**Self-check: 0,28125**

Hi.

So, how do you like the girl-y diary? Neither do I. Every sick person hopes for a miracle—for someone to save them. That’s because sickness makes you dumb.

I’m not sure if my disease is infectious. That’s probably why I left the city: if injections and detersions do nothing, I should probably at least try to insure the rest from my plight, yeah? The only things I can infect here are snakes and weird three-legged creatures that come out from the moss in the twilight when light is indistinguishable from shade. And for them I don’t care.

There’ll be nothing girl-y here anymore. There’ll be a nickelodeon.

Walking alone is indeed a bad idea. There was a four in the town that knows that better than anybody (little is left from the four now). They’ve made a revolution. Keep its number in mind.

There was another famous four—even less left from them nowadays. Unlike me, they walked a lot, and they wrote even more. My favourite writing belongs to the namesake of the revolutioner I told you about.

Take the number you kept in mind and add your teeth to it—and you have an answer. The first three words of the phrase (without spaces) are the name of the first movie I want to show you. The final two words (once again without spaces) are the name of the second one.

See? My secret is quite mysterious.

There are special people in this world. Unlike us, they’re not poisoned by ignorance. They’re not poisoned at all, actually. They’re the blue blood, the premium product, and they raise us, commoners, like cattle. They’ve been called different names in different cultures and societies, but I’m sure you know them.

You know who corrects typos in our copybooks inconspicuously.

Or maybe they’re mere civil servants, clarks, bookworms, and illuminati. They definitely believe it themselves, and I’m sure a lot of you would prefer this thought to the opposite. It’s nice to believe your strings are being pulled by someone clever and benevolent.

Only I don’t find it nice. I don’t, you hear me? Whatever you think, it doesn’t justify anything.

Voronika,
http://feverishfeeling.com

P. S. Why did I throw a pile of mysteries at you if I actually wanted to share a secret? That’s because I hate fast travel. Roads have to be walked by foot.

P. P. S. Everything I read I read in the original.