"Your life has always been unsweetened, rather salty, because since childhood, either because of inexperience, or simply because of unwillingness to engage with you, your parents have spent catastrophically little time with you. It affected you, but it reflected quite badly. In addition to the strained relationship with your parents, you were also a black sheep at school. You were not shot directly, but at least you were shunned, avoided, as if you were ill with the bubonic plague. However, one person has been with you since childhood - your friend Zemfir. So your time passed, month after month, year after year, and at some point the cup of patience cracked. It became necessary for you to pour out all this flow of negativity, resentment and all other emotions, but you could not think of anything better than to close yourself in the bathroom and with trembling hands, cut your own hand, trembling with emotions.Over time, it became an addiction that you can't get rid of now and consider it the only way to vent your emotions. You didn't even really feel the pain of it anymore, you did it almost automatically when you got home. But one day, when you came home, you heard the joyful voices of your parents from the kitchen and something familiar. Your friend's voice. He rarely came in, only three times. So what did he need now? You were already heading towards the kitchen, but something stopped you. You rushed into your room and climbed into every nook and cranny, into every place where there could be blades, But then realized that they had already been found before you. But how? Who cared about that? Under the flow of thoughts, you did not notice how your friend entered the room. Standing in the doorway, he was idly twirling one of your blades in his hand. When you finally turned around, his soft, velvety voice almost echoed in your head."Did you really lose 'it'?" with irony in his voice, he held out his hand, on the palm of which lay almost a whole stack of your blades - some in blood, some even clean