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- Tell me, Dos-kun, do you like birds?
- Because I love them.
The white-haired man grabbed his knife, a decorative ribbon threaded through the hole at the bottom of the handle dancing with the movement of the blade.
- I admire them for being free, they are not limited by gravity or attachment, they fly wherever they want, because they can. They are free.
- Dos-kun, do you think that...
He grabbed the pigeon, his voice breaking. Everyone knew he was insane, only the Demon could understand him.
Only now he did not know what the jester was up to.
The bird's unpolluted feathers turned red, it flapped its wings in agony, trying to peck or at least scratch its executioner. However, it was in vain as Nikolai slowly slashed the animal's wing, close to the body. When he finished, he went on to the second. With a sadistic smile, he deprived the bird of what he admired it for, deprived it of what it envied.
It took away his wings, his freedom, not only took part of his body, he took part of his soul, if the animals had one. Dostoyevsky looked at the scene with empty but fascinated eyes. He always knew what Gogol meant, always and without exception, only now he did not know what he was thinking. The object of his gaze looked up at him, empty and sadistic. He released the bird and straightened up completely.
- It’s not fair, why do they have this freedom? Weren't people God's chosen ones? Created in his image?
He turned the severed wing in his hand, studying it carefully. The snow-white feathers, like his hair, were, however, stained with the blood of their rightful owner. He hid them in his coat.
- Does this mean that God is not free?
Fyodor shuddered. So that's what it was about.
- I don't know, Kolyenka, why don't you tell me?
He could feel his breath on his face, which is surprising since he had just approached him. He felt the gaze of the golden eye on his soul, the light lime green glow added charm to this golden emptiness. The second was hidden under a tile with a diamond pattern, he had the opportunity to look closely at this work of art. Who was the artist? Even he didn't know.
Even God did not know.
- I love birds, don't you love them? Especially virgin white pigeons are beautiful. They become even more beautiful when they turn red.
Here he embraced Fyodor’s waist with his hands, brought it closer to him and looked into curious amethyst eyes, they were beautiful, just as empty as his. They are a perfect match, aren't they?
- “I’m taking their freedom from them, isn't that cruel?" But thanks to this I get closer to them, they cease to be free. Exactly Dos-kun... do you know what captivates me?
- Me.
This answer, combined with an anemic smile, revealed everything. He was well aware of what Nikolai wanted to convey to him. It was obvious, since it was not morality, law or sanity, only body and feelings as well as attachment remained.
He wanted to cuddle up to him, he wanted to kiss those eternal smiling lips, he wanted to look at those golden windows of the void every day. Yet he couldn't, how could he admit it. God could not admit to loving a sinner.
- You know what's the second reason I steal their wings? Have you heard about the Japanese tradition which consists of a thousand paper cranes to fulfill a wish? Dazai-kun told me about her.
- What are you getting at?
- Я стану твоим ангелом.
He joined his God in a kiss, which was reciprocated almost immediately. They instituted their own sacrament, they stayed in it for a moment that was like eternity to them. God has found his sinner.
- You already are.
He made him his angel.