Fairy tales of big city

Exhibit

    The sun had recently risen, and its invigorating rays awkwardly penetrated the apartment, illuminating the cigarette smoke. The final notes of a hastily composed song echoed into Jenna's ears, which no longer could hear. Her eyelids lazily opened and blinked with an exceedingly long interval.

-"Dear ones, let's read a line and I shall already depart for the realm of Morpheus," -Jenna spoke in an extremely soft and gentle tone, stroking the book resting on her chest.

-"Page 12" -a deep John's voice sounded, lulling into slumber.

-"Line 5,"- the only lively voice belonged to Yorick.

-"'The mirror did not reflect what was, but what could have been.'" - After this phrase, a final yawn escaped, and Jenna fell asleep; her head comfortably settled on the pillow, one of the many accumulated from previous night events, and a quiet snoring was heard.

     After paying his respects, the demon went to bed. Only the undead remained on their feet. Yorick had no need for sleep; although he loved to collapse onto beds and enter a "trance,". He had long lived as undead, so long that he witnessed the struggle for the rights of the "dead." For a long time, the undead were used as free labor, essentially slavery. Illegal necromancers are still encountered, which is terrible! Yorick is one of the activists of the "Eternal Rest" fund; they conduct journalistic investigations exposing necromancers, help the undead find "soul objects" used for summon them, assist the newly risen with documents, and of course, they provide free sessions with psychologists and psychotherapists.

    Today, "Eternal Rest" and "Thin Skeleton," supported by several other funds and NGOs, are organizing a large protest near the city museum. As revealed by a significant independent investigation, many of the exhibits are soul objects, which prevent many unfortunate Undead from finding peace. They want to compel city authorities to grant access to the artifacts to perform a purification ritual, thereby freeing the souls. As is known, if the undead live too long without receiving enough mana, their minds begin to decay, and their souls become corruption.

    Yorick wants to be at his best; he will deliver a speech and also give an interview to a major television channel. He decided to prepare, took a shower with bleaching shampoo, brewed himself a matcha latte with added mana potion. The taste of the mana potion is very unpleasant, extremely bitter and astringent, which is why it is often mixed into drinks to mask the flavor. The Undeath's method of consuming food varies by undead type; as a skeleton, his food intake is based on a magic circle on his upper jaw, which activates when he eats or drinks. Additionally, for reassurance, he took a calcium tablet and, after putting on his shoes, he headed to the meeting point.

    At the assembly point in advance, the museum was operating as usual. On the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum, activists were already gathering. But Yorick walked past them, he felt drawn inside, he felt especially tentative and calm near the museum. And today, he didn't understand why.

    He slipped into the medieval armor section, where behind a glass cube lay a plate armor glove. So familiar, and yet so foreign. If his gaze could leave traces, the exhibit would have long been thrown out because showing such a dirty item is simply indecent. There was his soul; he had fantasized so much about how it would feel if his soul were freed, or at least transferred to him, how he would move his soul from the glove into his body. How he would free himself... His eyes slightly unfocused and he saw his own reflection in the glass, a skull with empty eye sockets. It might reflect nothing, or it might reflect something that Yorick could not have imagined. "They won't grant permission," it echoed in his head.

                                                                    They won't grant permission.

- "Yorick! Why are you standing here again? We have to go!" - hissed the lizard Andrew.

- "Let's go," - Yorick replied softly and peacefully.

    Outside, creatures had already gathered, chanting slogans and waving posters. There were many people, undead, beast-men's and other races. A helicopter flew overhead, and on the ground near the entrance stood a journalist—a Tiefling—and a cameraman—a Tree-people. Andrew quickly reacted and pushed Yorick towards the journalist. Still dazed, the skeleton approached, and the Tree-people gave a cod sign. The girl was distracted from the camera and turned to the approaching Yorick, pulling him into the frame.

-  "Regarding the protest situation, one of the organizers will enlighten us—a representative of the 'Eternal Rest' fund and an influencer—Yorick Moema. Mr. Moema, what is happening here? What are you fighting for?" - the Tiefling quickly and intonated, extending the microphone to the skeleton's face.

- "Dear residents of New York," -Yorick's thoughts gathered, his ability to improvise had to save him this time. - "Today, I address you not just as a representative of the Undead, but as one of you who seeks freedom and recognition." - He held the pause, and with a strained emotion, he shouted- "Our souls, locked in museum exhibits, suffer from eternal confinement." - He exhaled, paused, and adopted a soft tone- "We are not just shadows of the past; we are living beings striving for life, for freedom, for a dignified existence among you. Our souls do not deserve eternal imprisonment. We are part of this city, its history, and its future. Behind each exhibit lies a life, a dream, and a hope. We are not asking to destroy the museum's treasures; we are asking for a chance to liberate through a ritual that will restore peace and freedom to our souls."-  Yorick clung to the word "freedom," and he wasn't even sure if this was a show, perhaps he had indeed been overly confident in his ideas. - "Imagine being locked away forever, deprived of the ability to move forward. This is our reality... But together, we can change it! New York is renowned for its tolerance and justice. Let's show the world that we also deserve respect and the right to freedom." - Yorick clenched his fist and dramatically fell silent.

    The journalist took the microphone, thanked him, and continued the report. Yorick's mind returned to the fog. He mechanically recorded footage for his blog and social networks, but one understanding haunted his mind.

                                                                   They won't grant permission.