Писатель Илья Розенфельд

📖 CHAPTER 1. THE RETURN He returned at night. It was cold on the plane, but not because of the air conditioners—the air felt distant, indifferent, almost devoid of oxygen. He sat by the window and stared into the darkness, seeing only his own reflection. Sometimes it seemed to him that it wasn't his face, but a mask—exhausted, with sunken cheeks and eyes that had sunk deeper than before. At passport control , he didn't say an unnecessary word. The stamp struck the passport, soullessly marking the moment when the line between the one who entered and the one who had left was erased forever. It all started two days later. First—a slight burning in his eyes. Then—a fever, night sweats, a dry cough. He knew this scenario well: hundreds of viruses had played it out across the world. He thought he was prepared for such a situation and didn't even go to the clinic. He just lay down at home, documenting each symptom like a scientist, not a patient. On the third day, he reali...

What if the difference between birth and death amounted to just a few seconds? Imagine this: following a genetic catastrophe — a virus or nuclear war — babies on a distant planet began to be born dead. At first, they were stillborn, and no medical device or technology could help. Doctors recorded the date and time of birth and death as one and the same. Thousands of babies died before ever truly being born — or were born already dead. Those who hadn’t lost hope no longer cared whether they had a boy or a girl. They just wanted their child to be born alive. But the harsh reality was stronger than their hopes. This continued for many years. Cemeteries grew larger than cities, and cities turned into cemeteries. Death rates had long surpassed birth rates, and the few remaining survivors refused to start families or have children. Life on the planet had lost its meaning. People stopped trusting conventional medicine. Even IVF brought no results. They began to believe in magic. Medicin...