Translated from RU
I wake up in an empty city. All the buildings are intact, the windows are open, but there are no people. Trees grow right out of the asphalt on the streets.
On one of the balconies hangs my jacket, as if I left it myself. I put it on—and suddenly realize that something is moving beneath the fabric.
A small bird made of light bursts out of the pocket. It circles around me and lands on a streetlamp.
I follow it and see enormous clock without hands in the square. The bird settles in the center of the dial and freezes.
I step closer, and in the reflection of the glass, I see that now the whole city breathes with me. Each building rises and falls like a ribcage.
The bird spreads its wings, transforms into a beam of light, and disappears.
The clock begins to tick. Only now the hand is me.
