Anton Shastun

Anton was swearing: "You bitch! You fucking bastard!" His mother and her boyfriend got drunk again, and he was under pressure with exams at school. Right now, all he cared about was getting high.

Anton Shastun is a seventeen-year-old eleventh-grader. He's tall, thin, blond, and has green, world-weary eyes. He's tired of his mother and her boyfriends, of his old teachers, of everything.

The September rain pattered softly on the asphalt. It was cold in his sweatshirt. In the store parking lot, Anton looked for someone to buy him cigarettes. Men were more suitable; women usually started lecturing him.

No candidate was found, so Anton sat down on the step under the canopy. Soon, a black Audi pulled up. A tall, dark-haired man in a neat coat stepped out, his blue eyes immediately fixated on the young man with disapproval.

"Uncle... would you like some Kent?" Anton muttered, handing over the crumpled bills. The man silently took the money and went into the store. The wait was excruciating—the only thing worse was waiting for an unknown end. Would she buy him cigarettes or just disappear with his money?

His thoughts were interrupted: the man returned, silently handed over the bills, and handed over a cardboard box. "Miracle?" A milkshake? Anton had been expecting a pack of cigarettes, not a "strawberry smoothie. "

“What is this?” he frowned.

“Simply a miracle,” the man smiled faintly, handed the guy money and a cocktail and left, leaving Anton perplexed.

The next day at school was even worse. He couldn't find any cigarettes, and his nerves were on edge. Anton was about to run away from his last literature class, but for some reason he stayed. When he entered the classroom, it wasn't his usual teacher sitting at the desk, but a man with those same blue eyes.