Every huge impact has a consequence

Morty arrived at the front door of the house, opened it, and stepped inside. 

After a few steps, he saw his mother.

"Where have you been? I called you several times, but you didn't answer," his mother asked, her eyebrows furrowed. 

She was wearing a loose, faded cotton shirt that outlined her figure and comfortable pants.

'I was with my friend Rono, we ran into our teacher, killed him, and had to get rid of the body' of course, he didn't say that.

"I was with Rono in the car, the music was loud, and I didn't notice my phone. Where's my brother?" Morty replied, making sure not to forget the main thing.

"He's in his room. He came back a while ago, said he was tired and decided to return early," his mother said as she quickly headed back to her room.

'Oh...' Morty let out a long sigh of relief, feeling a heavy burden lifted off his chest.

He went to take a shower and change his clothes before heading to his brother's room.

"Hey, how's it going?" Morty said with a smile as he entered the room.

The room was neat—a bed in one corner, a small wardrobe in another, a computer setup on one side with some scattered books and a printer. 

His brother was lying on the bed, looking through some papers. 

He ignored Morty completely.

Morty moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone, but you shouldn't have come back without telling me. I was worried about you the whole time," he said seriously.

He truly had been worried about him.

"But you didn't come looking for me. If you had, you would've found me. I wasn't that far away," his brother replied calmly.

"Oh, well, we were... dealing with the accident. You know, we sort of hit someone, and we had to take him to the hospital and make sure he was okay," Morty said with a slightly awkward smile, stammering a bit.

He was nervous and hesitant.

"But you didn't need to wrap him in so many bags. Also, I think the back seats are more comfortable than the trunk " his brother replied with a faint smile, still focused on his papers.

Morty's expression froze. 

Was he watching them? Did he know what happened? All these thoughts clashed in his mind.

But his brother hadn't told their mother what he saw. 

Maybe he didn't know the person they hit had died.

"Let's not talk about it. He's fine. By the way, what are you reading?" Morty asked, changing the subject with a smile.

"Nothing important. Can you let me rest for a bit? Please " his brother said with a heavy tone.

The whole time, he didn't look at Morty's face.

Morty sighed and stood up. 

"Alright, I'll leave you to it. We'll talk later," he said as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

' What are you reading? Can he even read? He's never left the house since he was born. Is this what they call talent? I need to check his computer and those papers he's printing later' Morty thought as he walked toward his room.

'How does he know how to use a computer and print papers? Why has no one questioned that? Why doesn't he act like other kids his age? Is this what they call the hell of awareness?' Morty kept walking until he reached his room and lay down on his bed.

Gradually, he let go of those thoughts.

He picked up his phone and called his sister, Dima, but she didn't answer.

He wasn't surprised—she had never answered his calls in his entire life.

Morty started browsing the internet to distract himself from everything that had happened.

…

A video from 'Hairy Ant' : 

'Does anyone else have this problem, or is it just my house where the number of flies has suddenly increased?'

'I kill a few every day, but they keep coming back.'

'No offense to "Fly People," but they're super annoying. I can't sleep!'

In the comments:

'Your house must be dirty, that's why they keep showing up, hahaha.'

'Aren't you a "Ant Person"? Just learn to live together!'

'Here's my account on "Only Haters" Subscribe! First month's free. Kisses.'"

…

After watching countless videos, it was already midnight. 

Morty turned off his phone and got ready to sleep.

Not long after, nausea hit him as the image of his teacher's corpse flashed in his mind.

He rushed to the bathroom to throw up. After some time, the nausea subsided, and Morty returned to his bed.

But moments later, the same image and scenes returned to his mind. 

The nausea came back even stronger this time. He ran to the bathroom again and plunged his head into the toilet. 

He stayed there for a while until the nausea gradually faded once more.

A sharp headache spread through his head. He went downstairs to find some medicine, took a few sedatives, and returned to his room.

The walk back to his room felt impossibly long.

The nausea hit him again. He rushed to the bathroom once more, his body trembling. Even though the house was warm, he felt an intense cold.

After countless trips back and forth between his room and the bathroom, he finally forced himself to vomit by sticking a finger down his throat. 

He started gagging but brought up nothing. Having skipped dinner, his stomach was empty—like an unloaded gun trying to fire.

His face looked like a withering plant, pale and lifeless.

By then, it was already 4 A.m. He had spent the entire night going back and forth between his bed and the bathroom. 

Even though the bathroom was attached to his room, it felt as if it were miles away.

The colors of his face kept shifting, and his eyes grew redder with each passing moment.

At last, after a long and torturous night, Morty finally fell asleep.