(This is only an excerpt from the story — for full version, please visit my Patreon site here)​​​​​​​
As soon as I arrived at my father’s hometown, he immediately imposed an iron discipline on his thirteen-year-old son. 
“Marek, how would you like to become a good student?” He asked me that first day.
He then curtailed my playtime to a bare minimum, replaced my free time with house chores, and introduced an unwritten but rigid homework schedule. Suddenly, it was not my mother’s home anymore, I became a circus animal, performing under the stern and watchful eye. On some occasions, when I had lost my concentration and happened to float over the savannas of my imagination, he would slap me on the back of my head and in no uncertain terms remind me to put my heart and my brain into what I was doing. Consequently, I became an obedient, applause-worthy, A-student: a trained animal confined to the eternal wanderings in a maze called daily routine.
Today was Friday, bedtime, alone in my room, top lights off, only my bed-side lamp on. I wanted to start writing a story about my friend, Kazik, but I could not concentrate because tomorrow the circus was in town! My father secured two tickets for me and for anyone I wanted to invite. He said he would drop me off and pick me up after the show. He was not aware that I had continued my friendship with Kazik although he had forbidden me to do so. There was something about that short, shy, dark-haired boy that did not set well with him, but he never explained to me what it was. I assumed that my father, being the chief of police in our town, must have had a good reason, so to not make him angry I didn’t bother bringing Kazik up in our conversations. My friend became the object of my only happiness, addressee of my imaginary letters never to be read by anyone but me; our fictional correspondence being at the heart of my writing, the sole reason of my night-hour “therapy.” After writing just couple of lines — Kazik’s description — I fell asleep. 
At breakfast, I told my father that I needed to go out and find a friend who still did not have a circus ticket. He agreed and started handing me my two tickets. But before he let go of them, he looked at me from behind of his round glasses, straight into my eyes, as if making sure that I understood whom I could not invite. How could he open the cage and not expect me to escape from it?
....
(This is only an excerpt from the story — for full version, please visit my Patreon site here)
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