Methodius Buslaev. Third Horseman Of Gloom

The thought flickered in him to ask Julitta, but he doubted that he would receive an answer. Julitta was very busy, touching up Essiorh’s bumpy alcoholic nose. Not limiting herself to this, she drew Essiorh with fangs and about ten vampire pimples. In addition, she bestowed on him a ski cap, a homeless sporty look, and admired the result.

“Why do you do it?” Methodius asked, forgetting for the moment about the strange object hidden by the cover.

“Do what?” Julitta did not understand.

“You’re distorting Essiorh.”

Julitta pondered, after staring with surprise at the pencil in her hand. Apparently, even she herself clearly did not know why she abused Essiorh’s image. “A complex question! I want to be certain that when I need to, I’ll be able to get him out of my head just in case. Because somehow I’ve very often begun to be reminded of him recently!” the witch said, studiously depicting a dumpster next to Essiorh.

“And you think that you’ll forget him by sketching him?” Methodius was incredulously curious.

“An amateur is visible from afar! I localize the image in order to banish it from my consciousness! In order to stop loving someone, it’s useful to present him in a silly and ridiculous way. I’m working on this. I’m creating a many-sided portrait of our ‘ideal’.”

“So, how’s it turning out?”

Julitta appraised the figure and, leaning over, whispered something to it. The homeless-looking Essiorh took out a herring skeleton from the dumpster and began to chew on it with greed. After finishing with the skeleton, he wiped his lips on his sleeve, hiccupped with satisfaction, and again started to burrow in the bin. This time his attention was drawn to a cracked bottle of cologne, to which he clung immediately.