Prose: Chosen

Oleg was really unlucky that day.

People kept coming to the countless-ages-wise gray-haired elder, one after another.

Once upon a time – and for the first time it happened many years ago and since then it happens from time to time again and again – a young man was running along the roa

“Another fine day in the eternity! I am glad to welcome everyone here in the seventh heaven today within the walls of our domain.

They desired to “fix” us all. Men, women, even children. To bring down to our knees and kill our spirit. Transform our genome. Break our will.

Hope dies last.

That night Oleg had a nightmare. Frightening in its unambiguous resemblance to his own personal realities, and therefore even more unpleasant.

This is the voice of the doomed. The call of those dying alive with no right for a cure.

Once upon a time, the rich merchant, who was coming back to his hometown with a wagon train after successful trading met a homeless wanderer, who was sitting by the fir

Once upon a time, the Fool was traveling by a long journey of life, carrying on his hunched back a backpack which was filled with Nonsense.