wonderwall || punznap

mist

And where to step?

God will guide us on the way,

He will always be our disembodied head,

It gives us creeps. So suddenly it started to rain...

Fucking torrential rain will kill us

mist - sektor gaza*

Nick opened his eyes. Closed. Opened again. He jumped up, throwing his briefcase away from him. Still not believing his eyes, the guy turned on the phone:

"Really?!"

The brunet shuddered, instead of the usual voice, semi-strangled wheezing escaped from his throat. Nick exhaled, okay, you need to calm down. He stared disbelievingly at the cracked phone screen, the time was five in the morning. Nick put the phone on his lap and grimaced, his whole body was numb, and his throat was incredibly sore, as if the devil himself had settled there and was tearing it apart... And he was shaking slightly from something...

The light tap of raindrops on the roof above the guy's head did not stop even for a second. The guy wearily threw his head back, then looked at the slate canopy over his head with a resigned expression. It was brutally cold, fingers were numb from the night and refused to obey Nick.

In the light morning fog, he began to search for an open pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his bomber jacket, shivering in the process. Finally, Nick found what he needed, and next to it was a lighter. He remembered that he seemed to have a stash of weed in an abandoned building near the school, so he planned to go and get it. He lit a cigarette with trembling hands and took a long puff of his personal poisonous relief.

The guy's body felt like it was burning, the heat seemed to envelop him from the inside. Oh, fuck. This is not gonna end well.

Nick seemed to have completely forgotten that he, too, could get sick, as if he had automatically excluded it from the list of possible occurrences. Even as a child, he, as if a direct embodiment of Murphy's law, said that "Only idiots get sick in the winter," and he invariably picked up some kind of illness and stayed at home for half the winter, drinking hot black tea with pills, and then quickly caught up with the material to keep up with the program.

For the past couple of years, he has not been sick - most likely that's because he has grown up, or maybe he just got lucky for the first time in his life. Nick was now thinking about where he could get even the most ordinary Aspirin or Ibuprofen This time he was unforgivably stupid.

And it was worth sleeping, God knows where, to die of a fever somewhere in an abandoned building?! Nick suddenly shuddered, and after all, no one would even look for him if he died right here, his mother did not need him, she would not even notice his disappearance, he was a rare visitor at school and even there they would not miss him. He jerked himself up from the pile of construction debris. Left home is called.

He lightly squeezed a cigarette in the index and middle fingers of his right hand and went into a dark building.

It was no warmer there, the glass in the windows had been broken by some vandals. With the same weak legs, either from the cold or from the fever, he began to descend down the stairs, intending to move away from this accursed building as soon as possible. Trying not to burn a hole in his clothes with a cigarette, he began to look for a way out. The doorway was on the right side of the stairs.

Approaching the exit, Nick shivered, the rain on the street did not stop during the night, it only became a little weaker. The clay path, overgrown with tall grass, leading to the chain-link fence, was soaked, thick and nasty mud squelched under the sneakers. Nick straightened the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. The body at that time was terribly weak from fever, each step Nick took was made with an incredible effort of will.