They stopped around a modest street bridge, barely rising above the road overpass, between the gloomy and lonely walls of houses where an ancient, though worn and time-beaten wooden kiosk was lost, where a couple of slightly tipsy artisans prepared the best kanzopu in the entire district, into which this elderly couple poured all their soul and an unforgettable secret recipe, whose secret had long been known only to their incredibly rare visitors. But this place did not become any less mysterious or enigmatic. The human-like powerful hand of an anthropomorphic serpent lightly tore off a poster from the wall, suspiciously eaten by decay. Strange that no one ever cleans here, or did he not know something about this street? Around several boundless, crumbling clouds of brown rust, the delicate and refined silhouette of a singer, who had passed away in the last century in serene old age, was depicted. She had seven months left to live before the turn of the millennium. Her race's pale skin and long straight hair reached her neat waist. Her modest smile was unintentionally directed at his curious eyes, inviting him to her final concert.
— Hana Dendu... It was her songs I listened to yesterday. — replied Dodo, catching the growing smell of cooking liver, milk dough, and a bit of sharp spices from the hot stove a few meters away.
— Hm? You went from symphonic rock to romantic ballads? How do they all manage to switch so abruptly between different musical climates, though? — sighed the woman with a peculiar headgear, resembling a huge and rather heavy chandelier, which she wore as if it were a regular hat, around which she added color to her mysterious theatrical play. — I never understood it... My mother Golitia always listens to her voice when she rests in the garden or sews a new dress in solitude. And my grandmother Sakta listens to her with my great-grandmother on holidays. Now I feel that this is becoming a part of the women's section of our unconventional family traditions, though I haven't inherited it yet... Haven't gotten around to it.
— Her lyrics feel so foreign and alien to me, but for some reason, I sympathize with her. — the serpent muttered softly, suddenly glancing sharply at the source of a strange noise, his mind filled with a new kind of astonishment.
— Yes, her songs often feel like stories, sometimes even from her own life. If you listen closely to her words, you begin to notice the difference between that moment in which you distinguish yourself, your lifestyle, your ideas, your mood, and the one sitting in front of you. The one whose thoughts and their completely foreign intent you see for the first time... Hm. I think I'm quoting my mother and grandmother again. — the woman smiled deftly, lightly tinkling the endless spectrum of ceremonial decorations around her grand, earth-embracing dress, whose posthumous black soles rose up to white calligraphic mountains, temples, and rural settlements, hiding hundreds of faces and sounds that harmoniously narrated the hand-embroidered story of her ancient lineage.
The serpent's predatory pupils took on a spreading chromatin color, which, along with the other organs of his skull and abdomen, reflected against the distorted mirror barrier made of annihilating cofoon particles gathered over his collarbones. His consciousness saw before him the silhouette of a small child, probably seven years old, sitting around cool, damp earth. — "Do you see?" — he mentally addressed the nearest patrol unit, also transmitting what was happening to the higher general staff. The knight's mind calmly controlled the intangible, limitless generation of the space he had set, carefully inspecting the biological entity, all its unearthly codes and directions of liquids, each myocyte, and millimeter of every following molecule, which appeared before his perception in the chaotic planes of the forming dimension, where the skyscrapers reaching the heavens twisted in a long, unceasing █ division██ █ii the outwardly turned boulevard, where migrating silhouettes of residents rolled in the united coffee stain into the thick descent of madness and Meola, she FORGOT her wallet., moving teapot., the need for wonder. I taught, multiply..t... don't forget. Serial plastic ., I'll hug you. yes, that's why so much kefir was poured into him. ▐██Degeneration? loss of conversation. Give me your hand. secretion. Word. Hug my spleen. Please stop, please!!-! The enormous dress, built from royal skyscrapers. It's a celebration! This night! It happens only once a year.
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She was asking something from the dolls, looking timidly at the guard in front of her. His queen. It couldn't be her. It's just a child, very small and mentally retarded. This creation is no older than seven, right?, geo. de-o., impossibility-ъ... How could her tiny body bear so much weight inside these giant armors, her festive dress, it was all sewn from them, from impossibly heavy alloys, yet her barely visible hands gently picked up one of the soft toys. — M-mmm? I don't know... Nothing makes sense. — the child's voice murmured indistinctly in response to a question from one of the toys. The serpent happily looked around, no, he screamed from the sensation around his skull, . rest. but he didn't want to approach those high doors, he would spit in his face and leave. — What are you doing!? — Dodo replied to his companion, who was sweetly dozing under a thick warm blanket on the wet, hard ground with a wide puddle of rain dew behind her, sweetly stretching her shoulders and burying her rumpled little blanket tails against her cheeks. The lamp lit up across from her, tall. Is it already night? MY SLEEPING CHAMBER! I hugged her body, which wasn't inside, the blanket was as thin as a sheet of turquoise paper with delicate outlines of crumpled lines of the sheet. No, the sun is here! Everywhere it's warm and bright like yesterday. Hands landed on his broad chest. Ah!" Parts of the bodily layer flowed out with part of the ventricles? Don't STOP, you're next! He nodded, looking around once more at the filled Olympic stands, where billions of WHY, . the spectators were waiting for the burning spring sensation. orange. baked Why, no, it's gone. He lifted the stapler, stuck to the magazine with thick yellow goo from his palm? He's in the office, what a mess. Why is the blanket moving again!? Couldn't reach the door, everything is ruined! The line is crumpled again!!! but the friends had timely stuffed his mouth with spaghetti based on strawberry sauce, but what about the borscht with the gallant duck?, and the mushroom sauce, . barley layer with apple and honey. Shrimp, ... Darkness. The endless inseparable wave became an intangible tangible cocoon. Beating, gently, tenderly, a light strike. Mascara under her eyes, did she give it to you? Who am I, and who are you? Next wave.