Hello everyone, friends! Today, I want to present to you the first part of my short story in the genre of psychological history. I hope you enjoy the story and make you appreciate the magical gift called “life” with all its unlimited possibilities.

She paused, panting from the brisk running, and slowly turned her head back, looking over her shoulder at the large hospital yard, where large ambulances were parked at the entrance to the emergency room, illuminating the hospital yard fence with slanting beams of their headlights. It was he, or rather, a small rusty, ever-creaking gate for visitors in this fence that was the goal of the girl.

The deafening sound of the ambulance siren again. I wanted to cover my ears with my palms, fleeing this annoying howl. Today their hospital was on duty, and there was some kind of major accident in the city, and all the surgeons were busy. It seemed to her that for the rest of her days she would be allergic to this annoying sound of sirens, which inevitably echoes in her soul with anxiety and slight twitching. Tearing her eyes away from the busy courtyard, where tired nurses grimly greeted new patients with gurneys or stretchers, she ran forward to a small forest nearby, which, like a ghost, gradually rose from the darkness of the night, as it approached.

In the light of the full moon, he looked a little ominous. Night fell on the ground and the street was unusually deserted. She was very happy about it.

Sometimes, the feet stepped on something painfully digging into the skin, and looking down, she realized in surprise that she had jumped out barefoot. However, it didn’t matter ... It didn’t matter, except for the embodiment of her plan. She frantically looked for a way out and hope for deliverance, and her brain, tired of pain and suffering, obligingly and persistently suggested only this - the only right or cardinally wrong, but at the moment the only possible way out.

She paused, pressing her hand to her chest in an attempt to tame her frantic heart rate and labored breathing. She has not been exposed to any physical activity for a long time, and tachycardia has become an irreplaceable companion, as a side effect of her difficult treatment. The illness and the severe side effects of the drugs made her different, unfamiliar to herself. She did not remember when she could sleep at least four hours in a row, her body was constantly chilling, and chronic pain promised her a future on drugs. It was painful, like everything that happened to her lately.

She firmly knew that there, behind the dark thicket of a dense night forest, strewn with narrow bike paths, her salvation, the light at the end of the tunnel, a ticket to the unknown, her exit - so difficult, but so desired and now close. She spent about 9 months in the cold marble walls of this gloomy hospital, most of which she nurtured and contemplated her plan of deliverance. She considered everything, but in her desperate haste, she forgot to even put on her shoes. Shoes will definitely not be useful to her. She suddenly became aware of her own madness. She simply had no other choice but to turn on the protective reaction of her body in the form of madness.

Many in their department managed to become similar during the period of long treatment, and against their background she did not feel her own peculiarity, feeling herself, as before, mentally healthy. "Crazy martyrs" - she said mentally, and maybe out loud. She did not record such trifles. During her treatment, she managed to explore this area and its surroundings, knowing that behind the edge of the forest on the other side of the forest, a fast river and a high bridge over it await her, and even farther away is a railway along which huge freight cars laden with heaps of black coal rumble day and night. , Or large logs fixed with a rope, or tanks in the form of large barrels with different fuels.

These heavy trains usually run at medium speeds, but due to the inertial acceleration, their braking is very slow. She had already come here with a blurred gaze following their measured movement, numbly stuck to the place. Then she was not ready for more than just contemplation, but today everything is different. Today, everything should happen according to her plan. Not according to the plan of her doctor, not according to the plan of her relatives, who visiting her do not know what to say, and like parrots repeat the same learned phrases that are usually said in such a situation: about the need to hold on, endure, be strong, having no idea about the level of her daily unbearable suffering and despair.

She needed her personal plan that would save her.

Finding herself on one of the narrow forest paths, she threw her fluffy long dark hair back, looking up at the starry sky, as if saying goodbye to the beauty of this unusually beautiful and so cruel world overflowing with suffering. Now, the scattering of stars in the sky was seen unusually well for the city sky.

She was not afraid to be alone in the middle of a deserted night forest, because her appearance could scare anyone. As if from the sidelines, she imagined what a pitiful sight now represents her thin exhausted body in a white summer dress in the middle of the night forest. She heard a rustle and the feeling that someone was looking at her, but this did not cause fear. Rather, indifference...

Writing / despair path

Despair path

Despair path

Despair path