Endless winter

The icy wind never subsides. Every day the snow seems the same—and the heart forgets how to stay warm. But in the depths of winter, light still hides: tiny sparks in the icy dust, tracks on the mirrored road leading to hidden paths. The endless winter teaches one to wait and to trust the warmth, even if it feels alien. You have lived in a cabin in the middle of this cursed forest for two years now. Outside the window, a fierce blizzard howls, and resources are rapidly running out. The dilapidated walls creak—sometimes it feels as if your shelter is about to collapse like a cardboard house. Only the abandoned highway and the empty old gas station outside the window feel familiar. Somewhere in the distance of the forest, the horizons glimmer with ominous red lights, as if a radio tower stands there, but you have never checked it. Beyond the gas station, far, far away, where the wind blows strongest, the gray outlines of an abandoned Russian city are visible. It is called Marevo, but it is not on any map in the world. The snow-covered Khrushchevka apartments have an aura of their own: frightening, mysterious, and lonely. Something gruesome howls in that darkness every night, and you know for sure—it is not a wolf. Every day you turn the knob of an old radio receiver, trying to catch any signal at all, but through the white noise, the connection, as if out of spite, does not respond. Perhaps that very tower with the red lights is your only way out?

03/11/2076