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Happy Meal

Olga stood in line at the gas station with a pistol in her hand. A fuel pistol. Premium 95. In her other hand — a breast. The left one. Three-month-old Vanya was latched onto it, strapped in with some elaborate harness system that turned motherhood into an extreme sport. The tank showed 23 liters and 38 kopecks when Vanya bit down with his teeth....

Witnesses

Lena called on Thursday, for the first time in six months. "Are you still writing?" she asked instead of hello. "Sometimes," I said. "Why?" "No reason. I just wanted to hear the voice of someone who still writes." We fell silent. Wind rustled in the receiver - she was outside, a rarity these days. "I disconnected from the Feed," Lena said. "A week...

Internal Violence

There is a special kind of violence we don't notice because it comes from within. It's the voice that demands: be different. Not who you are now. More focused. Calmer. More productive. Kinder. This voice seems like an ally — after all, it wants our improvement. In reality, it persecutes. We wage war against our own behavior without understanding...