The Winner of Khvostik

I’m returning to the bio-station. There, wicked idiots are waiting for me. They don’t scare me. I’m not afraid of Puzan or Tolstoy, the Dirty Pig. There’s one trouble gnawing at my heart. You see, I really am dying. I don’t even know what to do. I myself don’t know what I need or what I’m dissatisfied with—but there is nothing in the world that doesn’t provoke in me an intense hatred. And in that hatred, despair breaks through—something that has long since become the main state of my soul.
And above all, I hate Khvostik. It’s terrible—but am I to blame? I’m not evil at all. It’s just that I’m secretive, timid, and I love to lie. But sometimes I can be cheerful, even kind. I’m never greedy. I almost don’t need anything. But I don’t have the strength to live when no one loves me!