One swing — and she lowered the net, which had become a trawl, and scooped up the idols stuck in frozen sweetness. Almost all her strength went into maintaining balance, and still the figures slowly but surely moved upward. Just a little more!

  When there was almost nothing left, O.G. entrusted her head with dragging the net by the teeth, and hurried herself. Swiping a slide aside, she formed a dark city. As soon as the net with the figures of her fellow travelers leveled with the boat, she leapt back with a running jump straight into the elbow.

  A calm set in. And the familiar half-darkness of the city that so loved eternal night.

  As soon as they reappeared here, they were met quietly, without fanfare.

  Just a highway cloverleaf, encircled by age-old houses with chipped windows and trees that had long since stopped growing, having already become mature and responsible inside. An abandoned moped lay there as it always had, and had never been abandoned. It had simply understood that it wanted to remain part of the landscape.

  The palms of the First and Second Thoughts closed at the edge of intention, not by form or content. Unclasping, they did it again and again, paying respect to the cloverleaf that had let them in. Now their task was to slide along the asphalt concrete, rising, descending, visiting it as a guest and, conversely, being visited.

  The highway offered too many possibilities for development, and led in a circle, as if to say something important.

  “She doesn’t even try to do it”. - Noted the First Thought.

  “She exists for sampling. She is catalogued and included in the list of places.” - Cut off the Second.

  Absorbing one another so as not to ask “why?”, they made the first circle, flying the entire proposed route. It seemed to them that this was not enough. After making a second ceremonial lap, they waited until a hurricane of incredible power descended.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  It had been awaited at home for so long. They were the first to break their relationship with the foundation, remaining only friends with it, and rose upward. They did not collide, did not strike, and did not hinder anyone. Like the trees, like the bullets chirping on their branches, like the manhole covers and the road fencing made of sanitary porcelain.

  They all wanted to slip away from this place that held them and did not allow them to unfold as personalities. They were underestimated, and it wounded them. The Thoughts waited while the storm flashed with lightning flares and bitterness in the throat.

  “Their suffering is over, and it’s no longer cramped for them.” - Noted the First.

  “Let them do what they want. They are free people.” - The Second turned away from everything and began to watch how space compressed into a cone. It became such when she merged into a single whole with her First companion.

  And from beyond the beyond of space, stars began to advance.

  This was where they found themselves as soon as they left the sky.

  They waited for the moment of an effective entrance.

  And the entire infinite set of neutron stars, quasars, small cozy meteors, pulsars choking on their own power appeared right there. They surrounded the cone, forming a loop without an entry–exit switch.

  “Their appearance is part of the upcoming meal. - The Second Thought formulated harshly.

  “The cook is already here.” - Echoed the First.

  Humming in the range of two hertz, the disco ball emerged from a “wormhole” from inside one of the fiercely resisting comets. The object did this without wishing to offend it or inflict discomfort.

  It needed to become a new Moon. To change itself not in form, but in essence.

  And when it did so — outlining every crater on itself, covering itself with regolith and frozen lava — it slammed directly into the merged Thoughts. It became their continuation, taking its place next to the cast of the Uzi submachine gun.

  And the stars began to lick their lips greedily.

  Their tongues spilled onto the surface and bared jaws clacked. How impatient they were to bite off a tasty piece! Some of the most impatient began breaking off parts of one another and devouring them, growling gutturally and belching crumbs.

  After which, in a fit of acute need, they began to move toward the Thoughts and the Moon, intending to try them at least on the tooth. No seasoning was required when catharsis itself was present.

  And the Thoughts waited patiently, because becoming someone’s snack is also part of planning their future.