Sly Slayer : другие произведения.

Dark... within?

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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
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  • Аннотация:
    Английская версия моего рассказа "Темнота... внутри?" Перевод пока сыроват, если честно.

  

Tribute to the Dark before New Year.

  

  Dark heaved, like immaterial, but existing shroud. He is seating on a roof of twelve-story building. Twelve multiply four minus one... that's not the sixty meters of tower, but it's not a few. He took his player and click with button, setting the variable "shuffle" equal to unity. Two clicks - change of songs. He looked at screen. "Alone".
  

  They say we are fools
  We say, look at you
  Long ago, we were just a few
  Still say, we don't need you
  
  We don't wanna belong
  We said all along
  We just wanna be
  Left alone
  

  

  That's about me... He opened another cup of "Strike". He loved high-rise. And haven"t afraid of heights. Above, even higher... He take a drink. Alсoholic drink with a weak currant flavor ran down through the esophagus.
  

  That's so strange... Dark "Strike" inside me... dark... inside...
  

  His mind has began to turn cloudy. His wings was dropped on concrete.
  

  Pain...
  

  He often hurt. Not so much physically as psycho-emotional. In the childhood his parents died. In his youth he is tortured. For Kindom, for the King. Maybe then and began to speak about his name: "Mad"; "Slayer". Pain became his guide by life. By middle age he became insensitivity to pain... and magic became to his little world. He was a mage... more demon, than mage. But is doesn"t help him. From the spell "P.A.I.N." has no protection. It burns nerve. And it irremovable. Ever since then, his second name - "P.A.I.N.K.I.L.L.E.R.".
  

  Madness...
  

  It is foolish to hope that it could have been avoided. It looks after me like invisible shadow. Like traces of what, I"m under the "P.A.I.N.". I have a style. But I haven"t friends. Then He came to me. My "second person". She is more darker than me. Even order me that I have now. She doesn"t flying around me. Just sits in my head and commented on the events. That"s not so bad... habitually. Even since then, me calling: "Madman"; "Psycho". It was so long ago, when I heard a voice that I can not remember.
  

  Ever since then, his third name - "M.A.D."
  

  Loneliness...
  

  At that moment, his mind resonated with song. Inscription was highilghted on screen. "I walk alone"

  
  Put all your angels on the edge
  Keep all the roses, I'm not dead
  I left a thorn under your bed
  

  The demon threw his head back and drained another half a tin. He looked around. He was surrounded by torn cans of "Burn". Also had several flattened cans of beer and, at last, few full unbroken cans of "Strike". Then he listened to the words again.
  

  I walk alone
  Every step I take
  I walk alone
  
  My winter storm
  Holding me awake
  It's never gone
  When I walk alone
  
  Go back to sleep forever more
  Far from your fools and lock the door
  They're all around and they'll make sure
  You don't have to see
  What I turned out to be
  No one can help you
  

  Indeed, that's about me. Echoes of pain and madness drains my soul, but I alive.
  

  And he shouted to the whole world:
  

  RUINED INTO BLAZE OF GLORY, BUT LIVED TO FIGHT AGAIN!
  


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Новые книги авторов СИ, вышедшие из печати:
О.Болдырева "Крадуш. Чужие души" М.Николаев "Вторжение на Землю"

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Кожевенное мастерство | Сайт "Художники" | Доска об'явлений "Книги"