A GAME

The most difficult thing was not to live the way I lived, no. The most difficult thing was when he returned me back. For a year and a half that I was on the run, I gradually began to feel. Live. Rejoice at every new day. To trust people. The wounds gradually began to heal, scatter, and a new one appeared on the site of the skin burned alive. And she was too thin and tender, soft when he threw me into this baked again.

I promised myself that I would find him and destroy him. This was the only thought that helped me survive. I constantly thought about him, about how I would kill him, how I am atonked in his blood. I hated him with all my heart, because I did not put a bullet in my forehead, but gave me to these jackals. For how he grinned, he took an envelope with money and calmly left, without even turning.

He is called Lazarus. And I will kill him.