Afterglow. The Justification of Chaos - стр. 4

I attributed my own moral exhaustion to general fatigue and the tense atmosphere. Although, without a doubt (and I couldn’t lie to myself), the reason ran much deeper – it was too obvious and too painful. There was no escaping or hiding from the past. You couldn’t drown it out with work, drown it out with risky decisions, or dull it; it always came back in sudden memories during moments of silence, nightmarish dreams, creeping tears, and the lump in my throat… Starting over was hard. Sometimes it seemed like it was only possible if I set fire to the previous chapters of my life, but to do that, I’d have to be either incredibly brave or desperately foolish – and so I sought healing elsewhere. Having completely lost myself, with an absolute emptiness within my ribs, I gave myself over to work. Completely. Without fear or doubt. Maybe that’s why, looking at the houses passing by the window, at the travel papers arranged before me, I didn’t question how I had the courage to do all of this.

I had gotten myself into an adventure, the details of which were frightening to even think about.

Sam was snoring loudly in his sleep, curled up on the small, worn-out couch; he had spent the entire night editing a video and then fixing the antenna – for some reason, it had been acting up with terrible interruptions lately – so it was no surprise that he fell asleep as soon as he sat down. I smiled, recalling how many years of friendship we shared with Dort – playing in the same courtyard as kids, going to school together, and then to college. I never thought life would turn out this way – I never imagined everything would spin, change, twist, and break apart like this – and that we would end up working side by side.

Over four years of working in publishing behind us. So fast, yet unbearably long; what we’ve achieved now is written in blood, tears, and the cold of political investigation cells… There was no easy start, and we didn't fall into rhythm right away – for a long time, our trio wasn’t recognized, so we weren’t involved in any of the shortcuts, gossip, or work for the regime. Courage is tasted in small doses. You don’t read people right away. You find allies only through mistakes. The constant drive to be at the center of events, to dig into topics that shouldn’t be dug into: this led us to the current editor-in-chief of Crimson Skies, a man who was partly reckless, impulsive, but very principled and brave, who managed to find a loophole in censorship and powerful patrons even in our State.

The closer to the center of the city, the more people there are, the taller the buildings, and the darker the sky.

It was an incredible risk to head to the Isthmus Region, but a trusted source assured us that there would be information on our topic of interest, and certain strings had been pulled to set up the meeting.

However, we were nearly a day late for the agreed meeting time: no matter how well-made the entry documents were or whose name was on the signature, movement between territorial units of the State had been, to put it mildly, highly restricted for many decades, and in the past month, customs officials had become downright feral. The tightening of already strict restrictions was, of course, due to the epidemic in the Northern lands, which could no longer be concealed by rumors, speculation, or the machinations of “oppositionists and amateurs.” An unknown disease was rapidly and mercilessly sweeping through the cities, and the impending nightmare, the “wrath of the Heavens,” was only whispered by the lazy.