“The most difficult thing after memories is not to think about what her look was in them, how he turned outward with his absolute love mixed with wild passion. Perhaps I still didn’t remember what the hell, perhaps the Kurd ritual did not return all my memories, but I understood one thing - no one had ever looked at me like that. I understood, and then the knives plunged into my flesh with even greater force and anger. Because of the realization that this is nothing more than a game on her part. But all this lasted several hours and was absorbed by black, viscous and viscous hatred every time she opened her eyes. One had only to see her lilac look, and I was blown away. Because I saw one word in it, flashing aggressively like neon advertising. Lie. With black flashes streaked with poisonous red rage, they dig into the body, greedily craving to inflict pain. Nicholas Mocanu

Contains foul language.