Писатель Илья Розенфельд

"The present is the future of the past," said the Present. "And the past is the future of the present and the future," the Past retorted. Once, the Past, the Present, and the Future gathered and began to argue about which of them was more important. "I am always ahead!" the Future declared proudly. "What's to come is mine." "And I am the connecting link!" the Present objected. "Without me, neither of you exists." The Past spoke last: "The Present is fleeting; it passes. The Future is uncertain; it is always in question. But I will always be remembered." Meanwhile, Time joined the arguers. After listening to everyone and smirking, Time solemnly declared: "And I am eternal. I always was, am, and will be."

Death was born incorporeal, a kind of soul without a shell - by the Creator's design, or perhaps his mistake. And like a fallen angel, this soul had to kill to acquire temporary shelters - bodies. The choice was limitless: it could be anyone and anytime. Like a woman who changes outfits several times a day. However, it's not a fact that Death was a woman. And certainly not a banal old woman with a scythe. Imagine: under the guise of a young beauty, she takes the life of a rich man at the moment of his highest bliss. A beautiful death! The girl did her job, maybe even enjoyed it. And if not, well, the job is done. Onward, to a new body, a new image. One shouldn't blame Death for mass deaths due to wars, epidemics, or disasters. That's the Creator's domain. Death is merely his servant, occupied with trifles. Although sometimes he went beyond the scope. Perhaps, taking revenge on the Creator for his unfortunate birth. When the Creator slept, Death, with the assis...