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Book Four

FR458317

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Russian
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I sharply press the brake. I hear the squeal of tires. Surely the wheels leave a trail of black stripes on the asphalt. But the car doesn't stop; Because of the locked wheels, it turns to the left and, like a toy, takes off and turns over, knocking off its sides and mine. The airbag whizzes into your face. Shards of broken glass scratch across my face. After somersaulting for the last time, the car lands upside down. I hung. The seat belt digs into my body, it’s hard to breathe, I’m trying to move, a wave of pain runs through my body, I feel like a chop. My bloody nose catches the smell of gasoline, an explosion thunders, my body is seized by unbearable pain, and then darkness sets in. I open my eyes, I’m wearing a snow-white shirt like a baptismal one. There is paper in my hands, and on it the Arabic numeral four is written in beautiful handwriting...Where did I end up?

Name of the Author
Аристарх Ромашин
Language
Russian

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Book Four

I sharply press the brake. I hear the squeal of tires. Surely the wheels leave a trail of black stripes on the asphalt. But the car doesn't stop; Because of ...

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