With a spinning head and dried blood on his lips, Luis opened his eyes in the same place where he'd passed out from the painful shock. By the feel of it, the knife was still in his back, but he seemed to still be able to move, so it wasn't that serious. He hummed, a few more drops of fresh blood dripped onto his white collar.

«Luis Serra is not going to die in a place like this...»

With a groan of pain, he lifted himself up and leaned against the walls and walked towards his past home where he still lived with his grandfather, or rather the remnants of it. There his life had passed, and there it would end. At the end of his way he could hardly move his legs and with each step it seemed that he would fall, but here he already saw the walls of such a native house. New, untouched, like in his childhood, as if he had not seen with his own eyes how its remains were burning. He would go inside, and his grandfather, who had just returned from a hunt, would be waiting for him....

When he fell on the doorknob and collapsed on the floor, right under your feet, he somehow did not think that everything was too real for a death hallucination.

You were living in your new house that you had built a few years ago on the site of an unneeded ash heap, and today a half-dead man with a knife in his back came crashing into your house. His hair is strewn across the floor and a dark stain has dried on his brown jacket