The Omen at the End of the World

Theologians, filled with the pride of knowledge, were wrong in claiming that the soul, leaving the mortal body, ascends to another world, reaching for the bright heights. In reality, by the will of unknown forces, after death, a person does not ascend to the heavens but remains bound to this world, endlessly wandering in a new, bodiless form. And his dwelling is not a radiant eternity, but a place called a Home at the End of the World.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFpvfl1kWvQ

A girl in a brown down jacket, which contrasted strangely with the warm, sun-drenched summer day, stood on the balcony of an old five-story building. Her face was hidden under a large hood, but her hand movements were quick and precise. In one hand she held a small mirror, in the other - bright red lipstick. The balcony looked neglected: peeling paint on the railing, cracks in the tiles, but it didn't seem to bother her.

Concentrating on applying lipstick to her lips, the girl tilted her head slightly to the sides, catching the reflection of the light. When she finished, she quickly closed the lipstick with a click and looked at her reflection with a slight smile.

"Mmm, I need to go to the prosecutor and find out about the brothers," she said, as if discussing it with herself.

Her gaze shifted from the mirror to the horizon. Her lips stopped smiling and her expression became sad. She brought her right hand to her chest, squeezed the fabric of her down jacket and whispered:

"What wonderful brothers I had..."

She took a step back, leaning against the concrete wall of the balcony, and closed her eyes, as if trying to push away the painful memories. After a moment, her hand slid to her forehead, her fingers nervously touching her temple.

"Oh God, how could they do this..." there was pain and bewilderment in her voice.

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her hand, and her gaze fell again down to the street. Cars drove slowly through the narrow asphalt yard, and old apartment buildings were visible in the background. Her face darkened, as if the weight of her thoughts had fallen upon her again.

"It's all that damned weed!" Her voice was sharp, and the words hung in the air.

For a few moments she stood motionless, looking down, as if considering what to do next.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, a train pulled into the station. The sunlight reflected brightly off the shiny blue surfaces of the carriages, highlighting the rich color, and the platform was filled with hot air, mixed with the roar of the crowd and the screeching of brakes.

When the train stopped, a young man suddenly jumped out of one of the carriages. His short black hair, slightly disheveled, was carelessly combined with a perfectly ironed black jacket and white shirt. In his right hand he held a leather folder, pressing it to his side, as if the hustle and bustle of the road could snatch it from his hands at any moment.

He paused for a second, squinting, looking around carefully. His eyes quickly ran along the platform, lingering on the figures of people standing nearby. Two men, discussing something near the carriage, seemed not to pay any attention to him. A slight smile flickered on his lips, and he confidently stepped forward, turning the corner.

Having passed the crowd, the young man quickly crossed a small courtyard, strewn with cracked asphalt and rare flower beds with dried flowers. On the opposite side of the station building, he reached a massive wooden door. With one sharp movement, he pulled the handle, and the door creaked open, letting him inside.

A long, empty corridor stretched out before him. The iron floor rang under his steps, echoing in the silence. On either side of the corridor were huge windows, through which daylight streamed, making the space almost blinding.

The young man walked confidently, not looking back. The corridor stretched all the way to the end, where the waiting hall of the station was located. He walked through it without slowing down. Light pouring through the huge windows cast sharp rectangular strips on the iron floor, creating a play of light and shadow. As he approached the massive door leading to the waiting hall, he pushed it open, and the doors creaked with a dull sound.

A spacious waiting room stretched out before him. The floor was laid with marble tiles, glittering from the daylight streaming through the high glass walls. Rows of red chairs stretched in straight lines, as if emphasizing the strict geometry of the space. People were scattered around the room: some stood at the information boards, some wandered lazily, and some sat, intently buried in their smartphones.

The young man glanced slowly at his wristwatch. His movements were precise and almost mechanical, like a man who was used to always knowing the time. Then he walked toward the rows of chairs, chose one, and sat down, placing the leather folder on his lap.

He glanced around, his gaze lingering on each person for only a moment, as if scanning the surroundings. Once he was sure no one was noticing him, the young man straightened up slightly and, reaching into his bosom, pulled out a white radio. The device, which seemed like something from the last century, stood in stark contrast to the modernity around him.

The young man pulled out the antenna and, holding the radio to his ear, began to listen. He looked as if the world around him did not concern him at all. The people sitting in the hall were busy with their own affairs: someone was checking smartphones, from the screens of which bright reflections were shimmering, someone was nervously looking at the board with the train schedule.

Their devices were new, powerful, hundreds of thousands of times better than this old-fashioned radio. But the young man paid no attention to them, completely focused on what was coming from his strange device, namely, a voice, hoarse, as if its owner had not left the smoky room for a long time. The words sounded abrupt, with pauses, as if the informant carefully weighed each phrase. Through the crackling interference, the voice resonated in the young man's ears.