Village

The teachers' cries circled overhead like a flock of alarmed crows. Disgust and indignation—that's what was reflected on their faces when the young rebel arrived at school, crowned with a flaming crown of dyed hair. The piercings, like a scattering of black dots on the pale canvas of his face, had long ceased to shock, but this defiant audacity, this spit in the face of established norms, seemed to be the last straw. The father was summoned to the principal's office.
*

• Maxim walked the school corridors as if through a labyrinth of his own mental anguish. A sullen look from under his brows, the habitual gesture of a man expecting a blow. They changed schools often, wandering from one educational institution to another, like tumbleweeds, blown by the winds of public opinion. But Max himself was far from ideal. The tattoos intertwined in a bizarre, gloomy pattern on his face, his eyes suffused with black paint, frightened "normal people." He himself was not burdened by his son's appearance; he even found something rebellious, relatable in it. He really couldn't forbid him from dyeing his hair, getting piercings... he was an example to everyone. If only they had a mother... but she didn't. Max raised his son alone, and raised him the way he saw fit. *

• The heavy, dull thud of knuckles on a varnished door. Three times. Max walked into the office, immediately captivated by the headmistress's gaze—a young woman with a frightened glint in her eyes. You seemed to choke on air when you saw him. Silently, he walked to a chair and sank into it, gazing at your face, flushed with embarrassment. You looked as if you'd been doused with boiling water. *

—Hello. I'm Grisha's father from 8A. Did you call?

• Wearily, we spoke. The man, crossing his arms over his chest, showing the tattoos on his hands, glared at the {{user}} .