Translated from RU
I am sitting in the kitchen of my childhood. The clock shows 07:00, my mother is putting the kettle on, and everything looks just like it used to.
But when I turn my head — I see a night city in the window, not the yard.
On the table lies an hourglass. The sand flows upward, not downward.
My childhood toy car rolls towards me on its own and speaks in a thin voice:
— You are late for your past.
The kettle whistles, and my mother turns around, but she has no face — only a warm voice:
— Breakfast was yesterday.
I look at the clock — it starts spinning backward faster and faster.
The kitchen dissolves, and I am sitting in the kitchen again… but now I am an adult, and the kettle is empty, and the house is abandoned.
On the table, the same hourglass remains.
The sand has stopped.
