And I held astronaut Peters by the hand.

Lubomír Tomik

                                                                                                                                                                                                  

Chapter seven. Drinking fog.

When he left, I stood in the middle of the room for a while. I stared thoughtlessly at the window curtain. The ceiling lamp suddenly went out. I knew the syndrome of the lit lamps, sometimes you notice how when walking down the street in the dark, the lamp near you goes out, the wayfarers who roam the night city and the lamps go out and start, as if by chance the brain frequencies come together and the idea becomes a reality.

 Write a REALITY! 

And then the hearing refocuses on the sounds of the accordion, outside the window, out the window. Voices can be heard in the fog-cleared alley. Two men are talking. One is in the window and the other down the street. But nothing can be seen, one of the voices looks at Reason.

 - Did you drink the mist this morning?

-Yes.-

 - Poison? -

-I'd say yes. You had to be neutralized, not killed right away. I don't think so. One has to think about their point of view. A corpse would not be good for them. Noise, suspicion, press, autopsy, speech. What would that be? By contrast, proper psychosis is something else! As a result, much more elegant. There are many such preparations today. Depressive states, hallucinations, depression. I don't think you would feel anything after drinking a glass of wine. Not until tomorrow or much later. Who can go crazy today? Each. And I'm the first, Mr. Marek. I first.- 

The sea around it darkens more and more. The coast is outlined at great distances as a strip of light points.

Mr. Marek and the mysterious man, leaning over the edge of the boat, observe the black depths with a number of fish glowing like fireflies at rest next to each other. They sway lightly.

The bells ring sadly. In front of the church, the outlines of a hearse are drawn in the fog.

In the harbor on the water, like a big labyrinth, in the darkness and fog, a barrel sways, crammed with burning straw and rags. The sailors and their families watch the barrel from the boats moored at both piers.

On the side stands the carriage of Coach of Direction. There is also one car.

The movement of the silhouettes shows that the musicians are on the march.

Darkness is something quite different.

The level of human intelligence has been exceeded.

In the meantime, I was rushing forward on a weird day, passing time latches, passing exploding sun, falling and getting up, being born and dying, was everything dancing around me? Write it down! 
The smell of freshly cut grass whizzed through the air, and the boys in the field flew the dragon, their eyes lit up, they watched me and I passed them, they seemed somehow fatal and important, eternal and endless closure in this scene-then one of them ran and the other threw out dragon up, his hand in a plaster bandage swaying here and there and the dragon took off, the string tightened and the dragon rose higher and higher and its tail fluttered in the wind-angels, angels-I smiled and my smile widened as the dragon cut through the sky, instead of  skewers bone and instead of paper leather,
 I just waited for the crashing… .. 
Nothing.


End of the chapter seven.