When to you it is bad, it is intolerable badly, 
                           When the sunny day is more dark than a rat hole, 
                           When the death seems a gift 
                           And only the debt keeps from suicide, 
                           When thoughts sting, as wild wasps, 
                           And everywhere overtake mad nightmares, 
                           When the truth is not present in what, 
                           And the suffering blinds, and it is not visible stars any more, 
                           When the broken dreams remind of the past, 
                           And the love has turned to slow poison, 
                           Also worm-eaten heart continues to decay, 
                           When your children whisper damnations, 
                           And in each exhalation — a stench, 
                           And sleepless night becomes never-ending torture — 
                           Call to the aid the Murderer of a pain, 
                           And it will come to facilitate your flour, 
                           Also will show road to paradise. 
                                                        Thistle song 

        The girl has woken up for a minute till midnight. Having concealed breath, she waited 
In full darkness. Fire demon has lighted its first, ineptly made candle, and 
The child has laughed. It was completely not children's laughter reminding more likely 
Croak of a young rook. 
        In twilight there were persons. They emerged among gold and blood — 
As if relicts rose from the last ship of history sunk at ocean. 
Gold of salaries, coins and crosses, blood of cloaks and martyrs... Civilizations 
Shine of gold and blood abundance were inherent. The Golden Age minul, but were saved 
Numerous certificates of those perfect times. Therefore they have lost 
The price. However, warm blood still remained a life criterion. And on gold 
Nobody paid special attention. The girl and named primary colours: 
"Gold", "blood". Pure, with what not mixed. Were still dirty: 
"Earth", "dung", "snow". 
        After the candle has burnt down, it still for a long time laid in darkness without 
Dream. It has frozen, but it seemed a trifle in comparison with that was created 
Round it. She has decided to play for the first time adult game and has been bewitched 
The slightly opened wrong side of existence. It froze with horror, and vision 
Crowded around, as if moths in size with a rainbow, which 
Shook from wings a reality scattered in a dust... 
        She still for a long time felt a touch of a demon of fire — as a brand, 
Decaying somewhere inside. The girl imagined itself the died cat, in which 
Inexplicably the life spark — only that still wandered 
To test loneliness of a corpse. And ice night tried to crush it, 
And zaterjannost threatened to turn back eternal exile of the mad... 
        But the girl was kept on the brink of a precipice. She listened to whistle 
Draughts. Under the high arches of a dilapidated building it was almost 
As it is free, as to the winds walking under a star dome of heavens. Howl and 
Rumble, dampness and cold, melancholy and hypnosis of the huge alien world... It 
Comprehended cruelty of a life in all nakedness — without a cosiness, parental caresses, 
Human lie and consolations of security guards of belief. 
        That seemed simple and clear in the afternoon, now broke 
Into smithereens. Stored in children's memory became like shivering 
To reflexions. It was scattered, sank, betrayed... The Sparkling snake of consciousness 
Coiled in darkness, feeling painful requirement to inject in 
Something poison of secret knowledge, — but is vain. All has been around poisoned 
Very long time ago. 
        And still nobody has thought up antidotes. 

                        *    *    *

        Neighbours spoke about it, bending a mouth. With it shared food not from 
Pity, and for superstitious fear. Abused her differently: a devil's spawn, 
vybljadok, a bad seed, the savage. But more often it named simply the Thistle. 
She also has got used to consider it as the present name. 
        Nobody remembered, whence it undertook, from whose womb has appeared on 
Light, in whose body it has been conceived and mature, by whom it is raised, whose breast sucked, 
Whose milk a saw, whose health of a visor to itself as a modest payment for 
Sort continuation. The orphan... In this word to it something always seemed nasty, 
False, lusciously-compassionate. "Thistle" sounded much better. In 
Extreme case she would prefer to "orphan" "vybljadka". 
        Unique being with warm blood, with which at the Thistle 
There was some mutual understanding (about friendship, of course, speech did not go), was 
The black dog on a nickname the Hyena — the rare ugly creature trading in ruins and 
On distant city suburbs, but invariably coming back to the Area — 
As if to frighten children. Thus the Hyena differed 
Exclusive care, and more it was possible to finish off to nobody 
It, at least to cripple. 
        The Thistle face too was disgusting. But it could be 
It is almost assured, that will not get to number of three most beautiful girls of a tribe, 
Which annually gave to the devils coming behind a tribute. 
        The old woman the Theft which has selected with a place of the dwelling the former supermarket 
And received the nickname that, on hearings, was really able 
To abduct souls, only time has looked on the Thistle the terrible 
The eye-malefice similar to a pocket mirror punched by a bullet in which it was reflected 
Shattered and cold as ice, the sky, — then has uttered, that 
«Damned a knot was born without soul as others are born without fingers 
On hands or feet ». 
        And with it it was difficult to argue — the Thistle the eyes saw 
Such bespalyh ugly creatures when has made a sortie on other coast of the river 
(Devilishly dangerous sortie because some hundreds metres were necessary to it 
To creep on the bridge which in any second could fail. Even the desperate 
Boys did not dare at it). 
        Thistle and itself did not know, whether there is at it a soul. Fingers and other 
She could touch parts of a body at least. The stomach let know about 
To herself when she ate bad berries or an old rat. Of heart reminded 
Constant knock in a breast, about a liver — a cutting pain in a side after too 
Fast and long run. And here own soul remained imperceptible 
Phantom. 
        Nobody liked the old woman Theft. All tried to keep from it 
Far away and not to get to an eye-malefice sight. But from Theft lips 
Thistle for the first time has heard about the Sacred earth ostensibly laying somewhere on another 
The Underworld party, behind the Fiery belt, in the end of Road of executions, — in general, 
Absolutely unattainable for the mere mortal. The old woman spoke, not seeing in 
The words of any contradiction, that therefrom, from the Sacred earth, also come 
Murderers of a pain — after all they obviously possess supernatural force. 
        The legend about existence of the Sacred earth has amazed imagination 
Thistle. Any instinct whispered to it through darkness of generations, that on 
That party of the barriers promising tortures and death, there should be a place 
Perfect and light about which memoirs were saved only, a place, 
Worthy inescapable melancholy. 
        However disappointments were inevitable. In due course the Thistle has acquired, 
That people of its tribe napridumyvali a lot of such that is not present and does not happen 
In reality, even in a dream. And anybody from them never ventured to go on 
Searches of the Sacred earth or at least to track the Murderer of a pain. They were afraid 
Devils, were afraid of the Underworld, were afraid even of Murderers! Probably, people were 
Hostages of the fear, long years remaining in a captivity of terrible legends. 
        But the Thistle it was convinced of existence of things and the phenomena, which 
Numskulls surrounding her did not see, did not hear, simply did not wish to notice or 
About which did not suspect. Sometimes these THINGS pricked out eyes literally or 
Shouted in the ears, at times slowly killed, but ALWAYS were a number, too 
Close, disappearing in a shade of human self-confidence. 
        Another matter, that the Thistle had no concept as these are called 
Horrible shades of a life. It in general had problems with names. From its point 
Sight, the kind quarter of all words had no sense. For example, to it 
Said, that it belongs to the Area tribe. At the same time it 
Felt absolutely another's — always and everywhere. Was considered, that the Area 
Is in the middle of the City, and like there would be other cities — oases 
In the heated desert of the Underworld. That building where there was a den of the Thistle, 
For some reason named "church". The hyena hunted on rats in more often 
Cellar under "library". Nearby to the Area there was "street organ", from 
Which sad songs in unfamiliar language all day and night reached. 
The old woman Theft confirmed, «grateful dead persons» what is it sing. 
        Thistle was in earnest about it. It has spent near 
"Street organs" the whole night, looked in windows, knocked teeth (so usually 
The shaman called up phantoms) and has prepared them, prizrachju, food. After 
Midnight it as it is necessary, has sprinkled the earth krasnenkim, long waited, but 
Any «grateful dead persons» and has not seen. And when the Thistle 
Has tried to get inside and only by miracle has had time to clean a head from a mouth 
The slammed window, the little girl was convinced of what vaguely guessed: 
"Street organ" LIVE also does not want, that someone the stranger rummaged in its giblets. 
        From here there were all half-thoughts before opening, that other buildings too 
The LIVE. And all City LIVE. And who then people? Whether phantoms they — 
Clots of the pain which have remained from died here, clots, crowding inside 
Stone beings — almost eternal and surprisingly tolerant to parasites? 
However, not too grateful... 
        Since then the Thistle with the big suspicion concerned to 
To the "casual" death sometimes trapping naive inhabitants of the Area. 
        However all it was not too important. Much more strongly it 
The question interested: where withdraw the selected lucky beggars of the Murderer of a pain? And than 
Longer she thought over it, the arose new questions more. Just right was 
Indeed to believe in existence of other cities. And also an underworld and 
The sacred earth. 
        But really people of a tribe have been convinced only of one: that on 
To measure of removal from the Area their chances to survive in the hostile world begin 
ischezajushche the small. Also received acknowledgement to it. A thistle the eyes 
Saw, how once by church the Wandering Tram, from windows has rumbled 
Which the semiscorched corpses hanged down. From a tram the terrible stench proceeded, and on 
To its roof black birds sat, devourers fell. The old woman Theft described and 
Something is worse, however it seldom had attentive listeners. 
        To thistle listened furtively and was silent not to run into a kick. 
It was drawn by dark terrible histories, but has even more strongly worked on it 
Legend about the Sacred earth. From a dirt of other-wordly harm the hope sprout has made the way. 

                        *    *    *

        How much the Thistle of remembered, she wished to learn, in what 
Magic which Murderers of a pain possessed consists. Since its early childhood 
Bewitched call rituals, shamanskie dancings, recitatives of exorcists, 
Long complaints of sufferers and abstruse songs plakalshchikov. And when the murderer 
At last was on a call, the Thistle could not tear off a sight from it 
Persons and figures, the weapon and clothes, boots and a horse, but mainly — from 
Bags in which, on hearings, Comforters were stored. 
        The girl watched the Murderer since a minute of its occurrence on the Area and 
Up to that moment when it closed behind itself(himself) someone's door. Departure 
Was less interesting, but the Thistle all the same ran for the horseman until then, 
Yet did not start to choke. It never managed to get too far. 
So it is far not to manage to return. 
        The murderer of a pain always came on a call alone. A thistle not 
Represented, that should happen — what awful accident or general 
mor, — to see it in the company similar. And without that to call 
The help was business hard. Sometimes the hopeless. Happened, that multidaily allowances 
Vigils and wearisome dancings of the shaman appeared ineffectual. 
Thistle which differed fair ingenuity, has quickly seen, 
What to make a false call it is impossible. The pain should be really infernal, 
Limiting and intolerable — but in this case the Murderer came 
Necessarily... 
        Later it was set by questions: how it is possible to measure suffering? What 
Limit of human patience? Who defines, illness is how much serious, 
For which then treat Murderers? When unfortunate the poor creature deserves 
Mercy and the help and when — is not present? What expiation price? And most 
The main thing: how the payment for services is great? THAN it is necessary to pay? 
        It were serious questions. Too serious for its age. 
Thistle understood, that most likely will not receive answers — at least 
Until itself it will not appear in a skin of the Murderer. Or — that more 
Possibly — the client. But here is how she wanted times of it least. A scent 
Prompted to it: to whom at least time came the Murderer of a pain (and the second 
Visit also it was not required), never can already become the Murderer itself. 
        It was weighed by a settled life. And that was in the beginning only 
The concealed melancholy on other worlds and thirst of changes, gradually turned 
In firm determination. Hardly probable not the maniacal. But was to nobody of business to 
That is created in its ugly head. It has not run from a tribe only 
Because understood: alone and without the weapon to it not to survive. 
        Thistle perfectly knew what to talk to Murderers it is useless. 
They did not communicate with anybody, except the client and its relatives. Once it was typed 
Bravery also has decided to overhear, that occurs in the house where the Murderer has come. 
Has crept and has hidden under an open window. She has not heard anything 
The interesting. The murderer has taken away the dying child and has told his mothers, that 
That did not fuss — he about all will take care. Better mother and the father, together 
The taken. 
        Thistle minutes in it did not doubt. She was confused only with that 
All Murderers whom she ever saw, were men. Really the woman 
It is not capable to facilitate suffering, to remove a pain, to relieve of deadly melancholy? 
Thistle could not reconcile that seemed to it scandalous 
Injustice. 
        Also day when she has decided all to correct has come. 

                        *    *    *

        ... By again with a terrible gnash the Wandering Tram, which has driven 
Has taken through the Area corpses — as if for edification still live. The murderer, 
Called by the shaman, withdrew with itself the sick old man. 
        Thistle it was co-ordinated behind them. She knew, that in any case it is more 
Will not see anybody from people of a tribe — unless only in a terrible dream. It and not 
Wished anybody to see. All of them were bog in which uvjazla and decayed it 
Life; they held its sticky hands; they have for ever intimidated her 
Devils and the Underworld. But today she has managed to overcome the fear. And even 
If it can be lost on a fire or to be torn to pieces on pieces canines 
Devils-cannibals, she knew, that for one instant will not regret about 
The made choice. 
        The murderer of a pain and its client have crossed the Area. The old woman Theft 
Spent their heavy sight. Has winked at the Thistle an eye-malefice, from 
Which you will hide nothing, — at parting. Say, go, vybljadok, go. And 
Die. Anybody will not regret about you... 
        Today "street organ" sang a hoarse voice. Other dead persons 
Ungratefully were silent. 
        The murderer and the client went on empty street. The little girl was stolen after 
Them on distance in one hundred steps. They have crossed hidden border. From here 
Yet late was to return, however anybody from them did not think at all about 
Returning. A thistle has never looked back. The sick old man did not look back 
Too. He hardly shuffled the feet, but looked only forward — as if hoped 
To make out in the end of dark gorge light shining over the Sacred earth. And it crept 
So quickly as soon as could, — after all it has been selected by a pain for happiness, before 
It the way to rescue laid, and it had a conductor which will help it 
To overcome all circles of a hell... 
        The murderer of a pain read its thoughts and knew its hopes. 
        In the evening, on a halt, near a fire dissolved among ruins, 
He has told to the client: 
        — Do not hurry up. Wait mornings. The sacred earth is closer, than you think. 
For now take here it. 
        The thistle, hidden in two tens steps from them, extended 
Neck, endeavouring to make out, that the such was taken by the Murderer from the bag. It 
Did not doubt, what is it and there is a Comforter, — because soon the patient 
The old man has ceased to groan and has fallen asleep. On the cracked lips has appeared 
The smile reminding the butterfly which has opened wings on a faded flower. This 
The smile expressed strange rest and a pacification. In a dream the old man saw light, and 
The fire warmed its bones. 
        Thistle all night long severely suffered from a cold. She understood, that 
Has deserved it. The payment for taboo infringement was that. And also, probably, 
It put on trial. If it sustains it the Murderer will excuse her and 
Takes with itself... 
        She long struggled with weariness and a dream, being afraid to oversleep the morning 
Dawn. Then all the same has dozed off. Also has hardly restrained not to cry, when 
Something dark was materialised near to it. She has heard the hoarse greedy 
Breath also felt a victim. Has begun to smell the wet dog, and the Thistle with 
Simplification has taken breath. She has stretched a hand to stroke the Hyena, and hardly 
Has not lost fingers. 
        The hyena was hungry. From its mouth the stench was pulled out hot. 
        In a gloom a teeth has clanked. A thistle has strained — for some reason it 
It has been assured, that the Murderer of a pain does not sleep. And, maybe, already guesses about 
Its presence. And what for to it to sleep? He does not need to hide in dreams from anybody, 
Even from itself. 
        So they also have lain all this long night without a dream, having nestled the friend 
To the friend backs, — outcast ugly beings: one — almost naked, 
Another — covered with the felted wool. Hunger and a cold were accepted to them. 
Now the Thistle that hunger will win was afraid not so much Murderer, how much 
And its unique companion will pull out to it to a drink. 

                        *    *    *

        Predators have left them alone. Devils have allowed them to pass. Judging by 
To everything, they knew, with whom deal — the Murderer has been well armed. But also it 
For quite some time now for a minute did not close eyes. Devils have not touched the little girl — 
Probably, have decided, that it is under its guardianship. All the same it seemed 
To it by miracle. Devils have not touched also the Hyena. The dog was persistently dragged behind it, as 
Past phantom to close a ring of unfortunate destiny. 
        Around there was an Underworld — endlessly and without edge. The way was dangerous and 
It is difficult. The murderer desperately risked, and the Thistle did not understand, for the sake of what it 
Did the job. Perhaps, simply not could differently. It was represented to it 
Centre of good and force which resisted reigning everywhere to hatred, 
To suffering and fear. She has not experienced even parent love, therefore in general 
Did not know, that such love. With each step to it all was to be seen more strongly 
That or those who sent Murderers of a pain to the cities mislaid among crying out 
Horror. 

                        *    *    *

        — When this pain will come to an end? — The old man, at which has asked next morning 
Any more there were no forces to go. It groaned and cried. And any more Comforters did not help. 
Thistle thought, that the Murderer will plant the client on the horse. And then for 
It all was gone — it will hopelessly lag behind. 
        — The pain and a life are inseparable, — the Murderer has answered. — that, except a pain, 
Distinguishes a reality from illusions? Than there would be a life without a pain? Only the long 
Dream. 
        Thistle has thought, that it is right. When nightmares, it dreamt it 
First of all tried to bite itself. Strongly. To blood. 
        —... But I will cure you here, — the Murderer of a pain has finished. 
        He ordered to become the old man on knees faced to a rising sun and 
To pray. 
        That with pleasure has obeyed. 
        — Look at the sun through eyelashes, — the Murderer of a pain, — while has told 
You will not see the eighth colour of a rainbow. And after I will take away you in the Sacred earth. 
        The old man long looked at the sun. 
        — It seems, the pain abates, — he has whispered zavorozhenno. 
        Thistle has bitten a lip not to give out itself a uniform sound. 
Still never she tested anything similar. It seemed to it, that it 
It is free as a bird, but it was already entangled by an invisible network of criminal magic. 
        The hyena watched an event, having fallen asleep in a full immovability. 
In its pupils another's life, promptly coming nearer to the became glassy 
To the end. The hyena felt food. 
        — The pain and a life are inseparable, — the Murderer to the client has again told. 
        Also has shot to that at a nape.