Готовый перевод Сломанные крылья Серебра / The Broken Wings of Silver: 1

This is a beautiful world.

The reality where:

Giant sailboats seem to be flying along the water surface, cutting through the oncoming wave with a sharp bow - huge, not smaller than the tourist liners of my homeland, with masts and rigging of forms and structures that I've never seen before.

On the half-empty, excellent quality roads and highways, mobiles sometimes pass - equivalents of cars, but purely on electric traction, reliable as tanks and just as angular.

Cities here are trying not to occupy the dominant heights, but on the contrary, they seem to be hiding in the lowlands, their architecture is without any skyscrapers, no higher than five floors, but each house is individual and at least slightly different from the others.

Sometimes it happens that airplanes fly across the sky, dispersing clouds - propeller-driven, on diesel engines, for which the fuel is made from the oil of plants that are grown in coastal waters.

They try to make everything that is possible from aluminum or polymeric, organic materials. The only exception is military hardware. For example, the steel bulks of battleships - that keep their guard along the islands of the equator, they are beautiful in such a cold, austere beauty of destruction.

This is a strange world:

Where people take their time.

Where things are technologically perfect and almost never break, although they are ridiculous and rude in their design, nobody cares about ergonomics and convenience here.

Where it seems that time is as viscous as sugary sweet syrup.

Where technologies are not in a hurry, they do not rush at a gallop, changing their generations faster than people can adjust.

This is a scary world:

The world where new films appear once a decade.

The world where for one fiction book, there are hundreds of reference books.

The world where there is almost no music, and the one that exists is so simple and primitive that makes me nauseous.

The world is inhabited by very beautiful people, whose outer beauty is completely offset by the sullenness and emptiness of their souls.

The world which did not accept me...

Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being.

I'm lying on the couch, in a small, modestly furnished studio apartment and just look at the ceiling. I feel so bad that I can’t raise my hand and reach the phone. Although why do I need a phone? Yesterday the ambulance came and what:

- Young man, you are healthy, you just have nervous exhaustion amidst stress and jitters. Don’t worry, take this sedative. What happened to your family is a tragedy that only time can heal. Stay strong and everything’ll go away all by itself....

Naive doctor, I know. I know I’m dying. But they don’t believe me.

Well! You are healthy as an ox! Oh, I wish I was in your years! And take the pill...

Even if I reach the phone, it won’t change anything. Why don’t I trust doctors? Why don’t I believe in "nervous exhaustion"? It’s simple, I’ve already died once, and now I feel the inevitable coming, the one who was beyond will never mix it up with anything.

I died two months ago. I died ludicrously because of an idiot who failed to drive on a frozen track and... No, I don’t want to remember it.

It was the moment I died and came back to life here, in a different, completely unfamiliar world. I rose in a completely alien body. The first thing I remember after the resurrection is water. There’s saltwater all around me, and there’s waves trying to bury me beneath them, as if they resisting someone’s deception of death. And then there’s the screaming from above:

- Man overboard! Man overboard!

And a red and white lifeline falls next to me.

For two months, from that moment until today, I’ve been constantly racking my brain about who and why, plucked my soul from my home world, and implanted it into the body of the alien world. But I didn't come up with anything. The only feeling I had was that someone accidentally "passing by" resented the absurdity of my death and gave me a second chance by putting my soul into the body whose soul had decided to kill itself by drowning in the salt sea. And the fact that I ended up in a foreign world did not bother the "savior" who immediately "forgot" my existence. Perhaps all these feelings are nothing more than nonsense and nobody has saved me. I don’t know, but there are no other answers to the question: "How did I get here?", no other answers.

Such a shame to get a second life and to die so early. The only thing that fate gave me was two months of a new life. I feel this body rejecting my soul like something alien is pushing it out of me and I already don’t have the strength to resist it. I feel that this night is going to be the last one and no one’ll give me the third chance.

No, I fought, I fought as hard as I could. But, with each new day I got worse and worse and the more I resisted, the faster I weakened. I want to cry with self-pity and resentment, but I don’t even have the strength to weep, all I can do is lie on my back and look at the ceiling.

Absurd.

Hurtful.

Frightening.

But I can’t change anything.

I close my eyes and I feel lighter and lighter, and my arms and legs are no longer obeying me.

Is it over...

This is the end?

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/84161/532698

Переводчики: Sir_Helen