated me, it played somewhere where it hurt. It stung, it pressed, I was ready to dig my nails into every smile, into every chin, into every look. These thoughts somehow made me feel better. I was walking down the street, I don’t even know what I looked like, but I really wanted to find at least some compelling reason to grab onto someone, but nothing happened. I came home and tried to watch TV, but almost broke it.

Alcohol.

What's in it? I looked into the filled glass, my pain seemed funny to me, it danced in the glass, and now I held it in my left hand and allowed myself to smile. Now thoughts began to appear in my head, some even began to interest me. I floated away into them and woke up somewhere far away. It was the ocean, and I was sitting on a meager island and dying from the heat, but I was afraid to swim in the abyss, afraid to drown or, on the contrary, to swim and not stop. It seemed to me that if I didn’t drown, I would float and wouldn’t be able to stop, and then my fate was sealed. I was content with washing and drying myself with ocean water, which then dried out my skin more, tightened it, and the hammer woke up. But as soon as I tried alcohol, it retreated, but I always knew that he was waiting, he was with me on this island and that I had no choice but to live with him or jump into the water. For six months I was tormented by the thought of what to do, alcohol became my friend, it gave me sleep, gave me a good mood. I bought it in bottles. A wonderful mixture of sleep, mood, strength and joy.

Still, what's wrong with it? I began to notice that at first there was more than two days of life in one bottle, but after six months the bottle was barely enough for a day. The sun on the island began to set earlier, the hammer woke up more often and sometimes alcohol acted as sleeping pills, that’s all.

Last evening.

I was sitting on my island, covered in bottles and cigarette butts, I was rocking and rocking so that, closing my eyes, a storm began on the island. I stood and looked at him, and he looked at me.

-What? Are you god? Answer! - I didn’t stop pouring more and more. Are you god? You!!!

I threw a bottle at the hammer, it broke, and this bastard was moving towards me. I couldn't find anything better than to move forward. It was hard to walk; the storm was already in full swing.

-You! You! - I couldn’t say anything more, I was going through unimaginable curses, but they just wouldn’t come out of my mouth, I just mumbled and screamed at the top of my lungs.

-YOU! I HATE! - I finally managed to squeeze out.

We met near the edge. Hit. I fell to my knees and alcohol poured out of me, the hammer penetrated me completely, it forced out the alcohol with increasing force, I began to lose the island, on my knees I crawled to the edge and, closer to the cliff, plopped down like a bag of shit in the ocean water.