I'd like to say a few words before starting this story - hey you, Vitaly Ivolginsky! Die, you Russian pig! Die for what you did to Damien Thorn's daughter, you stinking freak! You disgraced her in your lousy pamphlet "Always Visible (Another Prayer for The Dying Horror Genre)", scum! How could you even write such a thing, you cretin?! If Damien Thorn really existed, he would have put you in prison for insulting his family members, you freak! And then in the next world he would have made you scrub the sinners' boilers out of turn, got it, alcoholic?! There you go. Now we can get down to business.
So, the large, brightly lit cafeteria of the kindergarten was filled with the joyful hum of children's voices. Children in identical bright suits sat at small tables everywhere. They drank juice from plastic cups, ate neatly folded sandwiches and laughed as if the whole world were their playground.
But in the very corner of the room, at a long wooden table, sat a girl. Her long, unruly black hair fell over her shoulders, and her eyes shone like two sparks of coal. She smiled widely, watching as one of the boys at the next table tried to balance a glass on his head, balancing on a chair.
A boy of about seven came up to her. He stopped for a second, as if gathering his courage, and sat down next to her.
"Hello," he said quietly but firmly, trying to contain his excitement. "You're... you're Delia York, right?"
The girl turned to him, her gaze becoming wary for a moment, but then softening.
"Yes, and who are you?" she asked, frowning slightly.
The boy clasped his hands nervously in his lap, but then smiled.
"I... my name is Peter," he answered, choosing his words carefully. "It's just... I thought you were supposed to be older."
Delia laughed. Her laugh was as clear as the melody of a child's carousel.
"Older? That would be awkward!" she said, waving her hand. "Do you want me to be like those adults?" She nodded toward a group of children who looked far too serious for their age.
They sat there, munching their sandwiches sullenly, looking as if they had already grown up before they had even had time to play. Peter thought for a moment, watching Delia. Then, as if making up his mind, he said:
"You... you know that you will become president one day?" His voice wavered, but his eyes were confident.
Delia raised her eyebrows as if she had heard something completely unbelievable.
"President?" she asked, as if tasting the word. "No, I'm just a little girl. And I don't want to be president. Why can't I be a fun little princess?"
She straightened her shoulders and pretended to adjust an imaginary crown.
Peter didn't know what to say. He looked at her in silence, surprised by her ease and spontaneity. But before he could answer, a man approached the table. Tall, with a kind but tired face, he put his hand on Delia's shoulder.
"Deedle," he said softly, "you still have to have lunch."
"Yes, Dad, I'm almost done," she replied, raising her bright, piercing eyes to him.
The man nodded and left, and Delia turned back to Peter.
"You're not a child anymore, Peter. Don't you understand?"
Her words, spoken with surprising confidence for such a little girl, stuck in his head. He wasn't sure what she meant exactly, but he felt like it was a moment he would remember for a long time.
At this moment a fat, red-haired boy named Jerome was noisily chewing a piece of apple at the table, stealing glances at his watch. It was large, heavy, and undoubtedly expensive, and he adjusted it on his wrist with pride every time, as if it were a crown on the head of a king. Delia, animated by her conversation with Peter, cast a quick glance around the room, and her dark eyes suddenly gleamed like those of a hunter who has spotted his prey. Before anyone could realize what was happening, she snatched the watch from Jerome's hands and, laughing, ran out of the open door.
"Hey! Give it back!" Jerome yelled, jumping up quickly and dropping the apple on the floor.
He rushed after Delia, who was already racing towards the door, her hair flying behind her, and a large watch with a round dial gleaming in her hand.
"Try and catch it!" she cried, her voice ringing with cheerful laughter.
Jerome ran after her, stomping loudly across the cafeteria floor. The other children turned and watched with bated interest. Delia, holding the trophy above her head, ran out into the school yard and stopped at the large steps leading up to the old play pavilion.
She began to climb up, holding onto the railing with one hand and clutching her watch with the other. Jerome caught up with her, but hesitated, looking up.
"Delia, what are you doing?!" he cried, throwing up his hands in exhaustion, and then, breathing heavily, he climbed after her, struggling up the stairs.
The girl, standing in the middle of the stairs, stopped and looked down at him. Her voice suddenly became strangely tense and deep:
"Thunder, rain and lightning, danger, rising water, noise and the wail of sirens."
Jerome was taken aback, but tried to understand her words:
"Is this a bad sign?"
Delia, as if she hadn't heard him, continued, her eyes looking off into the distance:
"Shadows, dark creatures, steel clouds floating in the air, people running for cover."
Jerome frowned, but decided to play along. Maybe that way he could get his watch back.
"What will happen to me?" he asked, trying to sound serious. "Every move I make, every move I make, all the pain is on the line. I see chaos for myself. Who are you? What can you do? You and I are the same in that we have our own styles that we will not change. Yours is full of evil, and mine is not. I cannot lose!"
Delia took another step up, a mysterious smile crossing her face.
"I can't hold on any longer," she said.
Jerome, trying to keep up, began to climb after her.
"But I will never let go!" he replied with feigned determination.
Delia turned over her shoulder to him.
"I know it's a one-way street."
"Tell me now how long this will last!" Jerome retorted.
"I won't think so," Delia snapped, her tone becoming more defiant.
"But I won't count on others!" Jerome shouted, clenching his fists.
"Close your eyes and feel them burn," Delia said mysteriously, raising the watch above her head.
"Now I see what I need to do!" Jerome breathed out, almost catching up with her.
"Open your heart, everything will be okay," she said, her voice unexpectedly soft.
Jerome stopped, breathing heavily. He looked at Delia, who seemed to be enjoying every second of their strange game.
"Okay," he muttered finally, waving his hand. "Take the watch if you want it so much. I don't mind."
Delia jumped down the stairs, light as a cat, and walked over to him. She handed him the watch back with a sly smile.
"I just wanted to see how far you'd go," she said. "You're great, Jerome. A real hero."
Jerome, taken aback by her words, took the watch and looked at it in confusion. Then he smiled, not understanding why.
"You're strange, Delia," he muttered.
"I know," she answered cheerfully and, like a light breeze, slipped through the dining room doors, and soon her ringing laughter mixed with the noise of children's voices.
Peter and Jerome were left outside at the foot of the stairs. Peter was still watching the girl run away, unable to believe what was happening.
"Why did you just give her the watch?" he asked finally, looking at Jerome with genuine bewilderment.
Jerome stood with his shoulders slumped, clutching his large watch. He looked embarrassed and suddenly blushed. His plump face turned bright red and he looked down, avoiding Peter's gaze.
"Well..." he muttered, tucking the watch strap back into the slot, "it's just a watch."
Peter narrowed his eyes, looking at Jerome carefully. Something about his behavior suddenly seemed suspicious.
"Wait a minute," Peter said slowly, his voice growing a little louder. "Are you in love with her?"
Jerome's head snapped up, his eyes widening.
"What?! No!" he shouted, but it sounded so loud and desperate that Peter only became more convinced of his guess.
"Oh, I knew it!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "You're in love with Delia! It's obvious!"
"No, I'm not in love!" Jerome repeated stubbornly, but now his face was so flushed that it was useless to deny it.
Peter crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes mockingly.
"You let her snatch things from you, chase her around the yard, and then just give her your watch because she "wanted to look at it"? If that's not love, then what is?"
Jerome sighed, turned away and was silent for a long time. Peter already thought that he was not going to explain anything, but suddenly Jerome quietly muttered:
"She... she's not like everyone else."
Peter frowned, his interest piqued.
"What do you mean?"
Jerome turned to him, struggling for words.
"Delia... She can be weird, but there's something... interesting about it. She... makes me feel like no one else does. And it's not just love, you know? It's... admiration. She knows how to make boring things exciting. Even with my watch... I knew she'd give it back. I was just curious to see what she'd come up with."
Peter shook his head, unsure how to react.
"Are you serious? She could have just run away with them!"
"I couldn't," Jerome said firmly. "Delia would never do anything unfair. She's... special."
Peter thought silently, watching Jerome's expression. Maybe there was some meaning in that. Delia really was different from other children. She could bring life to even the most mundane moments. But Peter had a hard time understanding how that could translate into such a profound sense of admiration.
"Okay," he finally said, shrugging. "Maybe you're right. But it's still weird."
Jerome chuckled, hiding his smile.
"It's Delia. She's always weird. And, you know, maybe that's a good thing."
The children fell silent, looking at the glowing windows of the dining room, and Jerome headed back. Peter, sighing heavily, followed, thinking about how strange and confusing this thing called love could be.
"Love can be evil..." he thought with an involuntary smile, remembering Jerome's flushed face.
When they entered the brightly lit room, Delia was already standing next to her father. The tall man held her jacket in his hands with a warm smile, obviously preparing to take his daughter home for lunch. Delia was talking excitedly, waving her arms, and her father was looking at her with a slight smile.
"Well, Mommy will probably make my favorite pancakes with syrup!" she said, her voice ringing with joy. "And you'll stay too, right, Dad?"
The man chuckled and bowed his head slightly.
"Deedle, you know I have a meeting this afternoon. But I promise to get home early this evening."
Delia pouted, but it only lasted for a moment. Her face lit up again.
"Okay, then I'll ask Mom to leave me more syrup. You won't have time to eat it anyway," she said with a mischievous smile.
Peter stood at the entrance, watching the scene with Jerome. Delia was the complete opposite of her calm and balanced father. Her energy literally filled the space around her, making everything else less important.
Peter looked at Jerome and immediately noticed that he was starting to blush again. Jerome's eyes were glued to Delia, he was shifting from one foot to the other, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how.
"Hey, Jerome, you're all red," Peter teased quietly, nudging him with his elbow.
"I'm not red!" Jerome flared up, but his flushed face betrayed the opposite. He turned away in embarrassment, staring at the nearest table with the remains of juice and sandwiches.
"Oh, come on," Peter said with a grin. "It's okay. Everyone can fall in love with someone. Even people like Delia."
"You don't understand, Peter," Jerome muttered, not taking his eyes off the girl. "She's... she's different."
"I understand," Peter said with a sigh. "I just don't understand how you can handle it. She's crazy!"
"She's unusual," Jerome corrected with unexpected firmness in his voice.
Peter snorted but said nothing. At that moment, Delia turned, noticing them. Her eyes flashed for a moment, and she waved at them.
"Jerome, Peter!" she cried cheerfully. "I'm going home for lunch. Don't be bored here without me!"
Jerome almost dropped his watch, his face turning crimson. He nodded frantically, not even knowing what to say. Peter just shook his head and muttered under his breath:
"Well, that's right, love can be evil."
Delia, without waiting for an answer, grabbed her father's hand and pulled him toward the exit, still humming to herself. Her laughter could still be heard even after the door closed behind them.
Peter looked back at Jerome, who still stood motionless, as if enchanted.
"You're definitely lost, my friend," he concluded with a grin.
As soon as Delia and her father left the dining room, Peter noticed Jerome wait a few seconds to make sure they were definitely out of his sight. Jerome's heart seemed to beat faster, his face flushed again, and his lips took on the same confused smile that appeared every time he thought of Delia.
Peter, standing to the side, watched this with a grin. Jerome, obviously deciding that Delia couldn't leave so quickly, moved towards the coat rack. Peter realized that he was going to secretly follow her car. And it was so obvious and absurd that Peter couldn't help but laugh.
"Well, Jerome, are you really going to go after her car?" Peter asked mockingly, coming closer.
Jerome froze for a moment, as if taken by surprise, but quickly pulled himself together and, blushing, said:
"I... I didn't mean to... I just... I need to get my jacket."
Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Yeah, sure, the jacket," he said sarcastically, watching as Jerome nervously took his jacket off the hanger and tried to throw it over his shoulders. "Do you really think you can hide from her dad and get into the trunk?"
Jerome paused for a moment, then frowned, apparently only now realizing the absurdity of his idea. He groaned, but still looked strangely determined.
"Well, before he gets in the car, I might as well try," he said, looking out the window where Delia's father was already standing next to the car, opening the door for his daughter. "This will be my chance, Peter!"
Peter chuckled, shaking his head.
"Admit it, you like this idea, even if it's absurd. You do realize that her father won't just stand there and wait for you to get into the trunk, right?"
Jerome blushed even more, but his resolve did not weaken. He looked at Peter with a sullen expression and glanced again at Delia's father, who had already climbed into the driver's seat. Jerome moved quickly toward the exit, looking over his shoulder.
"I can't just sit and do nothing, Peter! I have to try. This may be my last chance to see her..."
Peter sighed and stepped after him, deciding not to interfere with his friend in this mad rush.
"Okay, okay, go. Just know that if her father catches you, I won't save you. Although, on the other hand, it will be fun. Do you really want to look into the trunk of her car?"
Jerome just nodded, and he and Peter ran outside. Peter couldn't help but chuckle, imagining Jerome trying to climb into the trunk of a car that would go full speed ahead, carrying him away. However, Peter knew that this was just another stupid idea, but he couldn't help but share at least some of the madness. And despite his mockery, he decided to leave his friend in his quest - let him decide for himself what he needed.
Delia's father got behind the wheel and she climbed into the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt, oblivious to the people around her. The car was already starting to move slowly, and Peter stood on the sidewalk, watching it with a smirk on his face. He couldn't help but laugh as Jerome, red as a tomato, squeezed into the trunk, trying not to make any noise. Peter, despite his bewilderment, knew that this was too good a scene not to watch.
Jerome did it so awkwardly and sullenly that Peter could hardly keep from giggling loudly. He watched as Jerome, trying as carefully as possible, climbed into the trunk and slammed it shut. It all happened so awkwardly that Peter already imagined how his friend would be bent over and unable to breathe in this confined space.
At that moment, Peter almost shouted for Delia's father to check the trunk, noticing how he was moving inexorably towards the car. But Peter stopped himself in time. He did not want to give up his friend, although he did not understand why Jerome needed all this. It was too stupid, but funny, and Peter knew that if he warned, Jerome would definitely give in and everything would be over.
Peter stepped closer to the car, his eyes still glued to the scene in the trunk. But then he saw Delia's father drive on, not noticing anything suspicious, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
"So far so good," Peter thought, glad that Jerome had somehow managed to remain unnoticed.
He looked back at the car, which was now pulling out of the parking lot and moving down the street. Peter turned his head slightly and saw Jerome wince, perhaps yet again, as he tried to find a comfortable position among the bags and things in the trunk. He was so tightly squeezed in that he probably should have warned him that the drive would be long and uncomfortable. But Peter couldn't help but enjoy the absurdity of the moment.
"Are you sure it's worth it?" he asked in a whisper, as if trying to reason with himself.
But Jerome was silent, hiding in the trunk, and Peter knew there was no point in saying anything more. He just knew it was too late to go back now.
Delia's car disappeared from view, and Peter sighed heavily. There was only one understanding in his head - Jerome himself asked for all this. But there was another feeling: pride for his friend, who was not afraid and decided on such a crazy idea.
Delia and her father drove down a deserted street, and the atmosphere inside their car was pleasant and relaxed. Delia's father held the wheel with confidence, his eyes focused on the road, but his face was relaxed, and his eyes were slightly squinting in the sunlight. Delia sat in the passenger seat, her hair blowing in the wind, her face full of mischief as she continued to chat tirelessly.
"Dad, do you realize that tomorrow is my birthday?" she said, smiling and turning to him. "I was already thinking that I would like you to prepare a surprise for me! Something cool! Something that will really surprise me!"
Delia's father just smiled, watching the road carefully, but his gaze was full of softness. He knew how much his daughter loved surprises, how she couldn't wait for the special day.
"Well, I can't promise it will be anything incredible," he said, his voice light and good-natured. "But I have a surprise for you, of course."
Delia furrowed her brow and tilted her head, as if in thought.
"What surprise? You're not going to tell me anything?" She narrowed her eyes, watching him. "You know I want to know! This isn't fair!"
The father laughed quietly, his face lighting up with a smile again.
"A secret, Deedle, a secret," he answered mysteriously, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "Tomorrow you will find out everything. And today you had better prepare yourself for the unexpected. I promise you will not be disappointed. This will be your surprise, and it will be a real discovery!"
Delia tried to be patient, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. She looked at him with the same eagerness she always had when she really wanted to know something but couldn't. But her father was stubborn, and his eyes were determined not to reveal anything.
"Oh, Dad! You know I can't do this!" she cried, throwing up her hands. "How can I wait until tomorrow? It's just impossible!"
He smiled mysteriously and continued to look at the road.
"You know what the biggest part of the surprise is?" he said, narrowing his eyes slightly, as if leading her to some great revelation. "The anticipation itself. The most interesting and valuable things always come at the last moment.
Delia snorted, but her face continued to express dissatisfaction.
"You, Dad, are cunning! Very cunning!" She leaned back slightly in her seat and folded her arms across her chest, trying to show how angry she was. "But I'll wait. Of course, this is no reason to worry, right? You'll still show me your surprise. Right?"
The father did not answer directly, but his smile became even more mysterious.
"Well, that's for sure," he replied, looking at her. "But I didn't say you'd get it tomorrow. The surprise will come in due time, and you'll get it when you least expect it."
"You're some kind of magician," Delia said jokingly, looking at him with a cheerful look. "Always riddles and secrets. You've known for a long time how much I like to solve such things!"
The father just shook his head and continued driving, looking around the familiar city streets.
"None of this matters," he said, looking ahead. "Everything will be as you wish. The main thing is, don't try to find out ahead of time, or all the magic will be lost."
Delia rolled her eyes and exhaled, but there was still joy in her voice.
"Okay, okay, dad! You win! I'll be waiting for your surprise tomorrow!" She relaxed in her seat, but her gaze continued to search his face for riddles.
She knew that tomorrow would not be just any birthday. It was a moment that her father had already turned into something amazing more than once. And she was ready to experience this surprise, as always, with the utmost thirst for new impressions.
Her father just smiled, feeling her energy permeate the air. It was obvious that the surprise he had prepared would leave Delia with unforgettable memories.
As the car continued down the street, filled with warm summer air, Delia and her father enjoyed the silence and the fact that this moment was just theirs - a moment filled with laughter, secrets and the anticipation of something special.
Soon, Delia's father pulled the car up to the luxurious mansion that had been their home for many years. The huge wrought iron gates creaked as he pulled the car out into the yard, their glittering surface reflecting the light of the setting sun. Tall trees grew around, their branches swaying in the light breeze, and neatly trimmed bushes lined the driveway. It was the perfect home for a family, full of warmth and comfort.
As the man got out of the car, he suddenly noticed the silhouette of his wife in the second floor window. She was standing by the window, watching him with a smile on her face. He waved his hand at her, as always, getting used to his greetings.
"Hi, Karen!" he called out loudly, waving cheerfully at her.
His voice was warm and energetic as always. The woman looked up, meeting her husband's gaze, and her face lit up with joy.
"Hi, Gene!" she replied, leaning forward a little, as if adding even more intimacy to her words. "How was your day?"
"Everything's fine!" he shouted, glancing towards his car. "Look, I'm coming home, so I'll hug you right now!"
He smiled and walked to the front door, but before he entered, he noticed his daughter. Delia was standing by the door, her leg swinging slightly impatiently, because Gene had the keys to the house, and she couldn't get in without them. Her eyes were looking at her dad with stubborn insistence, as if she was waiting for him to finally open the door. Delia wasn't one to wait, and today it was especially noticeable.
"Well, can't wait to come in, huh?" Gene said with a smile, approaching her.
Delia, hearing his words, immediately beamed, her face again acquiring a mischievous expression, as if she was full of some important secret that she wanted to tell.
"Dad, open up already! I can't wait!" she cried, tapping her foot on the floor as if creating her own rhythm.
Gene smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out his door keys.
"Okay, okay," he said, taking out the key and inserting it into the lock. "I'll open it, as I promised."
Delia eagerly jumped to the door, almost on his heels. But as soon as the door opened, she rushed inside, leaving her father standing on the threshold, watching her quick movement.
"That's it, I'm inside!" she shouted, throwing open the doors and laughing merrily. "I'm expecting surprises, dad!"
Gene, standing on the threshold, threw his head back and looked around the yard. He knew that for his daughter, a birthday was always not just a holiday, but a real event. He loved her joyful laughter, her energy and the sincere curiosity with which she approached any surprise.