Mollie and the Pretty Parents

The information I had absorbed gave me a terrible headache, so much so that I couldn't even close my eyes. Every word I tried to remember caused a real storm in my head. I was lying on a hospital bed in a private room, trying to catch my breath, but nothing helped. The walls seemed too close, and the air was somehow viscous, almost tangible, like a thick liquid. I wanted to break out of this room, but I had no strength.

How long had I been lying there, motionless? The minutes dragged on like hours. But then, opening my eyes, I suddenly noticed something unusual in the corner - an old chest of drawers standing against the wall. I knew it had always been there, in the ward, but now it suddenly caught my attention, like something unexpected that should not have appeared in this sterile world.

It looked rather worn, with worn leather and dull locks, but it felt like it belonged there, like old furniture in a library. It wasn't new. It seemed to have grown in there, blended into the environment.

Without strength, having risen with difficulty, I dragged myself to the chest, not understanding why exactly to it. Everything in my hands was shaking, my head continued to split, but, nevertheless, I approached this mysterious object. Its heavy lid was slightly ajar. I didn’t care what was inside. I simply opened it, feeling a strange, almost involuntary desire to look inside.

Inside were several books, covered in dust, and some old papers. It is not surprising that this find did not make much of an impression on me. I still do not understand what prompted me to take out one of the books that was lying on top of the others. Maybe it was just curiosity, or maybe some strange intuition. I pulled it out and took it in my hands.

The book was fairly light, but its cover was strange - white, cloth, as if somewhat worn by time. The gilded letters on it barely glimmered in the dim light of the hospital lamp. The title read: "Edward Coleman, Fables of My Father Swan".

I didn't know who Edward Coleman was, and I'd never heard of a book like "Fables of My Father Swan", but for some reason the book, or rather its strange title, caught my attention. Maybe it was because of the thoughtless state I was in, or maybe it was because the book itself seemed unusual - old-fashioned, with a slight hint of neglect, like something forgotten but important.

I glanced at the cover again, as if trying to figure out what was behind those words. With a bleary gaze, I returned to the bed with the book in my hands, somehow intuitively feeling that at this moment this was exactly what I needed. I lay down on my back, placing the book on my stomach, as if trying to absorb its weight, its strange presence. My hands clenched around it, but my head still ached, like hot metal driven into my temples.

I had a strange habit of opening books at random and starting to read from the place where the book itself opened. Writers probably wouldn't like it. I never knew why I did it.

Maybe I wanted to find myself in a fictional world not through a designated entrance, not from the first page, but to get straight to the very middle, to the very essence. Without preparation, without introductions. Just to get there, where the story lives, as if I myself were a part of it. That's what I did now.

"...and then ordered him to wait until nightfall to climb the crystalline staircase to heaven. Having finished his narrative, Clever Crow flapped his wings and soared into the air, leaving youthful Sagamore alone in the regal garden.

Machiel Nymou. "Mollie and the Pretty Parents"

Once upon a time there lived a little girl named Mollie. She had long black hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her favorite long-sleeved shirt was white with red stripes. Mollie lived with her dad, whose name was Mark Tempe. He was a piano teacher and sometimes worked long hours in the college lab. Mollie loved being around him, listening to him play, and watching him lose himself in his thoughts about science and music.

After Mollie's mother, Harey, left, the house felt empty. But her dad always found time to spend the evenings with his daughter: telling stories, playing the piano, or just sitting at the table with her, listening to her talk about her day.

One evening Mark did not come home alone. He was accompanied by doctor Arago, a scientist with whom he had worked at college. Doctor Arago was an unusual man, with silver hair, a bright scarf, and shining eyes. He often talked about things that seemed almost magical to Mollie.

After dinner, they sat in the living room, and Doctor Arago began to tell about his research. He spoke about the Quintans, tiny creatures that, according to him, lived among people. These creatures, invisible to the naked eye, loved light, music, and the warmth of the human heart. They could supposedly create a special atmosphere of happiness around themselves and even help people in the most unexpected moments.

Mollie listened with bated breath. Doctor Arago spoke so captivatingly about the Quintans that she forgot all about the time. Her father sat next to her, smiling and nodding occasionally, as if he agreed with every word.

When it was time to leave, Doctor Arago stood up, adjusted his bright scarf, and, looking at Mollie with a mysterious smile, said: "If you can handle it, you will see the Quintans."

The words sounded so strange that they gave Mollie goosebumps. She stood at the window for a long time, watching him until he was out of sight. The phrase "You will see the Quintans" echoed in her head, and did not leave her even when she went to bed. Mollie did not yet know that these words would change everything for her.

Meanwhile, Mark Tempe, engrossed in his work, met an Irish statistician named Parvis. This man was an extraordinary thinker, often talking about chance, probability, and how the world was governed by forces that could not be seen. Their conversations inspired Mark, making him think about the hidden logic of life. Gradually, Parvis began to visit Tempe's house more and more often, and Mollie got used to seeing his thoughtful look and the strange way he kept silent before answering.