Moscow, late evening – I can call it “night”. Catteus sits inside his little room and looks at the display with the concentration of a neurosurgeon. Black Empress of Computing clacks under the schoolboy's fingers. Clack-clack-clack. Misprints are quickly backspaced, coherent text is appearing in posting field.
“So, I'll tell you. There is one repeating story in my dreams. I'm going through snow-covered park. In real life I often walk there when I'm depressed and don't want to return to my flat from university…”
Catteus throws a look at his table littered with school textbooks. Chemistry is lying awry, spreading its covers like a whore and telling Catteus' sight about fuarrrking scheme of the thermal decomposition of the nitrogen and its compounds. He's a little ashamed for his lie but when have someone ever listened to scholars at Mailach (Mailach aka Sosach (Suckachan) – the biggest European imageboard – Linalique.)?
“Sometimes I walk in that park at night after my Martial Arts training's ending. It is calm and quiet at this time, especially I never had problems with chavs.”
Hunched schoolboy stretches at his armchair, thrown his lean stickarms that look like biological pieces from unrealistic mantis over his head. With edge of sight he notices frowned and disturbing spring night outside. Night shows him his face: disheveled hair, bulging eyes, femineity that can be evidently seen in his manners and gestures. Yeah, the ideal man, he thinks and turns to the computer.
“I can always see her in my dream. She stands near tree and shivers from the insufferable cold because she is absolutely naked. She asks me to warm her up and stretches her hands to me opening her breast of the perfect shape for my sight. I embrace her and she softly replies my kiss. I see that dream every day…”
Really it's not. The guy invented this dream when accidentally got a nocturnal emission half a year ago. That day he gave free rein to his imagination.
“There is only one problem. She is. My. Sister.”