(essay)

You’re walking in the rain and think, “It’s exactly what I need.” But it’s not a sad rain. It’s like a relief. Comfort. Inspiration.

You’re walking in the rain. Then you’re sitting down under the cover with a cup of hot tea. So hot that you remember all the suppressed tears and unbearable laughter.

You’re sitting down and looking at the fog.

You see what it’s showing you.

It’s a silent movie.

You look at its characters. They are squeezed out of the real world. They are reflected in a land flooded with happiness and sin.

You look at the development of events. And you are to have time, because the events of the whirlwind dizzy consciousness are so puzzled that you don’t just dissolve in them, but get lost in yourself.

You look and realize that you see what you want to see. What you need to see.

Or vice versa you don’t want to. And you don’t have to.

You start to analyze.

Remember.

Go deeper.

Listen.

To him.

And to yourself.

Silent movies are gaining volume. As a performer of oriental dances, it flexibly and seductively traps you. With its singing. Movements. Ideas.

You are now a participant in this movie. However, you don’t have a script. You are an ordinary mass, who wasn’t explained the procedure. You don’t know what to do and what emotions to show.

Does anyone even see your game? Do you sincerely believe in yourself and your strength, standing alone surrounded by a poisonous stench?

You don’t even believe in your lungs. They faithfully absorb all the characters of the fog and don’t exhale their essence. They all stay in you. With their stories. Experiences. And memories.

You don’t even believe in your brain. It treacherously mocks you, playing on the plots of the fog. It erases the boundaries of your life like an eraser and endows you with other personalities. Those who died a long time ago. Those who weren’t born. And those who tempt you to drown even more in this nonsense of cinema.

You don’t even believe in your face. You put on makeup and wear unusual clothes. The more you allow others to reconstruct over your own body, the less you allow yourself a chance to save your soul.

And the worst thing is that you won’t get out of there. Because you just can’t find your way back. No way, no self, no salvation.

***

Emil Lestrade was a scientist who tried to study the nature of “Mad Fog” and find ways to stop its spread with his team. All Emil managed to find out was that the fog affects a person’s neural connections and thus affects his/her mental state.

Those who at least once inhaled the gases contained in the fog had hallucinations (people claimed to be famous writers and artists of previous centuries or members of a civilized race that came from a distant planet of the future). As a result of mental health damage, people became aggressive and killed everyone they saw. This applies to those who had found a way out of the fog.

Emil Lestrade was the last person who didn’t survive the effects of “Mad Fog.” His notes date back to 2048. This is the year of the Great Environmental Catastrophe.