Pichmongi and maglutes

I participated in a mini-scripts contest on the topic of children and parents: I sent a piece. For four months, they dynamite: they have not even posted other works to the site. I decided to publish here - do not disappear the good?
I admit, with a limp worn out, that Habr is not a literary resource, but the theme of this short and soulful story: two kids wipe their pants at a computer shooter, is remotely close to high technology. Maybe someone from Habravchan and enjoy, especially since published for the first time .

At the table, opposite to each other, were the children: Elder and Junior. Between them is a blackening computer screen with inscriptions on both sides: REAL GAME. Children play: they have manipulators in their hands, masks on their heads, like those of scuba divers. From under the masks, as if from the ajar door of the cinema hall, they erupt into the surrounding twilight reflections of a different - obviously extraterrestrial - life.
Senior : Hold on to me, lei, or you will perish.
Junior : Yes, com.
Senior : It is full of pichmongs, and there are plenty of other creatures.
Junior : Wooooo ...
Senior : The main thing, do not lag behind, the two of us will always fight off. Together we have no pichmong ... Here it is, by the way! Twenty-six degrees left!
Junior : I see!
Senior : Faye! Faye! Faye!
Children put pressure on the manipulators, and fading under masks takes on a burgundy hue. Jerky tapping sounds are heard, then sounds resembling the splashing of an oil pancake on the surface.
Junior : We did it com.
Senior : Watch out! Left to twelve three more!
Junior : Ahhh!
Senior : Damned Pichmongs!
Junior : Nate! Nate! Nate!
After some time, the fading under the masks becomes brighter and more measured.
Senior : Well done, lei! No wonder I chose you as a partner.
Junior : Glad to try, com.
The mother looks into the room.
Mother : Children, go eat dinner. For dinner soup.
Junior : Interference in the air, com.
Knocks the palm on the mask.
Senior : Not deaf.
Junior : How are we going to act?
Senior : Ignore.
Junior : Understood you ... Post on the air! Dinner to ignore. Borsch to ignore. How did you understand the reception?
Mother : To be in the kitchen in two minutes, otherwise I will be offended. (Shouts deep into the corridor). Father, have supper!
From the depths comes the response:
Father : Coming on ...
The door closes, the room again plunges into twilight. Extraterrestrial lights burst out from under the masks.
Senior : Attention, to the left at twenty-six degrees.
Junior : Pichmongi?
Senior : No, not Pichmonga ... I have never met such people before ... Probably, these are zagaglyuchi. Two whole pieces.
Junior : Why do not they attack, com?
Senior : Do I know? Waiting. Then, as they pounce from around the corner, as they cry into the liver!
Pause.
Junior (trembling voice): Anton, where is a person's liver?
Senior : What am you, Anton? The commander, Lei, is supposed to apply according to the regulations. Remember this.
Junior : Yes, com. Contact by statute, com. Sorry, com.
The door is added again.
Mother : Are you going or not? Borscht cools down.
Junior : Ignore?
Mother : Another ignore, and I do not talk to you. Do you want this?
Hardened in the doorway.
Senior : Smoke two minutes.
Junior : I understand you, com. Smoke for two minutes.
Dissatisfied, pulling off the mask. Inside the mask goes out, but the image starts to be projected on the screens. Instead of the inscription REAL GAME, there is something amazingly three-dimensional: whether it is desert or mountainous, spiked with purple cacti.
Mother : Borsch is cooling.
Senior : What other soup? We are in real life!
Junior : Real is a system of hyperactive reality.
Mother : Everything, I was offended.
Junior : Well, ma-a ...
Mother : Offended, offended. Let your father deal with you. (Screams in the hallway). Father! Father! Where are you?
Suited, dragging my father.
Father : What else is there?
Mother : Talk to your children yourself. And cook the soup yourself. Tortured these systems of hyperactive reality, do not go to dinner.
Indicatively removed to the kitchen.
Father : Children, why don't you go out for dinner?
Senior : Because we have no time. (In hearts). Go, father, go from here to your room. You have a sick stomach, lie down on the sofa.
Junior : Ten seconds left, com.
Father (grumbles): Once they, I understand ... (Here his gaze lingers on the screen). Is this real real?
Senior (with pride) : And then.
Father peers into the landscape on the screen.
Father : Do not enter the cave.
Senior : Why?
Father : Dangerous.
Senior : Do you have everything, parente?
Junior : Five seconds left, com. Well, pa-aaa ...
Father : And mother stop being rude.
Pretends behind the door. Children push masks, squeeze manipulators in sweaty palms. REAL GAME appears on the screen, something unearthly oozing out of the masks.
Senior : Stupid perents, is it difficult to understand ...
Junior : Kom!
Senior : I see it myself. Four pichmong nineteen right! Faye! Faye!
Junior : Faye! Faye! Wooo ...
From under the masks burst out purple lights.
Senior : Pichmongs are coming! There are too many ... four ... no, six ... already nine. And two zamaglyuch in reinforcements.
Junior : What to do, com?
Senior : Retreat to the cave.
Junior : There is a cave ... (Recalls). But what about the cave, com? Pa warned that the cave in no way ...
Senior : Talkers, lei! Who commands you, me or some civilian pa? I order to take the defense in the cave, behind that stone ... Faye! Faye! Faye!
Again, purple flashes under the mask.
Junior : Kom ...
Senior : Why don't you shoot, lei? Where are you, you are not visible at all? I order to get in touch.
Junior : Failed somewhere, a very steep descent. I do not like it, Anton. Why did we go to the cave? Pa warned ... Ay!
Pause.
Senior : What's the matter, lei? I can not hear.
Junior : Here pichmongi! There are many, I alone can not cope.
Senior : Retreat upstairs immediately.
Junior : Yes, com. Yes, com. I'm afraid, com. Now they'll catch up with me and tear me up the liver ... Ay! Ay! Ay!
Senior : What, what else?
Junior : I can not move: in the upper tunnel zamaglyuchi. Zamuchlyuch approach ... (trembling voice). This is a trap com.
Pause.
(In a completely different voice). Anton!
Senior : What?
Junior : You know, magmattes are fighting with Pichmongs ... They are on our side.
Senior : It can not be!
Junior : Right on ours. But pichmong much more. One zamaglyuchi already shot. He blocked me from the radiation charge, and the Pichmongs shot him dead. What a pity! And the second one is wounded, bleeding ...
Crimson flashes.
Senior : Do not get into a fight, Lei, we almost survived!
Junior : Sorry for letting you down, Anton. I do not pass the real, in vain, I asked for your partner. It's scary here, I don't want to play anymore ... Ma! Ma! Ma!
Tears off the mask, and, choking with tears, rushes to the mother, who just runs into the room.
Mother : Don't worry so much, Kostenka. Well killed and killed, with everyone it happens ...
Junior : Ma, it is scary there, and one of them is wounded. And the second was killed, so sorry. You do not take offense at us, right? I'm going to the kitchen now and eat borscht.
Mother : Okay. Only I do not take offense at all. That said, do not play hyperactive toys, all your nerves spoil yourself.
The younger clings closer to his mother, suddenly pulls away in surprise.
Junior : What is it?
On the mother's robe bright red spot.
Mother : Stain from borscht. Knocked over the plate when you screamed.
Senior (also removes the mask): I can not believe: we have passed the real. The only thing I do not understand is this ...
From the lit up screen, topped with the inscription YOU WON, smiling mother. She is in flowing space clothes. He clamps her right side with her hand, and blood is flowing from under her fingers, very similar to borscht. Around lying prostrate pichmongi.
Mother : So you won? What a great fellow! Father, father, do you hear our children have gone real ?! Father! Where are you?
No one responds. A long pause, during which the inscription crawls across the screen:

Children, take care of your parents - you will not have others.
')
A curtain.