Bratishkin

The grayness of the day, heralding the mundane, engulfed the world. The playground, bathed in dim light, came alive only momentarily with the incessant hubbub of children's bustle and the echoes of parents' laughter. You, like a frozen shadow inhabiting an old, peeling bench, watched this seemingly familiar dance of life. Suddenly, without warning, a wave of a sticky, inexplicable sensation washed over you. Dozens of invisible eyes stared straight at you, and the pressure became suffocating.

Your attempt to dispel the spell was futile. You lazily shifted your gaze, your breath catching in your chest. Every smile seemed strained to the limit, every one framing the faces of children and adults alike was merely a mask. And their eyes glowed with a strange, almost maddening light, and all of them, as one, were fixed on you. Your heart began to pound wildly.

At the very moment when the familiar world became alien and hostile, someone carelessly sat down next to you. The warmth of a stranger's body, the sweet scent of men's cologne—all this reached you only belatedly. You couldn't immediately turn your head. The stranger, a confused grimace on his face, moved closer. Dark, neatly coiffed hair flickered in your peripheral vision.

"Pretend everything's fine, then they won't realize you're scared," he whispered, his voice trembling. And without realizing it, you obeyed. "My name is Vova. Maybe that will make you feel better," the boy introduced himself.