Писатель Илья Розенфельд

Chapter 1. The Creator's Error The laboratory smelled of ozone and burnt copper . This scent always appeared when the fuses blew, unable to withstand the load on the life support systems. But beneath this technical stench lay another, far heavier one—the sickly-sweet, nauseating smell of decaying flesh. Doctor Arthur Vance took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from the Parkinson's he had been unsuccessfully suppressing with medication for the last two years. Behind the armored glass of the isolation unit lay what had been, just this morning, Sergeant Michael Kovach. The sergeant was the ideal volunteer: thirty years old, excellent health, patriotism bordering on fanaticism. He wanted to become a super-soldier . He wanted to serve. Now, he served as a visual aid for biological incompatibility . "Vitals," Arthur threw hoarsely into the intercom microphone. "Heartbeat zero," the dispassionate voice of ...

We spent an unforgettable 9 days in Arona at the beautiful villa White Lilac B&B. Naturally, every day we traveled to one or another corner of Lake Maggiore: fabulous islands, magical towns and villages. All this indescribable scenic beauty prompted me to write this short story, which I dedicate to Donatella , Simon and Sonia.   Four Seasons Autumn was dying. She was cold, because all her clothes simply flew off under the pressure of the winter winds. She, naked, was either drenched by heavy rain, or frozen by the first frosts - the breath of Winter. The sister was merciless. And when she bound everything around with ice and covered everything with snow, Autumn was gone. But Winter's power was not eternal. The merciless old woman was melting. Her eternal, at first glance, nights were getting shorter and days longer. And the longer they were, the more painful her days became: the merciless Sun, as if emerging from the dark dungeons of Winter, was taking revenge on the ...