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HP: Spirit Talker

Auteur: Molakar

Chapitre 1: Chapter 1.1 Awakening

People say that a person can withstand any test. There is nothing that can break a person, of course, with all sorts of reservations. And here, everything depends on the imagination of the one who has decided to speculate on this subject. I'll say it as I understand it, and it's up to you to argue with me or agree with me.

Human is a social animal, and he is worth exactly as much as he can benefit others. Without a minimal environment, man never becomes a hero or a villain. People are interdependent, and all their actions affect society and the environment in one way or another. A person can usually survive trails, problems, troubles, and misfortunes only if there is a fulcrum. Otherwise, it's easy to break anyone, and in just an hour or two, a strong man will turn into a lifeless ruin and a splendid lady will turn into Baba Yaga.

The strength of people lies in their general unity, not in their personal. I say that people can achieve much more if they stop isolating themselves in mini-worlds like family, clan, and society. Of course, there are many things that make life easier, such as different religions or fanatical political movements. But they are flawed because they are easily distorted, and any reasonable person will find confirmation of this if he or she so desires.

A much better incentive should be an idea—no, not like that—an idea! Somewhere on this level, yes. Well, something took me too far, but ok.

How it all started, I don't know. I just remember my childhood, my grandmothers, my grandfathers, and my young parents. Then, somehow, school ended abruptly, with its pros and cons and joys and sorrows. But everything seemed good. Then the first year of the institute, where I entered on a budget, because now studying is an expensive pleasure and my family is the most ordinary, lower average. The first course was easy, without problems, the second was almost the same.

At the end of my second course, I was invited to the dean's office, where a man in uniform was already sitting and confronted me with the fact that I no longer had a scholarship. They refused to explain to me why this was so. The question of solvency was never raised, and this man immediately handed me a military summons.

Two weeks later, I was on the train to the military unit. The training literally flew by while I got used to the regime, while I got used to the eternal aggressiveness of everyone around me, and while I learned this same aggressiveness, it took me three months. When we arrived, at first it seemed that there was no more hazing, but it turned out to be a mistake to think so, because pretty soon the army for me became the same school, with its own caste system or food pyramid. But you can survive it, even if it's not very pleasant, and everyone has a chance to move up. Even without being mean. I honestly got a "senior soldier," and no one found fault because everyone saw how it happened.

But soon there was trouble: some stupid changes took place, some of my colleagues left somewhere, and new guys came in their place. Although there were fewer enemies, there were fights, but they were not so cruel and behaved more calmly. But when the odds were even, so to speak, the real terror began.

They always went in groups and put moral pressure on us, humiliated us, threatened us, and captured others so that there would be fewer of us. In the tenth month of my service, there was a fight in our barracks. But not secretly, as they were used to, but openly—from wall to wall. I don't know how it ended, because in the middle of the battle, I suddenly felt a wave of heat spreading through my stomach and a sharp flash of pain throughout my body that paralyzed my legs. All I could see was a face distorted with a grin and the handle of a knife in my stomach, after which I was covered in blackness, through which I felt a cutting pain somewhere deep inside me, and a moment later in my back. I fainted.

A strange state: you are indifferent to everything; there are no desires or emotions; your whole mental state can be described by the word "grayness". Even the strange body aches and the throbbing pain in the head didn't cause any change in the "grayness". I can't say whether that state was pleasant or not, because there were no desires. There was everything. COMPLETE INDIFFERENCE. I don't want to talk about other people's descriptions or their thoughts about being at the "edge," but all I had was apathy and a difference in everything in general.

Maybe this is a place of peace where nothing bothers you and irritations are not like that in principle? I don't know; I started to think about it much, much later. But in the "grayness," there suddenly appeared light green sparks, running like a wave across the "sky". They didn't resonate with me. Then another wave appeared, a little denser, passing "below" me. And yet another wave, the most powerful, capable of shaking even my "I," suspended in the weightlessness of "grayness." This caused a change: the pain began to be felt as pain, and the body began to hurt, just as it is normal for a living person. Something must be going on because I began to have mild reactions.

Then came the tsunami: a rich green wave rushed toward me with the eerie inevitability of the elements. It covered me, swirling a small piece of my "I." returning feelings and sensations. The next moment, I heard a voice, and darkness spread before my eyes with crimson spots of lightning and white-blue stars of pulsating pain in my head and body. I wanted to drink and die. What happened to me? Why do I like this? Could this bitch be damaging my spine? Somehow I managed to open the slits of my drooping eyelids and saw something glimmering.

Voices continued to be heard nearby; some were worried, others spoke with utter indifference, but I didn't attach any importance to them. It was like ants had settled under my skull, but I didn't feel much discomfort, especially compared to everything else, so I ignored it.

I try to squeeze out the word "drink," but all that comes out is a soft wheeze. But there is a reaction. Like a porcelain doll, very carefully, they lift me slightly, place their palms under my head and shoulders, and bring something with liquid to my lips. Not water, not juice—a kind of herbal infusion—but not disgusting, reminiscent of lime and chamomile. Everyone was silent, and my vision had not yet become clear. A male voice asked something, but I didn't understand, continuing to empty the container in small sips. When the infusion (or decoction?) ended, I was returned to my seat, closed my eyes, and almost immediately fell into a sleep of emptiness.