The city is deserted and no one looks out of the windows anymore. The windows seem to have become somehow transparent, airy, ghostly. They look like loopholes.
Empty high-rise buildings, empty yards. Such an oppressive black silence that it rings. It rings with crows and dogs, ragged flea-bitten pigeons, and snakes. But not with people. There are no more people.
I know very well that I live thanks to those who came before me, to whom the red hands of our neighbor reached. They did not allow the enemy to reach me with their backs and chests. The blood-red chair I am sitting on is my memory of the dead, my honor to them, my lifelong gratitude. I bow to everyone and send my thoughts to the sky.