A wind was blowing from the sea, from the sea...*

They set off again, and it was even worse. The smell of freshly released smoke added to the stench saturating the upholstery. Grisha felt sick. His clothes would stink. Cool. After the adrenaline rush passed, all energy left his body, turning his muscles into jelly. He crawled into the back corner of a passenger seat and stared at the rose encased in plastic on the gear knob. Prisoners made them, didn't they? It sucked, just like everything of father's taste. The music was no better.

It was heaping up trouble, heaping up trouble...

But thanks to the radio, he didn't hear clearly how Mom sighed. She stayed silent, held back! Is that her new tactic—do not intervene and not even breathe? And eventually, the problem would solve itself? Grisha scratched his itchy cheek, and it hurt again. There was going to be a bruise, just in time for the first day of school tomorrow. So that everyone would understand everything right away. Amazing start. He could say he fought some gang and beat the crap out of them. And he would beat the crap out of anyone who touched him. And who cares if he was 5'4? Or somewhere around that, he didn't know for sure now. Grandpa would measure his height and mark it on the kitchen door frame. Now there were new residents. They probably painted over the scribbles on the wood so it wouldn't spoil the interior. Two coats, covering it all as if it was never there.

I see, it wasn't meant to be, wasn't meant to be...

Grisha pressed his forehead to the window and slid down. There would be a greasy stain, but he didn't give a damn. Father was crazy about keeping the car clean. When he realizes that he was riding around with a smeared window, he would freak out for sure. Maybe even get a mini heart attack if Grisha is lucky. Though it's unlikely... When everyone was getting lucky, Grisha apparently was in line for a lifetime supply of clusterfucks. And oh boy, did he get it! Maybe at least a blood vessel would break in the old man's eye. That would be nice.

He saw a thin, rusty-to-the-core monument sign. It looked like it was trying to pierce the sky's belly. Grisha managed to read: Atomgrad-29. Town That Does Not Exist. There was a restless mischief of magpies flying around the arrowy point and hunchbacked letters. Against the shabby desert backdrop, they seemed too clear, as if they had just been dusted. Grisha slid even lower, pressed the nose too. From the outside, he probably looked like an idiot. He only had to puff up his cheeks for the full effect. At that moment, a flock of birds scattered, and a human figure appeared. Grisha didn't see much. A striped wife-beater, black and white like the magpies. Some ridiculous sweatpants. And a shaved head?

I will come no more, I will come no more...

Grisha turned around so fast that he felt a pain in his neck. What kind of idiot would climb a scorching hot monument in this heat? But when he glanced out the back window for a closer look, no one was there. Even the birds had vanished. He could only see the battered words: Atomgrad-29. Town Without a Frown.

What the fuck...? He no longer felt tired. He attempted to catch a glimpse of something else outside but with limited success. Though the monotonous desert landscape was interrupted by occasional checkpoints. A metallic mesh fence seemed to have materialized out of thin air, now unwaveringly winding alongside the road.

***

31-08-99
17:13:31
ARC** 1
Cycle number: 2106
I(B1): 0.0000000000001e+13
Beam intensity: see Plot 2
The luminosity of collisions in four detectors: see Plot 3
Beam 1: OFF
Residual radiation level: APPROXIMATELY NORMAL
Low spikes in the plots are observed. Probable reason: leakage of residual radiation due to low-quality cladding. Further research is required.

***

In a couple of minutes, the car was stopped by a crooked, rotten-teeth-like gate of a larger checkpoint. It seemed that the security budget hadn't been entirely stolen. They didn't get greedy putting barbed wire on top of the gates. Grisha imagined himself passing through, leaving shreds of skin on the thorns. He gulped down a sickening lump in his throat. To distract himself, he looked out of the window to examine the new, omnipresent signs. Apparently, they didn't skimp on them either. Well, that depended on how you looked at it. The letters were stenciled but somewhat imprecise. Some shyly clung to one another, while others shamefully kept their distance.

PROHIBITED AREA

Stop! The shot is deadly!

Below it there was another sign — they probably had run out of space on the first one: Trespassers will be eaten. Grisha even rubbed his eyes, not sure if his mind was playing tricks. His brain had already started making theories but he didn't have time to let his imagination gather speed. From the gnashing with ancient cameras and crumpled loud-speakers booth, a soldier appeared with a rifle atilt. His dusty, weather-beaten army boots were crunching on the sand. His huge ears were sticking out from under the cap, his shaved head making them look sharper. Grisha raised his shoulders and hid behind the curtain of his hair. What fucking radars, Jesus.

The lad's bushy eyebrows met on his nose bridge grimly. He saluted overenthusiastically.

Who are you showing off for? Grisha thought. No one can see you except vipers and us. And I'm not sure who gives less fucks about your military etiquette.

"Stay where you are! I'm junior sergeant Baryshnikov. May I see your documents?"

What rank is junior sergeant? The next after 'the most worthless rubbish' but before 'senior scumbag'? Stay here then and let your brains melt in this concrete box. If army people even have any. They are probably a huge inconvenience anyway.

Parents showed their papers to sarge Baryshnikov simultaneously who stared at them very hard. Then he lifted the documents a bit higher and squinted comparing photos with reality. Was he scanning the skull shapes or what?

"I see, Sergey Istotsky. Have come to conduct scientific research in the MISFIT... Accompanied by the spouse and a minor dependent?

Sarge leaned back a little and eyed Grisha intensely. I'm 16, you moron! Grisha's hands instantly got wet and his face hot. What a jerk. How old was the sarge himself? Why do people turn into such assholes the second they get an ounce of power? Grisha dragged himself from the window further into the seat, a bag pressed into his shoulder blade. The hell was he gonna make sarge's job easier.

At this moment the sergeant returned the documents and asked with the same strict tone staring straight at father:

"What is your zodiac sign?"

Grisha could only gape and tilt his head to one side. What? However old man answered without hesitation as if they were talking about football or the weather:

"According to the new NASA and Roscosmos horoscope, now I'm a Libra."

"From now on you are welcome in Atomgrad-29. Come in."

Chains clanked and the crooked stop sign slowly lifted up like the sun at dawn. The car went under the bent boom gate gaining speed once again. Through the open window, Grisha heard electricity humming in the wires winded on the barriers. They passed another sign with a creature sitting on top. Was it a squirrel? Grisha's brain was busy analyzing different information, there was no capacity left for identifying small rodents.

What horoscope? What Roscosmos? Everyone went completely bananas because they watched too much conspiracy theories on cable? Hello????

Grisha leaned a bit forward behind Mom's seat and looked cautiously out of the cracked windscreen. Out of the heat haze, the trembling shape of the town was crawling towards them.

***

31-08-99
18:23
Camera2_enter_east
Object spotted and identified: small.
Identification: cyclops squirrel.
Danger degree: low?
Conclusion: stop observation.
Objects spotted and identified: medium.
Identification: humanoid, 3 pcs, kinship is likely (76%). Further analysis of skull shape and retina scan is required.
Danger degree: pending.
Conclusion: continue observation.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

NOTES:

* Get ready to blast a timeless Russian bop Veter S Morya Dul straight from the '90s! This song is the perfect soundtrack to embrace your existential dread while shaking your booty to a delightfully giddy beat. So grab your dancing shoes and get ready to groove with a hint of existential crisis!

** ARC — Atomgrad-29 Reaction Collider

┈┈┈┈ˋˏ✄-

MORE NOTES:

Are you ashamed to share your creativity online? Are fear of failure and procrastination holding you back? Are you trying to figure out how to overcome shyness linked with self-expression? Don't fight it! Simply allow your art, your unique message, to transcend this obstacle. Let what you bring forth be greater than this self-restraint, for you (and for the world, as an extension of you). Let it be more important and significant than any fears. Remember, you are unique, and no one else can do what you want to do in the same way. There is no one else like you.*

* If you happen to see your exact copy, please press the panic button and immediately hide under the table. Or the bed? Yes, better under the bed, quickly! Stay away from windows. Avoid using the elevator. Barricade the doors with debris from other furniture. Don't go near electrical outlets. Pray.

** No one will come to your aid. But it's just fun to press this button, right? It makes this cool sound... Click-clack, click-clack!

Today's message is sponsored by "Farewell, Youth," the largest geopolitical zoo in the world located in Atomgrad-29. While youth may pass, your inner animal nature endures.