Translated from RU
I stand on top of a tall building. Below me is a night city, but without a single sound, as if someone has turned off the noise. In my hands, I hold a small paper airplane. Someone behind me says, “If it reaches the ground, you will return home.”
I throw the airplane — but instead of falling, it begins to grow, transforming into a real plane. It hovers in mid-air, then breaks apart into thousands of tiny airplanes that swirl around me like a swarm.
One of them lands on my palm and unfolds like a book — inside is a schedule, where each line represents events of my life, but everything is written in empty boxes.
I want to leave, but the doors on the roof have vanished. On the adjacent building stands a person who looks just like me, pointing at the sky. Suddenly, a gigantic second hand of a clock appears and slowly descends, as if trying to “cross out” the city.
