I.N.F.E.R.N.O.: HELL STARTS ON EARTH. КИРИЛЛ МИХАЙЛОВИЧ ДЕНИСЕНКО
Creatures, receiving the title from the antiquity of the earth, which had centralized continents and powers by the cataclysm in the State of Rus.
Nine people were elected, to lead the Grand Council; and one hundred and eighty-eight years – in the year 257 from Great Separation the Tenth was elected, sublimed by the world, which took him as the ruler of the World. And there was a response in opposition systematization of society, realizing the upcoming step of the totalitarian world. Dissidents were sought and condemned to the death penalty; the world was flourishing in well- being and stability; the illusory nature of universal happiness was denied by widespread failure and unfortunate low level of life, when faced with the locality of justice and order established in the consciousness of humanity.
Darkness had covered the sun and the Realm of Dreams had clouded the minds of the people; in the consciousness of one person a nightmare has been creating.
White endless corridor has appeared. An outline of a female silhouette with a tray held with both hands. The loud echo of the steps, spreading,
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reached hearing of the man held down in a straitjacket. Closer… Closer… a Collision is inevitable. Eyes, overwhelmed by fear, toss about unable to stop; the space is absorbed by a ghostly monotone which oppresses the mind in the vacuum of madness. The footsteps are growing louder and closer. Insanity comprehends the nature, destroying the personality. Shivering look is ransacking confusedly, keeping hope to win out, but the path of apostasy is cut off, only a clash… it is impossible to tolerate… The rumble of the steps sneaked into the brain. The thought is doomed to subjugation. Something else is hidden in what is happening… The Illusion is indistinguishable from Reality, since they terminated the existence of the natural order of things. A man. He is tossing, pulsing blood echoes in his temples, trembling grips the gut; the cry is struggling to get out, but fear destroys human nature, turning it into an ignorant beast. Personality is transforming from «person» to «thing», becoming a substance separate from the unauthorized understanding. It is transforming into a particle, driven by a force emanating from a closed realities of the macrocosm – a composite distinctive function of vital principle of the aggregate merger of material and immaterial in inseparable symbiosis, creating the essence, which is determined primarily as a human being.
And something acting from outside is horrible and disgusting, and the essence of Evil is the ill furious mind in the colossal power of the all- powerful mind.
The noise has stoped.
The man is staring at the void brokenly. Time has completely frozen. It’s quiet… quiet to madness. All attention is focused on the door. Something has to occur outside the internal fears; one cannot exist as an eternal fugitive. Fear is waiting for the final failure of consciousness in order to slay, throwing down on a deathbed. The heart beat, rat-tat, rat-tat, rat-tat, echoes in the brain. The damned heart won’t subside; lungs draw in the air brokenly. Shortness of breath. The door. Rat-tat, rat-tat, rat-tat. It’s emptiness. Breathing is erratic as if he has overcome incredible distance; convulsive fear bound the nature unbearably. Embodied fear is coming. It’s impossible to resist; fear is daring, especially having put on the guise of a Stalker, going against the inner self. The door is opening. His heart will burst before he sees what the torturer is, appropriating his consciousness. The
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door opens and… a girl in a lab coat appears. She has walked in, tapping her black heels, walked to the wall, pulled out some transparent plane and put her tray on it.
…He's in a straitjacket, in the exhaustion leaning his back to the firmament of the wall, slid down on the floor. His feverish gaze fixedly followed the preparation of a metal-glass syringe; they approached him, squatted, took his hand and plunged the needle into the freed from sleeves vein.
«They» seemed to be doing everything with him, meekly obeying, but not this woman outwardly beautiful, but frozen inside so much that this ice of insensibility was getting out.
Speechless, tired, but still substantial, he noticed, like old friends – the walls surrounded him in complete solitude with hostility again. Void incinerated faith. The time is flickering unceasingly, it’s slipping away without him; it is unbearable to live in the vortex of this current which never leaves. Pain in his hand persists, although he concentrated on keeping it bent at the elbow, avoiding bleeding. Perhaps a sharp pain of the needle removed from the vein, stamped in the memory is tormenting now. The other Consciousness is ruling the lifeless body; the ear begins to detect disturbing movement of the spatial Force. He perked up from an indistinct echo; a drop of fresh blood was glowing next to him. Is it his blood? There was a new sound and the next footprint.
Having stood up awkwardly, he watches emerged muddy monochrome. And he can see the Palace of comprehensive void.
From a small crack invisible in the drab color of the door crimson blood has flowed as a frightening contrast on the white. And the walls were glowing with sprawling bloody stains; the ceiling was bleeding with hot drops.
Madness is overtaking; it’s impossible to resist it.
«I'm a man, yet a man… alive… yet alive» – the thought flashes in the brain. Straitjacket compresses the body, blocking the air; there was falling… The blood pursues the crawling away body. The blood overtakes, comprising into a ring-shaped frame… It’s a dead end. There is not enough air in the chest, breathing is abrupt and hurried, eyes reflect the despair and confusion of spirit. It’s unimaginable, stuffy… There is the door. A look in the madness of fear is staring at the door… Something horrendous will reach him. What is he? Indeed the identity is enslaved by some unknown
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strongest force, distinguishable from him. Who is he? Mind accepts integrity of itself in case of the terror, renouncing the understanding, representing the ratio of the object, inanimation grafted to it from outside.
Viscous slush is dripping from the ceiling to the middle of the room, turning into a silhouette, seen with silent fear; the product of blood is getting out, stepping its bare heels toward the unfortunate man cuddling up to the corner of the wall.
Ghosty creature in blood-stained jeans approaches, stretches thin, bare to the elbow hands, with palms, wet with flowing scarlet liquid. Pink t-shirt is ripped; girlish breasts can be seen through holes. Neck is stained in blood. He saw pretty narrow chin and black threads of pale lips and eyelids. She seeks to inform him about something; but the mouth will never be open.
The body is trembling, blood, wildly pulsing through his veins, is tormenting the flesh, as well as bodily fear, paralysing instincts of common sense. Sanity is fading, thought is put to death, and only the eyes and facial expressions are showing the despair, the horror, together with painful experience, the anguish of despair which is beyond understanding.
Sinister and at the same time innocent silhouette is moving to the man writhing on the floor, trying to escape and be saved from unbearably squeezing damned shirt.
Heels are sticking to the adhesive floor and, coming off it, are pulling clumps of coagulating blood. The lowing can be heard coming from the closed mouth; she is trying to warn, but in vain effort.
Lying on the floor frozen with fear, he starts crying with the rush of feelings and circumstances; and a few tears are sliding his cheeks right into a puddle of blood on the floor.
And with the spirit found a material condition, something similar is happening, but his tears are not clean and clear as crystal. He is suffering and closing, stretching his long fingers to the face of helpless man; the incredible effort of will liberates heart-rending scream.
***
It’s a silent night. Stars are twinkling above the sleepless town. The
darkness is covering a cold room. The reflection of the full moon illuminates 27
a reclining young man, resting his hands on the bed, who is swallowing the air randomly. He, holding the palms of both hands on his sweating face, gradually starts massaging his forehead with the left hand, staring tiredly at the blackness of the bedroom, and, having realized the absolute lack of sleep, gives a long sigh and, lying down again, closes