Писатель Илья Розенфельд

The stain wouldn’t budge, and the pupils no longer resembled a serpent's. The magic was beginning to fade. Introduction An angel and a demon who became all too human—this image from Good Omens set me thinking: what comes next? What if their angelic and demonic essences are merely temporary shells, "pupae" from which a true human soul must emerge? In this sequel, I explore the evolution of the spirit. Once the Apocalypse is averted, the masks begin to slip, and old directives start to bleed through erased memories. This is my dialogue with Gaiman about the end of the road. An attempt to imagine a world where supernatural powers fade, and a finite lifespan becomes not a curse, but the ultimate reward for the right to be human. Part II. Sequel: "The Last Fall in Soho" Act 1. Symptoms of Humanity The London morning in Soho smelled not of eternity , but of frying bacon and diesel exhaust—and Aziraphale had always secretly rather enjoyed that. But today, somethin...

 Next stop: Life and Death . The tabooest topic. We’re afraid of Death, even though it’s Death that gives Life its meaning. Without a deadline, no project (including life) would ever get finished. Let’s pull the Grim Reaper’s hood off and see who’s hiding under there. Spoiler: not a skeleton—an exhausted bureaucrat. The Legend of Life and Death (The Bureaucracy of Eternity) Doctors say: “Life is a sexually transmitted disease with a 100% fatality rate.” True. We’re all patients in a hospice called “Earth.” Yet we act like we’re going to live forever. We take out thirty-year mortgages, buy anti-wrinkle cream, and grind out abs—though the worms couldn’t care less whether we’ve got a six-pack or not. Death isn’t a villain. Death is a cleaner. Picture a party that goes on forever. The guests are drunk, the dishes are smashed, the music is blaring, everyone’s puking, and nobody leaves. Death is a kind woman with a mop who turns the music off, cracks the windows, and says, ...

Epigraph "Everyone waits for the white stripe to appear, but they forget the main road paradox : you cannot drive on the markings — they are too slippery. To move forward, we vitally need traction with the black asphalt ." The hum of the engine punched through his chest. It wasn't a sound — it was a vibration that made his teeth ache. Mark gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Around him was impenetrable darkness, and only the headlights snatched a patch of wet, rough, black asphalt from the night. The road was terrible. Potholes, cracks, sharp turns. The car shook, thrown from side to side. Every meter was a battle. "Slow down!" shouted the Passenger. Mark squinted sideways. A man in a white coat sat in the passenger seat. Strange, Mark didn't remember when he had gotten into the car. And why did the cabin smell so strongly of rubbing alcohol and ozone ? "I can't slow down!" Mark wheezed, wrenching the ste...

Arthur always knew that life is a book . This simple metaphor became not a consolation for him, but a guide to action. He was not merely a character, but the Author , and he treated his role with the utmost seriousness. Every day of his was a carefully calibrated page. He didn't just eat breakfast—he created the exposition for the new day. He didn't fall in love—he inscribed into the narrative a chapter about a great passion, avoiding cheap melodrama. His career was not a series of accidents, but a masterfully constructed rising action culminating in his own business. He despised plot holes —senseless quarrels, empty promises, wasted hours. His dialogues were honed, his actions motivated. He strove to write not just a good life, but a bestseller. A masterpiece that, after death, would take a worthy place on the shelves of the World Library . The thought of this library was his guiding star. He imagined endless shelves where every volume was someone's destiny. And he was ...

As long as he could remember, he had suffered from pain. He did not know his father—a drug addict who conceived him high—and so life was something incomplete, flawed, for him from the very beginning. His mother could not bear either her own suffering or her son's, and at the age of five, she admitted him to the hospital.  That first time the little boy found himself within the state walls, he heard a phrase from a doctor that initially seemed strange to him: "If you wake up and nothing hurts, it means you're dead." After some time, his mother took him back. But soon he was admitted to the hospital again, and that day was the last time he saw his mother. Since then, he remained there, and the hospital became his world. He matured quickly, ahead of his years. In the hospital corridors, amidst the smell of iodine and quiet moans, he saw his life in a different light. He watched his ward neighbors—those who died with dignity and silence, and those who cursed the heavens...

They lived long. Longer than the biblical patriarchs. Many of them didn't even remember when they were born. On their planet, Hastalavista, there existed day and night, but everything was reversed: first came light, then darkness. Time flowed backward. The year didn't end with winter, but rather began with it. The count of days in a month didn't start from the 1st, but from the 30th or 31st, and the days in a year - from the 365th to the 1st. The calendar began at the end, the beginning of which few remembered. It wasn't plants that grew from seeds, but seeds from plants and their fruits. And it wasn't hens that laid eggs, but rather they themselves hatched from eggs. Men gave birth to children, and women provided for their families. The inhabitants of Hastalavista were born into the world already adults, possessing all the necessary knowledge and skills. If an earthling were to land on this planet, all of this would seem strange to him. But to the inhabitants...

Everything that happens in this Universe or, for example, on one of its inhabited planets, could seem extremely strange to an outside observer or time traveler.   It just so happened that the people who inhabited one of the planets of this Universe used all the benefits, goods, services and even habits... for rent. For example, they bought houses for rent, visited museums and concert halls, and parks for rent. Everything that could be purchased for some time was, in fact, purchased for rent. The exception was food. Books were rented and libraries were used for rent. Various knowledge was also for rent. Many people could use them, immediately and simultaneously, naturally, if there was a need for this knowledge. Equipment and technologies were purchased for rent.   Religious practices and beliefs were also borrowed, even Heaven and Hell. As do ideologies and social formations. Tastes and morals. Traditions. Health was also given for rent.   There was even music...