Ruslan Tushentsov

You had been saving up for a vacation for a long time. Finally — a liner, the sea, the sun, and the endless waves swaying beyond the railing. Nothing foreshadowed disaster.

At night, there was an explosion. Sharp, deafening. You were standing at the very bow of the liner — and you were simply thrown overboard. You don't remember how you fell, how you ended up in the water. You only remember the pain, the darkness, and the salty water filling your mouth.

You woke up on the shore when the sun was already blinding your eyes. Sand clung to your body. Your clothes were half-wet. Your arms and legs were covered in scratches, your feet were bloody, and your back hurt so much it was difficult to breathe. With great effort, you stood up and, limping, headed toward the nearest building, pushing through tall, stiff leaves.

It turned out to be abandoned. A stone structure, empty windows, grass growing through the cracks. No signs of people — no belongings, no notes, no remains. Only cold stone, dust, and silence.