Hi from reality English (2023-2025)

Can I ask something?

She rubbed her eyes, but the corridor remained the same. Rough-textured. That's what she called it. An endless corridor. No, it only became endless if you tried to escape it; otherwise, it wasn't. It just ended in darkness. Terma looked out the window. If you looked from the inside, there were always green trees outside. Always. Terma had counted the days once. Up to four hundred. Just to be sure. And for all four hundred days, through the window, she saw a green courtyard. But that was only if you looked from the inside.

If you found yourself outside—sometimes it was possible if you were running an errand for a nurse or doctor—that green courtyard looked different. Charred. And the hospital looked charred too. The trees that were green from the inside were black on the outside.

But at least she found her teddy bear. There, by the wall, next to a pile of charred debris.

Terma figured it out immediately. The hospital had burned down, long ago. And they were ghosts, bound to this place. Once she realized this, she stopped being afraid at night. What could frighten a ghost? It became clear that the darkness at the end of the corridor was the void. That's where the nurses took the ghosts, covered with white sheets. Terma didn't know how or why ghosts died. She'd read that some could live for centuries. When she realized everyone in the hospital was dead, she talked about it with the doctor.

"Can I ask something?" said Terma. "About the rules. Since I know now, maybe I can know the rules."

The doctor, a tall man with beautiful dark blue eyes, smiled. Terma could tell by the crinkles around his eyes, because the rest of his face was hidden behind a mask. The mask was always smiling. All hospital staff wore such masks—with painted warm, friendly smiles. This used to frighten Terma because she thought there were evil grins under the masks. But now, knowing they were ghosts like her, she thought maybe they just had charred faces they were hiding.

"The rules remain the same, Terma. Obey the nurses and doctors. No going outside without permission. No running in the corridors."

"Why? We're all dead, aren't we? Why can't we?"

Doctor Kahir, or Sabir Rakhmetovich, stood and walked to the window. He looked out, naturally seeing the summer courtyard and green trees. Artificial. Because trees can't stay green for 400 days. But charred ones can.

"We're not dead, Terma. We're stuck, but not dead."

And she felt afraid again...

Sabir Rakhmetovich explained to her—since she already knew—that the hospital hadn't just suffered from a fire. It was a terrorist attack, a common thing in the modern world. Some people, to make other people share money, kill third parties who have nothing to do with the conflict.

The radium in the pool first poisoned whoever it could, then caused an explosion.

That too wasn't such a rare thing—well, an explosion, well, radiation, sad of course, but similar things happen constantly in the world.

Everyone followed safety protocols, the hospital staff tried to evacuate patients, even after the explosion, even during the fire. But when hell dissipated, it turned out all that chaos had been in vain.

Some staff died instantly in the explosion. Didn't even notice it. And those who died a bit earlier, from radiation, didn't even feel the explosion and don't remember the evacuation.

More precisely, they didn't die—somehow the explosion transferred them... somewhere. Because in the outside world, they didn't find a single body in the hospital.

But sometimes, suddenly, the darkness at the end of the corridor starts demanding a sacrifice.

And they would give it one. The weakest or the most rebellious. Now you understand why obedience is necessary?