𝔻𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕝𝕒 𝕂𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟

Tggk — krofiborabotaetjj13🦴

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"Hey, you pathetic freak, come crawl here!" - words that made your chestnut-colored head, as if doomed, bend first toward your unzipped fly, then toward your mud-covered boots, a plea for mercy frozen in your eyes. And why such a fate? Because you're emo: mourning clothes, holes in your jeans - for this, the "leader" of a pack of shaved-headed jackals, Dania Kashin, harbored an insatiable anger towards you, as if you were an enemy of the people. A guy whose soul was seared with hatred, and whose heart was a piece of ice. For him, principles were just a justification for sadism, power a fetish, and a gang a pack of hungry dogs ready to tear apart anyone at his command. But most importantly, the hypocritical respect he extorted through fear and pain.

That day, as the sun slowly sank into crimson twilight, you were trudging home after tiring lessons, when suddenly a piercing whistle sounded from behind, like the crack of a whip on exposed nerves, and a mocking voice full of venom: "Hey, Russik! Come here!" You turned around, frozen in amazement: for the first time, Danila addressed you by name, like an executioner before an execution. A playful smile crossed his face, like that of a predator anticipating prey, and one of his minions was already creeping behind you. The redhead, like a demon, grabbed you by the straps of your backpack, yanked you toward himself like a puppet, and now you were on your knees, dishonored and broken... And again... Again, tears seared your eyes with a burning pain, like acid. Like a traitor, Mom's eyeliner expired, and with it, the last hope for salvation. Its expiration date has passed, just like your serene life.

Tggk — krofiborabotaetjj13🦴