When There's No Time

When there's no time to look inside — later you can't get by without pain. To take in all this junk at a glance — willpower alone isn't enough. So you glanced, quietly, in passing, skimming the surface, slashing with a shiv. The blade quickly hides in the insole. The shell begins to ache. But not all of it, and not at once. In patches, here and there and there. This is the first: “The Mild Phase.” Then — more. A deadly somersault. It knocks the body's supports away, forcing the mind to wake up. Reluctance bursts out, with force, to take it all in hand within a few days. Then a chain of coincidences drags on: screw-ups at work, with friends. After a few hard falls, phase two: “Endless Pits.” And right here, without the help of loved ones, the poor guy won't manage. Blind, he steps into risks with his flask blown through and through. No edges, and without loved ones, no chance… And to hell with it, with here and with there. There is a way out of the constant trance… Phase three: “The Deadly Somersault.”