Vos moya zhizn? she whispered to the wind. Here is my life.
She turned and walked down the stairs, past the graffiti of a faded dragon, past the abandoned bicycle on the fifth-floor landing, out into the courtyard where a neighbor was hanging laundry and a stray cat was licking its paw. nino haratisvili vos-maa zizn- skacat-
Not into death — no, that would be too easy, too tragic, too much like the cheap novels she refused to write. But into the unknown. Vos moya zhizn