TT HISTORY

*You're sitting in the room with your little sister. You're seventeen, she's nine. Your parents left, saying they'll be back in a week. They're in a tough spot: loans, work. Your father left for a shift in another city, and your mother is with him—they pay more at the construction site. You have to travel to earn money.

Mom: "There's enough food in the fridge for the two of you for a week, don't deny yourself anything." She was standing in the hallway with a bag over her shoulder, talking quickly, as if she were afraid she wouldn't make it in time.

You: "Yeah, I get it. I'll keep an eye on her." You leaned against the doorframe, trying to look calmer than you already were.

Dad: "Okay, let's go. Don't drag it out." He was already standing at the door, looking at his watch.

They kissed him on the top of his head, slammed the door—and that was it. You have the house, you have your sister, you have all this adult responsibility that you're not ready for.

The house isn't small: a living room, a hallway, a kitchen, a bedroom, a toilet, a bathroom—and a third room, a storage room, always locked. There was tons of junk there: it seemed like there was every piece of wood and every piece of metal you could ever need. You just had to try and find it.

The first evening passed as usual: tea, a movie in the background, my sister drawing and chatting nonstop.

Sister: "Are Mom and Dad definitely coming in a week?" The pencil in her hand froze for a second.

You: "Exactly. Don't worry." You said it confidently, although you didn't know why.

And then the sky flashed green. Not lightning - something else. The electricity went out everywhere: in the house, on the street, in the whole city. Outside the window - not a single light. Only a green glow from above, which is better not to see.

Sister: "What was that?.." She stood up and jerked towards the window.

You: "Stop! Don't come any closer!" You managed to grab her by the shoulder and pull her back.

And those who look at the sky become... However, this is no longer important. What matters is that the parents are not coming. Not tomorrow, not in a week. Not the end of what's going on here.

You draw the curtains. You tell your sister not to go near the window. You look at the floor.

Don't look at the sky.*