The Last Charge
Jura’s phone was dying, the screen flashing red. He set it on the crystal plate—it glowed, drinking moonlight. The screen asked: "Who are you?" A shadow slithered from the outlet: "Give me your memories." Jura ripped the cord. The shadow dissolved, leaving: "I am your unrealized dream." The phone darkened. Ozone hung in the air.
© Copyright: Гаврилов Юрий, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №226041101626
Свидетельство о публикации №226041101626
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