The Book of Death?"

It was a warm, sunny morning. As usual, I got up and went to the kitchen for breakfast prepared by my mother.

"Hi, Mom!

" "Hi, Przemek! What are you doing today?" my mother asked me.

"Oh? I don't know. Well, when I get home from school, I'll do my homework and study, but after that, I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll go to Mateusz's.

" "Aha," my mother replied, "Because my dad and I are going to Szczecin for an important meeting and we won't be home for the next few days, probably the weekend.

" "Damn!!! Can Mateusz and Kinga sleep at my place?? Please, Mom!?" I asked with glee.

"No!!!" my mother told me.

"But Mom, please!? We won't go crazy or do anything bad, I promise!!! Please!?

" "Okay, but on one condition!!!"

"What condition?" I asked.

"The condition is that when we get back, the house has to be in the same condition it was before we left. Is it a deal?

" "Sure!!! Thanks, Mom.

" "We're leaving at 11:30. You'll be at school then. I'll prepare food for you and leave a few zlotys for 'debauchery'. Dad will get you a fishing rod if you want to go fishing. Just remember!!! Don't go to the cliff and listen to your sister!!!

"Okay, Mom. Thank you again for letting me." I said, putting on my backpack and leaving the house for school. "See you later, Mom!!!

" "See you later!!! "

On my way to school, I met Mateusz.

"Hi Mateusz. Will you be sleeping at my place?

" "Hi. I can sleep, I'll just ask Mom. Will anyone else be coming?

" "Maybe Kinga too. Tomorrow is Saturday and my parents are going away for the weekend!!! And my sister is going to her boyfriend's and will be back on Tuesday. So, the house is free!!! "? "? "

- Great!!! Then I'll come to your place after school with my stuff. OK??? "

- OK!!! And we'll go pick up Kinga and ask if she can sleep in. We'll have a party on Sunday. We'll invite all our friends, tomorrow we'll have a feast, and the three of us will eat the food my mom prepared.

"That's a great idea, but let's hurry, or we'll miss class. "

While running, he said something to me.

"You know what, Przemek? I heard a rumor that some guy lived in your house before you moved in who killed his entire family. What do you think? Is that true?

" "Definitely not!!! It's just some stupid rumor."

And we quickly ran to our classrooms.

After school, on our way back from class, we picked up Kinga. We asked her if she'd sleep over. She had a hard time convincing her parents.

At 3 p.m., Kinga and Mateusz came to my place. We set the table for tomorrow's feast and went to bed. Saturday morning arrived, warm and sunny as always. When we got up, we prepared the feast. We set all the dishes on the table and sat down to eat together.

After the feast, we had nothing to do, so we decided to postpone the party until tonight. We went to inform all our friends about the party. After returning home, we started preparing and decorating the living room. A warm evening arrived. The starry sky illuminated our town. We waited impatiently for our guests. Edyta arrived first, then Patryk 1 and Dawid. Next came Ania and Karina. Last came Radek and Patryk 2.

The whole gang had arrived for the party. We started at 6:00 PM. We played spin the bottle on command, danced, and ate, until finally Iza and Edzia came up with the idea of summoning spirits. The three of us (me, Mateusz—that is, Buli—and Kinga) refused, but everyone was reluctant, so we gave in. We went to the dark basement. Everyone settled in and began summoning spirits. Ania placed a very old book on the floor, one I'd found in this basement when I'd just moved in. It was titled "The Book of Death." Ania plunged a knife into it, which I'd also found there. She lit three candles and placed them next to the book with the knife. I recited a few incantations. The first candle went out. A deathly silence fell. No one uttered a peep. We were simply frozen. Suddenly, we felt a cold draft, but there were no windows in the basement, and the door was locked. I began reciting more incantations. No one spoke. Nothing happened until we heard something shatter in the house.

I summoned my courage and went upstairs. The windows were open, though they had all been locked. The doors were also wide open, but I'd locked them first, with the key around my neck. I locked all the windows and doors, then checked again and went to see what had broken. It was my mother's vase. I swept up his remains and threw them in the trash. I went to the basement and told everyone what had happened, because they were so scared that no one even dared to go up with me.

Kinga recited the next incantations. Then the second candle went out, and a moment later the third. A deep darkness fell in the basement, as nothing else was burning except the candles. Everyone headed for the door, but it was locked. We panicked and forced the door open. The whole gang got dressed and dispersed. Only the three of us remained. We locked ourselves in my room and didn't come out until morning. They promised they wouldn't leave me alone until my parents arrived.

The next day passed quite quickly, but the night was the longest and most terrible night of our lives. When it got dark, we locked ourselves in the room again and, exhausted, fell asleep. I had a terrible nightmare. It was something very strange. Some guy tried to kill me with a knife that Ania had stabbed into the "book of death." In his other hand, he was holding the book. Three pages flew out. When the guy raised the knife and swung it at me, I woke up. Kinga and Mateusz woke up at the same time.

I asked Kinga,

"Did you dream something, Kinga?"

"Oh yeah!!! And a very terrible one at that!!! Some guy (he was very strange) was holding a knife covered in blood in one hand and a bloody "book of death" in the other. He was leaving our room.

"Did you dream something, Bulla?" I asked Mateusz.

"Yes." That guy with the bloody knife and book was going into the basement, and I went to our room, where we are now, and I saw...

I was simply speechless at that moment.

"Tell me!!! Quickly!!! Who was that?? Tell me!!!" Kinga asked Mateusz.

"It was me," I said.

"How so? How did you know?" Buli asked me with great surprise.

"Because I dreamed of the same guy, with the book, but with a knife that wasn't covered in blood. When he raised it to me, I woke up. Haven't you noticed we have similar dreams? It's like we had one dream divided into three parts.

This guy raised a knife that wasn't covered in blood, and I woke up. Then Kinga dreamed that he already had a bloody knife and was leaving our room, and Mateusz dreamed that he was going further and entering the basement.

"That's impossible!" Mateusz and Kinga denied.

"But it's possible. The ghost we summoned was the former owner of this house and wants to kill me," I said.

At that moment, we got up and went to the basement. We saw the "book of death," a knife, and three burning candles. I checked the book and three pages were missing.

"Heeeey!!! Listen!!!" I told Mateusz and Kinga, "I also dreamed that three pages fell out of the book that guy was holding. And those three pages aren't here!!! Maybe if we found them?

" "So what? As long as we stick together, he won't kill anyone.

" "She's right!!!" said Bull.

"So what? Are we supposed to stick together forever?

" "Nooooo. So, let's look for those pages.

We looked everywhere. Finally, we found them under my bed. But there were only two. We glued them into the book. But nothing happened. Then I remembered there was a page in my mother's broken jug. I didn't even look at it, I just threw it away along with the remains of the vase." I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a piece of paper from the trash. We stuck it in the middle of the book. It read:

"Whoever pierces this book will release an evil spirit that will kill the youngest resident of the house, and whoever burns this book will also burn an evil spirit that will soon go to hell, never to escape and never to harm anyone again."

I read it and said,

"You know what? By piercing the 'book of death,' Ania released a spirit that wants to kill me, so I need to burn it as quickly as possible and cast it into hell forever." At that moment, a ghost appeared in the doorway. It began slowly descending the stairs. The seconds that passed seemed like hours.

I shouted to Kinga, standing opposite me,

"Kinga, burn, burn.

" "What?

" "Come on, burn the book! Burn the book! Quickly!!!

" "I don't have any matches!!!

" "Light it from the candle! Quickly! It's coming towards me!!!"

Kinga lit the book and threw it to the ground. The ghost came up to me, grabbed me by the neck, and lifted me up. Then he bent down to pick up the knife at his feet. The book, burning, opened in the middle. A large, red gate opened in the floor, leading straight to hell. The spirit fell into it with me. Then the gate closed.

Kinga and Buli were stunned. They ran to my room, where we had been previously. Unsure of what was happening to me, they burst into tears, knelt before my bed, and began to pray. I appeared on the bed out of nowhere, remembering nothing. They were so happy to see me that they hugged and kissed me with joy. I didn't know what was happening. They told me what had happened. We fell asleep from exhaustion. We woke up around 11:00. My parents and sister weren't there yet. We got up, cleaned the house as I had promised my mother, and with our savings, we bought a vase, which was much cheaper and similar to the previous one.

As they left, Kinga and Buli said,

"Now we can go. You're safe.

" "Yeah!!! Thanks for everything, just let's promise each other that we'll never summon spirits again. "

And we all said together, holding hands,

"We'll never summon spirits again!!!" 1 2 3

My friends left. To make sure everything was alright, I went to the basement. When I went downstairs, I saw the "book of death" intact. I was even more terrified than before. When I opened it, I saw blank pages. I started leafing through them. When I reached the center of the book, I saw a terrifying inscription:

"Beware, or I will come."

Bell

  They say man has almost limitless potential. He could reach intellectual heights, be a telepath, heal with a biofield, predict the future, travel through time, create, compose music, speak all languages, visit the stars, reshape the universe, and so on. There's just one problem. Apparently, he uses only five percent of his mental capacity, which means he doesn't use ninety-five percent. In other words, he's wasting it. There are, of course, exceptions, exceptions, namely geniuses. But even their brains, supposedly, only work at one-tenth of a whistle.

And that's exactly it. Scientists of all races and nations, aided by computers, Eastern Sages, Western Philosophers, Psychologists, Psychiatrists, and God knows who else, have long been breaking their teeth over how to extract even a little more from the human brain. Maybe then people would stop murdering each other, literally and figuratively. Maybe they would stop destroying and start creating.

Years passed, and the scientists, sages of the East, philosophers of the West, psychiatrists, psychologists, and God knows who else were constantly replaced, and their research didn't advance humanity even a hair's breadth. People were what they were, and that was that. Whenever a genius was born somewhere in the world, immediately, somewhere in the world, an idiot was born so terrifying it was almost unthinkable. It turned out that, on average, people were still drawing on their five percent and had no intention of using more. On the contrary, they even wanted to use even less. After all, they had televisions, computers, cell phones, and vibrators. Just as they had murdered and destroyed before, they murdered and destroyed now. They didn't want to get smarter, they didn't want to be better. They were happy as they were.

And what are we to do with all this? The scientists, sages, philosophers, psychiatrists, psychologists, and God knows who else wondered. So they invented a device, the Intelligence Meter, or Intellectual Energy Meter, as they initially called it. And this meter showed that not only humans but the entire universe was using five percent of energy, and not using ninety-five percent, meaning it was wasting it. In an instant, the human problem became a universal problem, and therefore a slightly bigger one.

I don't remember who now—whether it was a Scientist, a Sage, a Philosopher, a Psychiatrist, a Psychologist, or God Knows Who Else—who concluded that perhaps the problem didn't lie within humans, but somewhere else. Okay, but where?

So those I keep writing about here, and God Knows Who Else, began to wonder "where?"

The scientists said they had no idea. The sages said they were stupider than they were, and the philosophers said they knew they couldn't see. The psychiatrists said they were all psychotic and probably crazy, and the psychologists admitted they didn't even dream at night. The only one who didn't say anything was God knows who else. However, they agreed on one thing: it's worse than they thought because people are lazier. They'd rather just watch TV and talk on their cell phones. There are more and more of them because they just want to reproduce. Which means more of everything is being destroyed. Once again, the masters of all stripes began to ponder the problem. And while they were pondering, someone perfected the meter. Now it could measure energy with an accuracy of twenty decimal places. Those with their heads in the right place rejoiced, because there's nothing like being precise and seeing how much energy the universe actually uses. What they saw stunned them. Ninety-five percent of the energy was no longer missing. Now they realized the universe wasn't using ninety-five and a half percent of its energy. That is, it was only using four and a half percent.

How could that be?! The scientists, sages, philosophers, psychologists, and psychiatrists shouted, and God knows who else added: "What does this mean? Was the previous device really that inaccurate? Was it so terribly wrong? Or maybe something went wrong with the rounding?" They shouted over each other. What if not? What if the universe actually uses even less energy? But what happens to the energy it doesn't use? Where does it go? God knows who posed the questions.

These were compelling questions, and once again everyone rushed to solve the problem. Generations of thinkers changed, until God knows who suggested they share their observations. They debated for a long time and reached the following conclusions:

This problem is universal. It's not man himself who is lazy, exhausted, and ruined—that is, generally speaking, evil. Such are the tendencies of the entire cosmos. It's the cosmos that is decaying, and in decaying, it decays man.

"This Can't Be Happening!" yelled God Knows Who, while another God Knows Who yelled:

"We Have to Do Something About This!"

The bright minds threw themselves into their work. They thought and discussed, discussed and thought. And they were so absorbed in their work that they failed to notice that another devastating change had taken place in normal people. They no longer chose television programs; now they watched whatever was on, preferring all sorts of game shows and series. They even stopped talking on their cell phones and now only sent text messages and made beeps. The only entertainment they didn't tire of was the constant multiplication. And it probably would have continued, if it weren't for someone, I don't even remember who, perfecting the meter. It could measure everything with an accuracy of one hundred decimal places.

All the bright minds gathered and turned on the device. And what did they find? It turned out that almost ninety-six percent of energy was already being lost somewhere in the universe. Only then did the Scientists, Sages, Philosophers, Psychiatrists, Psychologists, and God Knows Who Else notice that things were getting worse, in general.

"Gentlemen, it's bad," the Philosophers stated philosophically.

"Yes, that's true." The Sages nodded wisely.

"We need to examine, diagnose, and cure," the Scientists, Psychologists, and Psychiatrists concluded.

"But the question is: 'how do we go about it'?" They all grew sad.

"Let's build a spaceship." God Knows Who said that. "That way we can set out to find the cosmic problem."

So work began on designing a suitable spaceship. It had to be large. Large enough to accommodate everything that might be needed and everyone who could be helpful. In the end, such a ship was designed. There was only one problem: how to get bad and lazy people to work?

"Let's take away their televisions, replace their comfortable beds with stone ones, turn off the cell phones, snatch vibrators from the hands of virgins, and let them breed only once a month. You'll see, boredom will make them get to work." The man who devised this idea must have been a wise man, because once it was done, the results were quick.

People rose from their lairs. Not everyone, to be sure; some preferred lying on a rock to even the lightest work. It's also true that the killings intensified, and the destruction mounted. Well, why be surprised? Boredom takes its toll. However, the intended goal was noble, and as we know, the end always justifies the means. People began to flock to build the ship.

Work began and was completed. The ship was ready and waiting for launch. Equipment and people were loaded, the ship's captain took the helm, and the countdown began. No one came to say goodbye to the expedition. Everyone returned to their televisions, soft beds, and cell phones. Anyone who wanted could reproduce as much as they wanted.

It was sad to leave Earth, where no one longed. No one wished them a safe journey, a pleasant time, a fulfilling destination, and finally, a return. Oh, the ingratitude of humanity.

But the past was quickly forgotten. The travelers faced more pressing tasks. The fate of the entire universe was at stake.

The journey was to be long, seemingly endless. Everyone tried to spend their free time in their own way. Those who wanted to gaze at space could do so through portholes specially designed for that purpose. Those who didn't feel like it could admire the space inside the ship. And there was plenty to see and plenty to pass the time. The Space Ship had four Olympic-sized swimming pools, two football stadiums, a rugby pitch, twenty tennis courts, eight basketball and volleyball courts. Other entertainment options were also provided: bars for singles and groups, regular and porn cinemas, discos, dance halls, even rooms for playing big-time games, dominoes, and pick-up sticks. Those who didn't feel like doing that could simply sleep.

Scientists, Sages, Philosophers, Psychiatrists, Psychologists, and God Knows Who Else, were completely uninterested in flight and entertainment; they worked nonstop. Fun wasn't for them. They kept glancing at the meter and clutching their heads. Their energy was dwindling at an alarming rate. This could only mean one thing: corruption was progressing.

"How much longer do we have to search?" the Scientists asked.

"Let's search until we find," the Philosophers replied.

"Because whoever seeks will find." The Sages added.

"But will we make it in time?" God Knows Who asked that question, and why.

The Psychiatrists and Psychologists said nothing. Because if someone had to be sent to a madhouse, hit on the knee with a hammer, listened to their dreams, and then prescribed a course of treatment for addiction, then of course, why not? The cosmos isn't a human being. How can it be treated? What advice should be given? What diagnosis should be made? It wasn't their place, they had nothing to do among all those Scientists, Sages, Philosophers, and God Knows Who Else. So they abandoned everyone else and went off to explore the ship.

The others, that is, those who remained, went back to work. Nothing else mattered to them. They were so absorbed in it that they never once looked out the portholes. Which was a shame, because when they did, they would have seen the change that had taken place outside the ship. Somewhere in the distance, the galaxies disappeared, and in their place was an emptiness. Not just any empty void; this emptiness was vast and cosmic. Then they, too, began to feel the urge to lie down and watch TV, or just lie down. With the last of their willpower, they collectively concluded that something was wrong with them. They glanced at the meter and almost fell over when they saw the number that appeared. One and a half percent, they whispered to each other. This is terribly wrong, came back in a whisper from the second to the first.

"Let's see what's happening outside," someone said.

The thinkers rushed forward. They reached the portholes and saw a flock of black holes. Hundreds of them.

"We already know where the problem is!" they shouted in unison. "The black holes are absorbing energy.

" "Let's stop and start patching them up," the Scientists suggested.

"That won't solve the problem," the Sages and Philosophers replied. "We need to discover the cause of so many black holes. Fixing the effects is only half-measures. That way we can say the operation was a success, but we don't know why the patient died. Let's keep going."

And they went. The captain tried his best to avoid falling into one of the holes. And there were more and more. Sweat dripped from the captain.

It was hard to say how long he struggled with the controls. Everyone was so fascinated by the work of this titan of space navigation that no one checked their watch. Then suddenly, in an instant, the black holes ended and the ship found itself back in open space. Thunderous cheers rose. Everyone cheered for the captain.

"Look!" shouted the blackbird. "There's Something up ahead.

" "Yes," another person confirmed, "he's right. Yes, there really is Something.

" "It's not a black hole, and it's not a galaxy. It's not a star, and it's not a planet.

" "So what could it be?" As usual, God Knows Who asked the question.

"Let's go there and see this Something up close," the ship's captain decided.

And so it did. They flew, and this Something drew closer, growing larger. Finally, it became clear that this Something was a machine. But who had placed it there, and why? They suggested flying the machine in a circle and upside down.

On the other side was a large tube, from which protruded a half-finished, or if you prefer, half-incomplete, black hole.

"And we've discovered our cause," the Scientists said. "Someone placed this machine here to produce black holes.

" "We disagree," the Sages shouted. "We're jumping to conclusions too quickly. We need to rethink everything. It's possible this machine was intended to create galaxies, not black holes. It's possible it just broke down, and once it's fixed, everything will return to normal. We can't assume anyone's malicious intentions.

" "If this is a machine," God Knows Who began, "and everything points to it being one, then it should have an off switch. So let's find it and turn it off; time is running out."

The discussion ended there. The captain was ordered to stop the ship. The captain cut the engines, and deceleration began. It wasn't long before the ship came to a halt. Everyone on board was called together, informed that they had reached their destination, and now they must get to work.

"Let's get to work." The Wisest of the Wise Ones' speech concluded.

All the hatches opened, and a stream of people poured out. They marveled at the sheer size of the machine. Each of them looked like an ant next to their rocket. After a momentary shock, which each member of the expedition experienced, and after acclimating to the sight of the device, the search began. But it was to no avail. The machine was covered in a thick layer of oil and dust. The switch must have been somewhere beneath all the filth.

Without needing to be told twice, people grabbed rags, buckets, brooms, and shovels, and the cleanup began enthusiastically. The work was hard and monotonous, as the machine had become so badly damaged. A thick, hundred-meter-thick layer of dirt had been removed when someone shouted,

"I've got it! I've found something!"

Everyone abandoned their work and ran to see what they had found. And that something was "I." Could it be a switch? They tugged, pulled, twisted, and pressed, but nothing worked.

"It's not a switch," the scholars concluded. "

So what?" They should have asked, and so they did.

"It's hard to tell from a single "I" what it could be or what it's for. Maybe it's a letter, or maybe a ladder rung. Let's dig further.

" After a moment, an "A" appeared, then a "D," a "T." It was clear then that these were letters, and their shapes resembled those of human, Latin letters, familiar to everyone. People quietly began to speculate that it was a human-made object. However, no one dared to say it aloud.

More characters joined the previously discovered ones. These were: "ם," "י," "E," "ה," "M," "ו." And the two most recently discovered: "ל" and "א." At this point, the full inscription was created, and it looked like this: "םיהולא MADE IT."

The second part of the inscription left no doubt. But what did the first part mean? So a break was called, and everyone went to a meeting.

"What do you think, colleagues?" asked the Sages.

"There's no doubt it's the code name of the builder." replied the Scholars.

"We have to find out what language it's in." suggested the Philosophers. "Does anyone know this?

" "I know." "God knows who said it." "It means God in Hebrew.

" "What do you mean, God?" exclaimed the terrified Scholars. "There's no God.

" "As you can see, there is. He signed off on the construction of this machine.

" "That's impossible. Our calculations show that God doesn't exist." The Scholars persisted. "This machine proves it. God didn't build the machine, man did.

" "Now we don't understand," the Sages shouted. "There's a machine, and there's an inscription." The inscription says that God built the machine, and you say that man placed it here? Explain this.

"It's very simple," the Scientists smiled. "The Wise Men claim that God is infallible. And here, before us, stands a machine, a broken machine. The conclusion is that God is imperfect, because He created an imperfect creation, but God cannot create imperfection because He is infallible, so He didn't create it, because He simply doesn't exist.

" "Your claim doesn't prove God's nonexistence.

" "God must be perfect, which by definition means the word God.

" "But..." the Wise Men began.

"Shut up, everyone, and listen!" shouted God Knows Who. "Whoever created the machine knew what they were doing, because they created a perfect device.

" "Wait a minute...

" "Don't interrupt, just listen to what I have to say. This machine is a bell.

" "A bell? What bell, what nonsense is this?

" "We've known for a long time," God Knows Who continued, ignoring the ridicule, "that the entire universe emits sounds; the larger the celestial body, the louder the sound." This machine is currently building what we call black holes, but in reality it's the heart of the bell. When the bell is finished, its sound will bring the One who built it here.

"This is the biggest nonsense we've ever heard," the Scientists roared with laughter. "A machine building a universe that isn't a universe at all, but a bell meant to bring its Creator here. Why?

" "We'll find out soon enough."

Who Knows Who was finishing his speech when, outside the ship, something scraped, hissed, and then thudded, and there was silence. The machine stopped. At these sounds, everyone gathered ran to see what had happened.

Boy Roztropek stood in front of the machine, holding a hammer. No one knew him, and no one knew what such a person might be doing there. And our Boy Roztropek was a handyman. Someone who thought he knew everything better and could fix anything. He shouldn't have been on this expedition at all, but due to a simple human error while entering names into the computer, his name ended up on the starting list. His name was Antoni Obdartus, unemployed, and he was thrilled to be invited on this flight; he had nothing to do anyway. Professor Antoni Obfartus

, on the other hand, stayed home. When everyone went to confer, our Obdartus thought to himself that he wouldn't understand what these sm smart-ass guys were saying anyway, so he stayed at the machine and looked for the switch. He poked and pounded with the hammer until he hit the first letter of the word "םיהולא," the whole symbol fell off, and it flew off into space. Something creaked, whistled, and thumped, then the machine stopped. Only two words remained: "... MADE IT."

The scientists, sages, and philosophers didn't know what to do. Beat Anthony or carry him in their arms. Rejoice that the machine had been turned off or regret it. Everyone waited to see what would happen.

They waited and waited, and then waited again, but nothing happened. Someone pulled out a meter and measured the energy. The needle showed that one percent of it remained in the universe. So they waited. Years passed, but still nothing happened, and the meter consistently showed one percent. The energy wasn't decreasing, but it wasn't increasing either. That's probably a good thing, right? They asked each other. Or maybe when the bell would be finished would be better? Others speculated. Someone suggested trying to repair the machine and then restart it, but most decided it was better to leave everything as is.

Finally, they packed up their equipment and set off. Unfortunately, not all expectations are fulfilled, and not all questions have only one answer.

Park 3

 It had been half an hour since the two friends had left the alley. Now they were surrounded only by trees, bushes, and, of course, fog. They were already certain this wasn't the same park they knew. Czarek was completely panicked, constantly whining, almost crying that

he wanted to go home, that he'd had enough of it all. What irritated him was that his friend didn't show the same fear as he did. Paweł walked upright, with a calm gait and a pensive expression. Truth be told, he was scared too. Scared as hell. Yet he tried his best to keep his composure. He knew panic wouldn't help them get out of here.

"Where the fuck have you gotten us?" Czarek groaned. "It was your idea. Your fucking idea to come here. It'll be like the horror movies, you said. And look, it fucking came true!" he said, his voice trembling with accusation. He ground the last sentence through his teeth.

"Okay, okay, that's the fifth time you've told me that." Shut your mouth and think about how we can get out of here.

"We'll never get out of here. There's no way out." He lowered his head and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Thanks, you've been a huge help," Paweł muttered.

Czarek didn't reply, just continued walking, staring at the toes of his heavy leather boots.

For a few minutes they wandered in silence again, passing more trees and bushes. It seemed as if they were no longer in a park, but in a forest. There was no sidewalk in sight, let alone a bench or lamppost.

Paweł walked ahead, trying to see anything through the obscuring fog, and Czarek trailed a few steps behind him. He still glanced at Paweł every now and then.

Surprisingly, his fear began to slowly fade. Slowly, it was replaced by a cool calculation. Paweł was walking too calmly, almost carefree. He looked as if he knew this place. He didn't look scared at all. Not at all. What's more, he was simply whistling to himself. That son of a bitch is whistling merrily! Like it was the most ordinary fucking stroll of his life. Czarek understood everything. This was some sick joke of his. Him and that fat Marek, who was probably sitting somewhere nearby, well hidden, laughing his ass off. Fury boiled inside him, but he quickly suppressed it. He couldn't show that he'd seen through their game. He'd teach them a lesson. He'd teach them so much that they'd remember him forever. But he had to come up with a plan. He didn't stand a chance against Paweł, who had always been so much taller and better built than him. And besides, that fat guy might be lurking somewhere. He'd have to play it safe. He smiled broadly to himself.

Paweł, of course, couldn't know what his friend was thinking. Besides, he wasn't thinking about it at that moment. He wasn't walking as confidently as Czarek had seen, and he certainly wasn't whistling merrily. What's more, although he didn't show it yet, he felt the last vestiges of common sense beginning to desert him, and he was increasingly succumbing to the fear that was gripping him. Now he knew how the characters in the movies he loved to watch felt. It was one thing to sit on the couch in front of the TV with a bag of chips and a bottle of beer, watching someone in trouble, than to actually find himself in it.

He would have preferred a run-in with the thugs a hundred times over. They'd probably beat them up, but at least it wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary. And the situation he found himself in now was undoubtedly the strangest thing he'd ever experienced. He felt like he was in a dream.

He sighed and lowered his head. Czarek, who had been watching him the entire time, interpreted this reflex as a hidden chuckle.

He grimaced in rage. So he was right. In his mind, all the pieces were already falling into place to form an answer. It was all a setup. They were playing some sick joke on him. Like in one of those old movies he'd once watched. He couldn't remember the title anymore, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that in that movie, a bunch of kids had just come up with the idea to play a similar sick joke on their friends. Of course, the fact that it was just a joke wasn't revealed until the very end. In Czarek's mind, at that moment, the very existence of such a movie was a fundamental argument for them playing the same prank on him.

He brushed back his long hair, which had fallen in front of his face, and flashed his teeth in a grim smile. "Do they think this is a movie? Ha! I'll show them an unexpected twist! It'll teach them respect."

Czarek's smile widened. He had to stop himself from laughing. "

Too bad I don't have an axe," he thought.

He dimly realized the absurdity of his own reasoning. But he pushed the thought aside, ignoring it completely. Anger replaced fear within him, and he liked the exchange. Just that strange feeling in his head. As if his brain had suddenly begun to think without his involvement. He felt a torrent of thoughts and echoes of voices bouncing around his skull, and he was dimly aware they weren't his. Still, he didn't care at all. He was devising a plan. Admittedly, it wasn't very complicated. He planned to kill Marek and Paweł and then return home. He didn't know what he would tell Michał when he asked why he'd returned alone. He didn't worry about that. He'd figure something out. Now, the most important thing was how to take care of these two.

He looked around. His attention was caught by a massive, thick branch lying about a meter from his left leg. He bent down and picked it up. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, then tightened his grip and started after Paweł. When he was right behind him, he swung

it wide. Then Paweł turned.

"Come on, don't—" He didn't get a chance to finish because Czarek swung the branch with all his might, slamming it right into his face. The impact shattered his nose. Even in the darkness, he could see the blood spurting out. His head snapped back like a punching bag, and he fell to the ground. He writhed and groaned. He held his face, red blood dripping from between his fingers. Czarek watched, fascinated. He felt like a passive spectator. As if he were sitting in a movie theater, watching a movie. He looked calmly at his friend, who was now writhing on the ground, clutching his bleeding face.

"What are you doing?" Paweł wanted to ask, but all he managed to do was wheeze. The last vestiges of common sense in Czarek's head had just set off a siren and desperately pleaded with him to calm down. It was as if from the very depths of his mind that he was about to kill his friend. For a moment, he seemed unable to decide what to do. But then his eyes went blank again, and he swung again. The branch fell with a soft crack onto Paweł's head and broke on it. Then he began kicking him in the ribs with his heavy boots. Finally, he delivered a powerful kick to the head. Czarek didn't even notice he'd been smiling the entire time. Paweł finally froze. Czarek nudged him a few times with his boot, but the man didn't react. Driven by some incomprehensible, cruel impulse, he swung the broken branch and drove it straight into the man's stomach. He didn't react to that either. Apparently, that last blow had already killed him. Blood was leaking from where the broken branch had protruded. He stared at the scene with growing astonishment and understanding. It dawned on him that he had just killed his friend. He wanted to scream, but only groaned helplessly. He began to tremble. The impulse that had driven him a moment ago, that strange pressure in his mind that had told him to do what he had done, now vanished.

"Fuck," he groaned pitifully and crouched down beside his friend. "What have I done?" he stated rather than asked.

Laughter answered him. He jumped to his feet and tried to locate the source. The malicious cackle continued, but slowly faded. Only after a moment did Czarek realize it was coming from inside his head. When he realized this, the laughter erupted with redoubled force for a moment, then faded away completely. Then Czarek himself began to laugh. He howled until he was head over heels, bent over, clutching his stomach, and tears streaming down his cheeks. He began to feel dizzy. After a moment he lost the ground under his feet, fell to the ground and fainted.

He was awakened by singing. A beautiful, clear female voice. Simply flawless. Czarek raised his head and looked around. He noticed that the fog had vanished. As had his friend's body. However, he didn't dwell on that. His only concern now was finding the source of that angelic voice. He could almost see its owner in his mind: a beautiful, golden-haired girl with blue eyes, in a flowing dress and a beautiful, innocent smile. He felt as if she were calling to him with her singing. He stood up, ignoring the throbbing headache, and headed in the direction of the sound. Even though the fog had disappeared, it was still night and there were only trees around, so visibility was poor, but Czarek had the feeling he saw a white dress billowing somewhere in the distance. All the bad feelings were gone. The fear was fading away. He felt the nightmare was ending. That this angelic voice would save him from all his troubles. He just had to catch up. He had to find his goddess, and he could die happy. Everything would cease to matter. It already did. Only the voice mattered.

He started running. The tree branches, like arms twisted by terrible arthritis, reached out towards him as if to stop him. They grabbed his sleeves and the collar of his jacket. They lashed his face, leaving red welts. But he barely noticed. He only wanted to catch up with the voice. Finally, he burst out of the trees and found himself in a clearing. He stopped. In the white moonlight, he saw the one he'd been running towards. Exactly as he'd imagined her. She had beautiful golden hair; even from a distance, he could see the wondrous blue of her eyes. Her long white dress billowed gently in the wind. She was looking at him. The moon made her look like an angel radiating a magnificent heavenly light. A light that ended all troubles. A light that saved. The figure no longer sang. She stood motionless, looking at Czarek. He, on the other hand, moved slowly and timidly towards her. Perhaps ten meters separated them now. It seemed as if with each step, the girl glowed more and more. Her glow was almost blinding, yet at the same time soothing. She spread her arms slightly and smiled the most wonderful smile Czarek had ever seen.

"You finally came," she said softly, her voice resonating like the most beautiful melody. The boy couldn't utter a word, so he just nodded.

"I've waited a long time," she continued. "I missed you.

" "Me too," he replied. He felt such intense emotion that he wanted to cry. "Me too," he repeated.

As if he had noticed in passing that the trees around him were beginning to thin and disappear.

The girl giggled.

"So, are you ready?" she asked. "Do you want to stay with me forever?"

The grass he walked on had become hard; it felt like he was walking on sidewalk or concrete. But it didn't matter to him. Soon everything would be alright.

"Yes," he sobbed. "Forever." Her glare became unbearable. It was blinding. Yet he still couldn't stop looking at her. The greatest light emanated from her eyes. They became enormous, like two headlights.

"Do you love me?" Her face. So snow-white. It gleamed like bone. It was becoming transparent. Behind her, a new shape began to appear. Huge, hurtling at breakneck speed. An unbearable howl shattered the silence.

"I love you." He replied, and the huge truck slammed into him. Even as he flew, he realized he was back on the road in front of the park.

The impact threw him back several meters and threw him to the ground. He heard a crack and guessed it was his spine. He felt his legs bend at an odd angle. He couldn't move. He vaguely saw a terrified man above him, shouting something into a phone. The world became blurry and indistinct. Blood flowed from Czarek's ears, nose, and mouth. He felt excruciating pain throughout his body, but he wasn't afraid. He felt only peace.

Everything will be alright now.

Do you love me?

I do.

He closed his eyes.

Park 2

 Paweł and Czarek were debating where all the park benches had gone. Paweł noticed that their friend had also disappeared after a good minute.

"Hey, where's Marek?" he interrupted Czarek mid-sentence. Czarek fell silent for a moment and began looking around.

"Exactly," he replied after a moment. "He disappeared somewhere. He probably went looking for food." He laughed darkly.

Paweł didn't answer, just started calling out for his missing friend. Only the cars driving behind them on the street interrupted the silence. What's more, that damned fog obscured everything.

After a moment, however, something else answered them besides the hum of engines. Something like a scream or a moan. Or rather, an echo of those sounds, coming from deep within the park.

"What was that?" Paweł stopped. "Did you hear that?

" "Yes." He nodded and pointed in the direction of the voice. "Over there.

" "Was that Marek?

" "But why would he be shouting?

" "Maybe some thugs attacked him? Apparently they sometimes hang around the area in the evenings.

" "But what would he be doing there? He was standing here with us a moment ago." Czarek fell silent for a moment, then added. "Even if they attacked him, there's probably more of them than us; we can't help him anyway. Besides, we don't even know if it's him.

" "Who else but him?" He was here with us a moment ago, and now he's gone. So that's the first explanation I can think of.

"I think he saw something wrong first and ran home, leaving us," Czarek argued.

Paweł couldn't believe his ears.

"Do you really think so? I doubt he'd just run away. But you probably would, right?"

Czarek sighed and replied.

"Okay, okay. Don't play on my ambition, I'm going now. I'm just too high for such adventures..."

They hurried in the direction from which the sounds had just come. They turned onto the main avenue, bordered by neglected hedges. They stopped at a crossroads and listened. After a moment, voices reached them from further away.

"Over there." Paweł pointed ahead. "It's coming from over there, from a distance."

"Honestly, I don't think Marek could be there," Czarek grumbled. He was starting to think Marek had simply ignored them and gone home.

"So what happened to him?

" "What happened to him?" Czarek repeated, grimacing. "He's probably at home looking for something else to eat.

" "But why didn't he say anything?" Paweł persisted. He sensed something was wrong. "

Because he was too high! Just like you, if you really think he ran there specifically to look for a tumor."

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Paweł spoke up.

"I guess you're right. Maybe I'm getting paranoid." He laughed darkly. "But when we get back, Marek's going to get a slap in the face for leaving us like that.

" "So what are we going back to?" Czarek asked.

"But we just got here. We were supposed to come for a walk. Don't tell me you're cracking up?" Paweł smiled sheepishly.

Czarek shrugged.

"No, I just don't feel like getting lost in front of the local tracksuits."

Paweł sighed.

"Fine, fine. Let's go back. But at least let's walk around." He pointed along the main path. "This way, through the square and home. We'll just have time to smoke a joint on the way."

"Do you have it?" Czarek asked as they set off, patting his pockets. "Because I definitely don't."

Paweł pulled out a crumpled pack of Pall Malls, looked inside, and became very nervous.

"Well, now we know why that fat guy went home. It was left in his cigarettes .

" "Are you sure you don't have it?

" "I definitely do! " "He's a fat pig," Czarek said. "Give me a cigarette, I'm nervous. " "Maybe you should buy one sometime for a change?" Paweł muttered, reluctantly offering him one of his few remaining cigarettes. He lit up too. For a short while, they walked in silence. The fog was getting thicker with each passing moment. Visibility was perhaps seven or eight meters. To their left stretched a hedge, and to their right stretched rows of tombstones, of which only the closest ones were visible. A minute passed. Two minutes. Five. Ten. The landscape didn't change at all. "What's wrong? Why are we walking so long? We should be at least at the star by now," Czarek said. The star was what they called the obelisk towering over the park. "Hmm?" Paweł snapped out of his reverie. "What? " "What? It only takes three or four minutes to walk along this path before you reach the star. And we've been walking for about ten. " "Are we dragging our feet that much? " "No, we're not dragging our feet! We're walking quite fast." He was starting to get worried. "And something doesn't feel right here at all. It feels like I'm here for the first time. And yet we come

 here every day. Don't you feel it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied. But he was lying. He knew perfectly well what his friend was talking about and was beginning to share his opinion. He also felt something was off. Everything seemed the same, yet he felt alien. Like an intruder. He didn't belong here. He felt like a raisin in a herring salad. But he didn't say it aloud. He simply said,

"Let's not stand here like donkeys, let's go home. Come on, let's take a shortcut across the lawn."

He jumped the hedge and headed across the opposite sidewalk onto the adjacent grass. Czarek followed him without a word, looking around and wondering what was wrong with this park. They left the path and headed

toward the street.

Marek had been running for a good fifteen minutes. He probably hadn't run that long in his entire life. He even maintained a fairly fast pace for quite a while. Fear gives you wings. But now he was exhausted. The run turned into a jog, then a walk. The boy was breathing heavily, and his blond hair was drenched with sweat. He was soaked. His lungs, which had been on fire just moments before, now only burned slightly, demanding oxygen. Finally, he stopped and began looking around for a place to rest. Exhaustion overcame his fear, especially since he hadn't heard any disturbing sounds for a while. He still didn't know whose laughter had startled him so much, and he was slowly losing his mind. He had a bigger problem. He didn't know where he was, and worse, he had no clue how to get home.

This was definitely not the park he knew anymore. All the paths ran along completely different paths than before. They branched off in all sorts of directions, sometimes even senselessly looping, crossing, and intertwining, creating some

strange, twisted maze. And of course, the damned, ubiquitous fog completely shattered any hope of finding a way out of this place.

The boy was tired, so he decided to sit down and think it all over calmly (haha, calmly, of course). Of course, to his chagrin, there was no bench anywhere, so he decided to sit under a tree. He stepped off the lit path onto the lawn, nestled between the trees. He sat down next to the one closest to the path and tried to remember how he'd gotten there. After all, they'd just left the house and entered the park. He tried to remember how it all began. He remembered stopping for a moment on the first path. But why? And then a light... or an eye...? He couldn't concentrate; his head hurt, he was hungry, tired, and he was desperate for a cigarette. He thought he'd give anything for a cigarette right now.

Suddenly, he had a flash of insight and began patting his pockets. After a moment, he pulled out a crumpled pack of Red & Whites, and after another, slightly longer search, he found matches. He opened the pack. Among several cigarettes,

he found a joint. He glanced at it and smiled grimly, wondering if his friends were angry with him for disappearing with him.

Well, I wonder if they were all right. Maybe they were lost somewhere too? The thought lifted his spirits a little, and he felt ashamed. But only for a moment. He slipped the joint back into the pack and lit a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke with relief and began to think about what he should do next.

But he couldn't concentrate; his thoughts were buzzing like flies around a chandelier, unable to stay in one place for long. Too much had happened today, and he was already too tired. His eyelids were closing on their own. He wondered if Michał was still sitting quietly at home, studying. He wished he were there now. Lying comfortably in bed. Watching TV and eating chips. True, they didn't have a TV or (at least not today) food, but what if you dreamed, dreamed wholeheartedly? He leaned his head against the tree trunk and took a drag on his cigarette. Sleepiness was creeping over him. The recent fear had completely vanished, replaced only by weariness. He marveled at the peace that had enveloped him. After all, something truly strange was happening, and he was falling asleep as peacefully as he could. He thought again of their new apartment. How he longed to be in his own bed. True, it was just a folding armchair, but whatever. He'd gotten used to it. It was truly comfortable. So soft. He could almost imagine the softness. He felt how comfortable it was to sit there. He opened his eyes. He was indeed

sitting in the armchair. He was back in his apartment. He looked around sleepily. Near the armchair stood the table they had been sitting at just a moment ago, and further along, against the wall, at the table, Michał, his back turned, was still hunched over

his books.

Marek yawned.

And yet it was just a dream. And that was fortunate. He probably needs to stop smoking that weed. It's making his head hurt.

A bang tore him from his thoughts. It was Marek, pounding his fist on the table. He thumped it furiously over and over again.

"How am I supposed to study here? How!? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUCKING STUDY HERE?!" he screamed.

"Shut your mouth!" Marek shouted, now fully awake. "What are you yelling about? Nobody's bothering you with your shitty studying."

Michał stopped struggling. He still stood with his back turned, his head down, his arms hanging at his sides, his hands clenched into fists.

"Can you explain to me how I'm supposed to study? Can you..." he muttered darkly. He slowly turned to Marek.

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUCKING STUDY WITHOUT MY FUCKING EYES?"

And indeed, Michał had no eyes. Blood dripped from his blackened eye sockets, streaming down his face like tears. Drops of blood trickled from his chin onto his shirt, which was stained with a large red stain.

"This is a dream. This has to be a dream," Marek thought.

"How am I going to pass the exam now?!" Michał screamed, his empty eye sockets gaping.

Marek screamed and threw himself backward. He fell from the armchair and slammed his head into the ground, biting his tongue in the process. He felt pain, then the taste of blood. This completely shattered his hopes that this was a dream.

He stood up and staggered toward the door. Behind him, he heard Michał's accusing shout.

"Get back here, you fat bastard!"

Marek refused to listen. He ran into the hallway and yanked the doorknob to the stairwell. It was locked.

He turned his head and saw Michał trip over a chair by the table and fall to the ground. He laughed hysterically at the sight.

"I'll get you! You'll see, I'll get you and I'll gouge your eyes out!" he threatened, standing up. He alternately cursed Marek and his own blindness.

Marek turned back to the door. He saw it was locked. He pulled the bolt and turned the knob.

Suddenly, Michał's curses stopped. The silence was broken only by Marek's ragged breathing. He turned again and saw that the man was gone. He disappeared like a stone in water. This calmed him somewhat, but he still had no intention of staying there. He had no idea what was happening; it felt like he was losing his mind. He had to seek help, any kind of help.

Michał jerked his head up from the desk. His eyes were wide, he was breathing heavily. He was tense as a string. He looked around the room and relaxed.

"What a nightmare," he sighed to himself. "And they haven't returned yet." He checked his watch. It was almost 11:00 PM. He tried to remember how long ago they'd left. Probably an hour ago. He stretched and yawned. He tried

to remember what dream had frightened him so much, but it had already vanished. He only remembered that he hadn't seen anything, only heard voices. He couldn't recall what they were saying, though.

He looked at his desk and sighed. The textbook he'd fallen asleep on lay open on it. He noticed a large stain of saliva on it. He looked at it with distaste and went to the kitchen to grab a paper towel and make himself some coffee. He still had a looong night ahead of him.Marek opened the door and ran out into the stairwell. However, it was no longer the same stairwell they had exited through earlier. There was no hallway. No elevator. There were no other doors besides the one he had exited through. Only the stairs remained. Leading directly from his apartment, a long, winding steel staircase descended in a circular motion, disappearing into the darkness. The walls were made of slimy black brick. It looked as if he were at the top of some eerie tower. A dirty lightbulb flickered timidly on the ceiling. He glanced down, but he saw nothing; everything was carefully concealed by darkness. He turned on his heel and yanked open the apartment door. It didn't even budge. It was locked. He began to sweat profusely. He looked down again. After a good minute of inaction, he finally moved and began slowly descending the stairs. The rusty steel stairs creaked loudly, protesting the considerable weight of the obese Marek, but they didn't collapse as he suspected. He descended very carefully. There was no railing, so he leaned against the wall. He took slow, cautious steps. He didn't want to look down, but he was afraid he'd trip and fall. After five minutes, he'd moved far enough away from the single light bulb at the very top that he couldn't see anything anymore. He didn't know how far he still had to go to the bottom. He had no idea what he might find there, but it was the only path left. Suddenly, he noticed something on the wall. Nearby, there was a message scrawled on the wall with red spray paint. It was barely visible in the darkness. Marek descended. He stopped at the message, squinted. He pulled a match from his pocket, lit one, and shined it. "TOWARD DESTINY"—it was written on the wall.

What did it mean? He wondered. He noticed that below the message was something else. A downward arrow, clumsily scrawled with the same red spray paint. He frowned. A metallic smell hung in the air. He recognized it from somewhere. It reminded him of something

unpleasant, but he didn't know what.

He put his face close to the wall. Then, in a flash, two hands emerged and shoved Marek in the chest. They were hard and heavy, and as black as the wall they emerged from. Marek lost his balance and began to lurch into the dark abyss. For a moment, he thought he saw a vicious, grinning face above the stone hands. But it only flashed before his eyes, as he screamed and plummeted into the abyss. As he fell, he lost consciousness.

When he awoke, he continued falling. But darkness no longer surrounded him. He saw a familiar sight. He was falling along the building where he lived. The apartment windows flashed before his eyes like slots from a one-armed bandit. The sidewalk approached at breakneck speed. Before he could even start screaming again, he fell headfirst onto the sidewalk. It hit with a dull thud. His head burst like a watermelon and spilled around him. At the last moment before impact, he regretted not having gone to sleep.

Park

"Will you all stop laughing? And stop giving me that shit!"

Michał had had enough. He had an important test tomorrow. He had to do well in it to get an A for the semester. And he was desperate for a good grade because he wanted to apply for a scholarship. Besides, he didn't want to upset the neighbors so quickly. He, Czarek, Marek, and Paweł had only moved in two weeks ago. They were incredibly lucky to have rented such a cheap apartment in such a convenient location, and he didn't want it to go to waste. All three of them had met in high school and were now studying at the same university, which was very close to their building—about a five-minute walk away. Besides, there were plenty of pubs in the area, but that didn't concern Michał. His three roommates did. How on earth these three managed to stay in college despite their frequent weekly binges and constant weed smoking was a mystery to Michał.

His complaint provoked a rather moderate reaction from his classmates. At least they stopped laughing for a moment. Marek exhaled smoke and looked at him with amusement.

"Why are you so upset? Take a hit and forget about studying or you'll go bald like that professor of yours.

" "Bull's egg," Paweł added, and all three burst out laughing.

"I don't want your weed, it stinks so bad I can't stand it.

" "What?" Czarek feigned indignation. "It smells a hundred times better than your shoes," he announced, and all three burst out laughing again.

"Can't you at least go to the other room with that?" Michał sighed, but he already knew the answer.

"You know damn well there's no room there," Paweł muttered. "This room is only good for sleeping; Czarek and I barely fit in there.

" "There's no telling what they do in there at night." Marek whispered conspiratorially, taking another drag on the joint.

"Fuck off!" "They both shouted back almost simultaneously, after which Paweł quickly snatched the crumpled joint from him. "I think that's enough for you." He added maliciously. This, of course, provoked a sharp protest from Marek, and after a moment the discussion flared up again.

Michał sighed and went to the window. There was another detail that made him so fond of this apartment. The view of the small park beyond the two-lane street. True, the street separating their building was very busy,

and the clatter of cars constantly reached the window, but Michał didn't mind. The apartment he grew up in was also near the street. The view of the trees, however, soothed him, helped him relax.

He noticed a light mist beginning to spread across the park. He thought it was a bit odd in this weather, but he didn't bother. The park seemed even more beautiful now; the mist gave it a certain eerie charm.

He drowsily surveyed the lantern-lit avenues, the main square surrounded by tombstones now shrouded in darkness, and the large obelisk standing in the very center. A star loomed at its very tip, like a giant eye, watching, guarding its territory. With each passing moment, he was becoming more and more fascinated by this place. He wanted to take a walk there now, he wanted to be there, he wanted to... He stood there, gazing blearily out the window, when suddenly

Paweł snapped him out of his stupor by placing a hand on his shoulder. Michał stiffened for a moment.

"What did you see there?" Paweł asked, peering out the window over his shoulder. Michał blinked as if unsure of what his colleague was talking about, then regained consciousness and shrugged. "I was lost in thought," he muttered, sitting back down at his desk. "

What a mess," Paweł thought, looking out at the park from the window. After a moment, he, too, was fascinated by the view.

"What a blast." "Look, the park looks good today," he added louder.

However, Michał ignored him, trying with all his willpower to understand anything in that damned textbook. Czarek lazily rose from his chair and shuffled to the window. Marek, on the other hand, opened his mouth in a shameless yawn without even looking in that

direction, thus demonstrating his interest in the whole affair. His two friends, however, were impressed. Both were horror fans, unlike him.

Marek was an obese blond with childish features and a very lazy disposition, interested mainly in eating, sleeping, smoking weed, and watching MTV. And since they didn't have television here, he had to make up for it with the former three. He was only moderately interested in other things, especially some stupid park. And in the middle of the night, at that. The two horror movie buffs, however, didn't even notice his lack of interest, as they were already both busy recalling scenes from old movies they knew by heart. They had long hair and wore black T-shirts with the names of heavy metal bands. If they could, they would listen to these bands all the time, but the constantly studying Michał and the sleepy Marek were vehemently opposed. Besides, they only had an old tape recorder, which further discouraged them. Paweł scratched his pointy, scruffy beard and smiled. He had an idea.

"Let's go for a walk there," he suggested. "We

'll smoke a cigarette and walk around. It'll be amazing, like in a horror movie. And that fog, staa ...

Marek, on the other hand, reacted very predictably, simply saying, "I don't give a damn, I'm not going anywhere."

A second later, he added, "I'm hungry, I'm going to eat.

" "What?" Czarek was genuinely surprised. "You still want to eat? There's nothing left, you've eaten it all. If this keeps up, we'll have to start going down to the basement to hunt rats." He burst out laughing.

"Oh, at most, we'll sell Marek for sausages." Michał said from his book. Now everyone was laughing except Marek, who, with a sulky expression, went to the kitchen to scout. After a moment, however, he returned and looked reproachfully at his friends.

"There really isn't anything," he muttered, concerned.

"Don't look at us like that," Paweł snorted. "You're the one who devours everything in sight that doesn't move and can be swallowed." They laughed again.

"Okay, okay, I get the hint, shut your mouths." Finally, Marek smiled wryly, too.

"So, are you coming with us or not?" they asked.

He was about to say he was going to bed, but he thought he wouldn't fall asleep hungry. At least not yet. Maybe after another joint.

"Okay, I'll take a walk," he finally announced. "But roll something else for the road.

" "What were you thinking?" Czarek sneered, approaching the small brown table where all three had been sitting recently. On it were rolling papers, a half-empty pack of Red & Whites, two lighters, and an ashtray full of

cigarette butts. He took a cigarette from the pack, broke it, and poured the tobacco onto the table. Then he reached into his pocket for a small

plastic bag of marijuana. While Czarek was rolling, Marek lit a cigarette, and Paweł announced he was "going for a piss." In less than five minutes, all three were ready to leave. When the door finally closed, Michał

breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed the silence for a moment, and after a while he immersed himself in his studies again.

They took the elevator down from the eighth floor and stepped out into the autumn night. The air was cool and a light breeze blew. A thickening fog hung around them. Czarek and Paweł were wearing parkas, the typical attire of heavy metal fans, while Marek wore a plain navy jacket and a dusty green baseball cap. After leaving the stairwell, they moved forward, past the dumpster, and across the parking lot toward the park. Two metalheads walked ahead, and Marek lazily trailed behind them. He felt a bit uneasy. Something about the surroundings seemed off. It was too empty. Yes, he knew it was Sunday and it was almost ten o'clock, but there was always at least someone walking their dog, someone returning home. And now? There was no one around. What's more, even the lights in almost all the apartments in the area were off. Only the cars were tirelessly moving down the street, carrying their owners to their destinations. The wind was blowing, not at all strong or particularly cold. Just a light breeze. A shiver ran through Marek, though. His friends must have found the emptiness strange too, because they stopped talking and looked around.

Paweł broke the silence.

"What's the matter, has everyone left or what?

" "Yeah, where has everyone gone? Are they asleep already?" Marek added.

"It really is like something out of a horror movie," Paweł remarked sarcastically.

Czarek finally laughed out loud.

"We smoke too much of that weed because we're winding ourselves up," he stated, perhaps truthfully. "And through this fog, look, it's getting thicker by the minute."

They were talking as they passed a four-story apartment building opposite their high-rise building, when Paweł noticed the curtains moving. On the ground floor window they were passing, the curtain parted, revealing the wrinkled yellow face of an old gray-haired woman. She looked at them with wide eyes, then opened the window and leaned out.

"What are you doing here on a night like this?" Her voice sounded like pipes scraping. "Don't you know it's best not to hang around this area on nights like this? You could get lost." She spoke in a completely serious voice.

Czarek barely suppressed a laugh. "Thank you for your concern, we have a map," he assured, amused.

"Do you think this is a joke? Everyone in the area knows it's not." She grimaced, revealing a few brown teeth. "But there's always someone who doesn't believe it." She added sadly. Her face softened, her gaze clouding over as if she'd

remembered something.

The students were already starting to leave, whispering to themselves and giggling when they heard her voice behind them.

"This fog only appears here once every few years. Stay home tonight. You'll have so many more opportunities." Her raspy voice took on an almost pleading tone.

They walked on. Marek and Czarek exchanged snide remarks and silly jokes about the old woman. Paweł, on the other hand, remained silent.

He was reminded of his own grandmother. She had spent the last moments of her life in near-total unconsciousness. She no longer recognized anyone and kept asking about her long-dead husband. She wanted to know when he would return; he would surely be

hungry, and dinner wasn't ready yet. She died babbling and relieving herself. The boy grew gloomy. He felt sorry for this woman, just as he felt sorry for his grandmother. He was afraid of old age; he had often promised himself that when he was old

and felt he was losing control of his mind, he would kill himself. He didn't want to live like that.

They stopped at a two-lane street, waiting for a moment to cross, and looked out at the park. The fog prevented them from seeing very far. Only the beginning of the large park square was visible. The first two monuments were still visible, and beyond them stretched

the tombstones, disappearing into the mist. The next two statues of soldiers were no longer visible, and beyond them, the top of the obelisk rose proudly above the fog. They crossed both sides of the street and headed down the right-hand side street leading off the square. Nearby was a bench where they had been accustomed to sitting when they came here during the day, ever since they moved in.

During the day, especially on sunny days, it was crowded with people. Parents came here with their children to play and pick chestnuts. Owners came with their dogs so their pets could run free. Elderly people came here

to sit and relax. Lovers strolled here hand in hand. In the evenings, groups of young people enjoyed a drink here. That night, however, there was no one there but the three of them. There were the aforementioned tombstones lining both sides

of the main square. All of them bore plaques with the name, surname, and military rank of the deceased. Further on, on both sides of the hill on which stood a tall stone block with a star, there were also graves, but these were anonymous. Around this one were lit paths, with benches scattered here and there. Surrounding them were numerous trees and shrubs. Occasionally, they could find a spot to sit among them.

They walked along a concrete path that curved into the park, talking. The first thing they noticed as they entered the path was that all the benches had disappeared. This was strange, considering they were set into the ground. They fell silent, slowed, and after

a moment, stopped. Not even a hole remained in the concrete where the benches had been. It seemed as if they had never been there. They glanced at each other. Czarek broke the silence.

"Why aren't there any benches?" he asked, surprised. "Were they here during the day? Were any of you here today?" he asked. His friends shook their heads.

"I have no idea. Why would they take them?" Paweł replied.

"It's like something out of 'Unbelievable.'" Marek added, grimacing ironically.

He turned his back on his friends and the street and looked around. Thick fog clung to everything. A shiver ran down his spine. He thought he was glad the streetlights hadn't disappeared like the benches. After a moment, the absurdity

of such an idea hit him, and he chuckled to himself. He looked at one of them. They were green, about 4 meters tall, with a lampshade protruding from the top. It was this lampshade that caught Michał's attention. He stared blankly at it as it glowed in the darkness. He thought it resembled the eye of some enormous reptile. The thought no longer seemed absurd. It seemed to him that the lampshade was growing before his eyes, expanding like an inflated balloon. After a moment, it filled his entire field of vision. Now he was certain it was an eye. A huge yellow eye with a slitted, reptilian pupil, gleaming with a sinister light. Marek stood there, his eyes bulging. His mouth gaped open. The eye became everything to him. He saw nothing but it, and thought of nothing else. Suddenly, he saw something begin to fill it. A dark red liquid gurgled in from nowhere. Splashing in all directions, it slowly filled the entire globe. The light changed from dark yellow to red. Red became the only color in the world. It filled everything. Red light, and that sickening gurgling sound.

A scream caught in Marek's throat. Only a gasp escaped his lips. The boy stumbled backward, tripped over his own feet, and fell, his bulky frame falling to the ground. He blinked. He felt as if he had just woken up. He sat on the ground, propped up

on his hands, wondering what he was doing there. Everything slowly came back to him, filling the emptiness in his mind.

He noticed that it was quiet. He no longer heard the cars passing by. Worse still, he couldn't hear his friends anywhere either.

He turned and froze. There was no trace of Paweł and Czarek. They vanished into the mist.

Worse still, the street vanished with them.

Where cars had been driving a moment ago, trees now grew, and among them a path leading into the darkness.

Streetlights lined the path, but they were off.

The boy couldn't believe his eyes. He began to tell himself it was just a dream. That maybe he would wake up any minute. But he was still sitting there. Alone, in this normally familiar, but now completely unfamiliar place. He wet his lips and

ran a hand through his hair. He stood up and looked around.

He was no longer in the same park, or at least that was the first thought that came to his mind. Although everything looked similar, the trees were the same, as were the streetlights and the path he was standing on. However, the street disappeared. Instead,

New paths and trees that had never been there before. The old paths, however, now veered in different directions. Overall, the park seemed larger. More than that, it was enormous. Marek wasn't sure, because everything was still shrouded in fog, but it seemed

to him that the estate had vanished. There were only trees everywhere. Trees crisscrossed by mazes of narrow concrete paths.

He stood alone in the fog and tried to rationalize it. His head ached. His mind was still numb from the damn weeds they'd burned while they were still in the apartment. He tried his best to focus, but he couldn't. He felt his heart leap into his throat. Panic rose within him, like an invisible fist clenching his

insides.

"Czarzek! Paweł!" he cried. "Where the fuck are you?" he moaned after a moment.

Only the rustling of the surrounding trees answered him. He was about to call out again when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a silhouette disappearing

into the darkness, between the trees. He couldn't make out the exact shape. He didn't have time. He saw only a slight movement in the darkness.

"Hey! Is that you? Don't be kidding, answer me!" he called.

An innocent, girlish giggle answered him. The carefree laughter of a young child playing. It was quiet, but Marek heard it clearly. He didn't know what to think.

"Is anyone there?" he muttered.

Another laugh, this time more distinct. The boy slowly began to move off the path, walking towards the sound.

Suddenly, he remembered all the horror movies he'd watched with Paweł and Czarek when they'd lived in their previous place. He'd never been a fan of such films, but since they'd watched them, he'd followed them out of boredom. However, he could never resist the snide comments that so annoyed his friends. These included scenes where the main character or heroine, sensing something suspicious in the darkness, instead of going for help, rushed to see what was happening like complete idiots. And they always ended up dead.

Marek didn't want to end up like that. He turned on his heel and headed down the path in the opposite direction, determined to get out of this strange place.

Then the laughter rang out again. This time, however, it came from the direction he was heading. The boy's eyes widened and he stopped again.

And again the laughter. This time from his right. And again, from his left. It grew louder. And again, a carefree girlish giggle, this time right behind him. He even thought he felt her breath on the back of his neck. A cold, unpleasant breath. Or maybe it was just the wind.

Marek turned around immediately,  but there was nothing behind him. The laughter grew louder and came from more and more directions. Eventually, it began to come from many at once. It was as if a whole gang of girls were laughing their heads off at him.

The innocent giggles began to escalate into high-pitched whimpers.

It was too much for him. He wanted them to stop, to finally shut up. He didn't even realize he'd started screaming. He ran forward. He had no idea where he was running. He simply wanted to get away from that damned noise.

The Great War

The alarm clock announced 8:00 AM with a shrill shriek. Captain Vestius opened his eyes and sighed. The nightmare had become reality – after being made the scapegoat in a certain scandal, a meddlesome Admiral decided to add to his misery and banished him to that stinking, dilapidated vessel. After a while, he scrambled out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Or rather, what they called a bathroom here. He quickly washed up and, after throwing on his Merchant Navy captain's uniform, headed for the magnetic cable car connecting the officers' quarters with the transport ship's bridge.

A few seconds later, the cable car reached the bridge. The captain disembarked and walked to the console next to his chair. He carefully studied the daily schedule and grimaced slightly. The first order of business was a thorough inspection of all forty-eight cargo containers. This meant at least a kilometer-and-a-half trip along the ship. Resigned, he sat down in his chair and waited until the deputy chief engineer, Sub-Lieutenant Siren, appeared on the bridge. Together, they headed for the hatch located in the rear wall of the bridge. Immediately behind it were two rows of consoles, each controlling the attachment points of a single container.

The captain approached the first console and entered a few commands on the keyboard. The console responded with several beeps and began a detailed test of the attachment point of container number one. Siren did the same at the console of container number two. They both waited about seven minutes for the test to complete – symbols appeared on the screen indicating the test had been passed. Fortunately, everything was fine.

They repeated a similar procedure with the remaining consoles. It took them less than three hours, and after completing the test on the last two containers, they moved to the engine room.

Meanwhile, the first officer arrived on the bridge. The would-be captain, not entirely satisfied with his role, asked the helmsman for his status in a hissing voice.

"We're flying at warp 7.8, maintaining course 123 by 158. If all goes well, we'll arrive in 9 hours," the helmsman replied, simultaneously checking the transport's onboard weapons once again. Not very impressive, though – two light pulse disruptors in the bow, three Class 14 beam disruptors in the stern, and two microtorpedo launchers, one each in the bow and stern.

Suddenly, 100,000 km from the convoy, space rippled and two Klingon Voodieh-class ships appeared. The powerful machines immediately opened fire. Salvos from disruptors and torpedo tubes eliminated the eight nearest transport ships. Three seconds later, another six transport ships were struck by torpedoes. After the initial blows, the attackers were joined by more ships: three birds of prey. One K'Vort-class and two B'Rel-class. Green missiles from their disruptors eliminated another nine transport ships.

At this point, well behind schedule, two Valdore-class ships joined the fight, followed a second later by a modified Centurion. However, they were unable to save the convoy. Before the Valdore entered weapon range, the last two Romulan transports, shedding plasma, were captured by the B'Rel. One of them was unlucky today. First, it suffered a minor cloaking failure, then its warp drive failed, and finally, while following its sister ship, it inadvertently came under fire from the Valdore's disruptors.

The captains of both ships seized the opportunity and bombarded the B'Rel with a barrage of green missiles and torpedoes. The first salvo from the disruptors stripped the B'Rel of its shields. Of the eight torpedoes fired, only two hit it, but that was enough – the B'Rel lost its ability to fight and maneuver, and many other systems were more or less damaged.

Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, for the B'Rel's crew, word reached the Valdore's commanders – they were to take prisoners. For captains, and even more so for the cruiser crews, this was, at best, a waste of space and breathable air. For them, the best Klingon was a dead Klingon. But an order was an order. Especially since the Tal'shiar didn't take kindly to captains who disobeyed orders. One of the Valdors flew up to the damaged bird of prey.

"Optimal transport distance," reported the cruiser's helmsman.

"Then we'll take those dogs. Have security wait for them in the transporter room; if there's even the slightest problem, they're to be shot," ordered the disgusted captain.

It quickly became clear he was quite right. As the first groups of Klingons began to disappear from the B'Rel's deck, the B'Rel's warp core exploded. The Valdore, close to it, didn't have time to raise its shields and, hit by the shockwave and debris, began to stagger erratically. The second Valdore barely managed to jump out of the way and was now trying to help its sister ship. Caught in a tractor beam, the Valdore began to slow, only to come to a complete stop after a few seconds.

The dazed crew slowly returned to their stations, beginning repairs to the ship, but the ship was too damaged to avoid a trip to the dock. One torpedo tube had been destroyed, a couple of relays had been burned out, two plasma conduits had been destroyed, and minor hull damage had been sustained—nothing the shipyard couldn't quickly address. At that moment, more Romulan ships appeared on the battlefield: one Gryfin, two Raports, and two Shirke scout ships.

While the two Valdors first attempted to take prisoners and then fought for survival, the rest of the Klingon ships raised their cloaking and departed.

"The dogs are leaving," the Centurion captain declared with a mixture of satisfaction and fury.

"They're afraid of us. This is further proof that Klingon assholes, not warriors, only know how to attack defenseless transports. And the moment a combat ship appears, they run away with their tails between their legs." The crew greeted their commander's words with satisfaction. After all, everyone knew the Klingons were useless. Except as moving targets.

"Status?" the commander asked when the crew's whispers died down.

"The Klingons have departed to an unknown destination, even masking their warp signature," the tactical officer replied. "As for us, only RIS T'Rehau took a beating, but she'll recover. The rest of the ships are undamaged. Subcommander Teris's group just arrived."

16 hours later, Utopia Planitia Fleet Yard, Mars, Sol System.

In one of the shipyard's docks sat a ship unlike any previously built in this shipyard, or in the entire Federation fleet. Instead of a white saucer with attached nacelles, rested a brown-green vessel over a mile long, more resembling a Klingon ship than any GF vessel.

A conference was being held in one of the nearby station's rooms.

"We are gathered here to celebrate the success of the Vood'DaH project with a glass of traditional champagne. The first ship built jointly by the Klingon Defense Force and Starfleet. The first of what I hope will be many."

The assembled group responded with thunderous applause, and everyone sipped their champagne.

"Admiral Santos, you may now introduce the crew of the IKC Vood'DaH."

"Thank you, Ambassador, the first person on the right is Captain Kardan. Right next to him is First Officer Commander Takeshi Izumo." The Admiral introduced. "Next, Tactical Officer Raaga, Science Officer Lieutenant Amanda Triest, Chief Engineer K'ranog, Helmsman Lieutenant William Bates, and Ship's Surgeon Lieutenant Sonja Brington."

The presentation was rewarded with further applause.

"Well, I think it's time to move on to the most important part, the 'launching' of the ship. Captain Kardan, you may now proceed to your ship."

After a dozen or so minutes, when the officers took their places on the ship's bridge.

"Sir, the shipyard gives us the green light, we're ready to launch," the helmsman said, turning to the captain.

"Release the grapples, full maneuvering until we clear the dock, then set a course for Jupiter."

The Vood'DaH began to slowly pull out of the dock. Navigation lights flashed red on the ship's wings and bow. When, after a few seconds, the ship was far enough from the dock, the impulse engines on the wingtips and stern glowed bright blue, and the heavy ship began to accelerate rapidly. After a few seconds, it reached 72 percent of lightspeed, reaching the vicinity of the gas giant in 43 minutes.

"We're 20,000 km from Jupiter's parking orbit; we can continue testing."

"What now, are we testing our ramjet?" the first officer asked.

"At least that's the plan, setting a course for the combat test area?"

"Yes, maximum warp; we'll see what those ramjet engines of yours can do."

The ship began accelerating again, and when its speed reached 94.5% c, it disappeared in a flash of green light emanating from its active thruster nacelles. After approximately thirty minutes, traveling at a speed equivalent to warp 9.99996 on the classic time scale, or warp 20 on the SLS time scale, the ship reached the weapons test range thirty-six light-years away.

"We are here, target number 1 is 0.4 light-seconds away."

"Load disruptors and torpedo launchers, target Alpha 1."

Green missiles and beams struck the old Sentinel, piercing it completely. A moment later, six quantum torpedoes slammed into its hull, plunging it into a whirlwind of fire.

"Target Alpha 1 destroyed," Raaga announced, clearly satisfied with the test results.

Shortly after, a similar fate befell targets Alpha 2, 3, and 4. The battleship, belying its size, nimbly turned, and four bursts of green missiles parried the last of the five test targets.

"Weapons test completed." The tactical commander announced, "Missile deviation from assumed flight path 0.027%—less than I expected."

At the same moment, the comm console beeped quietly.

"Sir, we have a message from the KSO, a mine in the Gretar system is under attack. The Klingons are already sending ships, but they won't arrive for another 4-5 hours; we can get there faster."

"I agree," Will interjected. "The Gretar system is approximately 108 years from our position. At maximum speed, we'll arrive there in approximately 90 minutes."

The outskirts of the Gretar system.

"What's happening, why are we slowing to impulse?" asked the captain, clearly irritated by the fact that he would probably not take part in the fight.

"The engine control program encountered a minor error and has shut down the drive for safety reasons," K'ranog replied, simultaneously beginning to manipulate his console. "We can execute an in-system jump, but reconfiguring the engines will take some time.

" "We still have problems flying at this speed; even the slightest error could end in disaster. That's why the ship's Mark IIb engines have lockouts; perhaps the newly designed Mark IIIs will solve this problem."

"Okay, you'll take care of it, just hurry up."

K'ranog stood up and went to the turbolift leading to the ship's engine room.

"We'll take a look around in the meantime. Amanda, do you have anything on the attacker?"

"Yes, and that's a lot. The outer defensive ring and several K'T'Ings, D7s, and two Vor'Chas are under attack by seven Federation ships – four Miranda Mark IIIs and three new Constitutions."

"They're not doing so well. One Vor'Cha has 45% shields, the other has almost full shields. Both are trying to position themselves to attack the Consts, but they're not very successful; they're constantly flanking them; if this continues, there'll be nothing left of these cruisers."

As if to confirm her words, the explosion of one of the cruisers suddenly lit up the sky. The weakened Vor'Cha wasn't lucky enough to survive the hits of four quantum torpedoes. Its damaged shields practically ceased to exist after the first torpedo hit. The three remaining torpedoes slammed into the ship, along with its quantum cannons, reducing it to a smoking wreck.

The second Vor'Cha suddenly found herself caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. While the ship attempted to outmaneuver torpedoes from one Constitution, it was furiously attacked by the second ship. The quantum cannon barrages quickly made short work of the shields. The blue quantum beams began to slice through the Klinkian ship's armor with the ease of a hot knife cutting through butter.

When the second Vor'Cha was reduced to a pile of debris and dead bodies, all three Constitutions

flew toward the four Mirandas, who were successively destroying the outer defense ring. Occasionally, they fired two or three beams at K'T'Ing and D7. The remaining Klingon ships were completely ignored by the Federation cruisers and destroyers.

When, for the umpteenth time, individual attacks proved ineffective, the commanders of the two K'T'Ing and three D7 ships decided to focus their fire on a single ship. The ships moved to attack the agreed-upon target. However, they miscalculated. They treated the Mirandas like old ships, capable of fighting D7s at best, and they paid dearly for their ignorance. The Miranda swiftly dodged to the side, avoiding Klingon torpedoes, and her regenerative shields easily withstood the disruptor hits. The attacked Miranda turned toward the incoming ships and then fired all her forward armament. The K'T'Ing, hit by eight quantum torpedoes, disappeared in a storm of fire, while one D7, hit by a burst of blue missiles and blue beams, lost its shields in the blink of an eye and drifted, colliding with its sister ship. Both ships engulfed in a fireball.

Moments later, Miranda passed the Klingon ships and fired eight more torpedoes from her stern tubes at the second K'T'Inga.

In the distance, the Vood'DaH was ready to plunge back into the stream, and three seconds later, it was less than 100,000 km from the largest mine. Disruptors and torpedoes had been ready for some time, and shields were fully charged.

Captain K'ranog ordered the ships attacking the mines to be hailed; but despite the communications officer's best efforts, they failed to respond. The ship's commander then ordered fire. The first ship to come under the disruptors' guns was the modified Defiant. Despite significant modifications, it couldn't withstand the hail of green projectiles. Successive bursts tore through the unshielded hull. Finally, one of them struck the aft torpedo magazine. Suddenly, a massive explosion ripped through the Federation escort ship's hull.

However, the battle between the Klingon ships defending the colony and the attacking Federation vessels was slowly drawing to a close. The gigantic Yamato had just massacred the last five ships with a hail of blue missiles and torpedoes, then headed for the last mine and fired a salvo of tricobalt torpedoes at it.

After this attack, a group of Federation ships activated their jamming systems and entered the stream.

"Do you know where they went?"

"Unfortunately not, they generated so much interference that we were practically blind for several seconds."

"*****," the captain cursed and hit the back of his chair. 

The one who will love her...

She was 16, but she didn't consider that age inappropriate for love. She loved and was loved. You could say she dreamed of Rafał, adoring every detail of his body and soul. The thought of their separation made her nauseous and filled her with emptiness.

As a round teenager, Paula had never been particularly popular with boys. None of them noticed her kind and generous heart. They always imagined a plump, stooped girl with long, disheveled hair the color of carrots. Her appearance caused her to feel intense depression and tearful eyes. However, ever since she met Rafał and realized they were destined for each other, her life changed at breakneck speed. She gave him her entire soul and all her time. She couldn't imagine a day without his hands on her body, without the touch of their lips, without their caresses, without their warm words. Her friends warned her that a boy his age might want something more. But that didn't bother her. After just a year, she gave her entire body to him. Every time she lay alone in bed, she recalled that beautiful moment.

They were lying by the fire. Thousands of stars twinkled in the sky. When she felt his hand on her belly and heard a sentence that stuck in her ear. "I love you, Paula," he whispered in her ear, brushing her neck with trembling lips. She felt shivers run through her, and the wind whistled in her ear. He looked at her with his warm eyes, smelling her scent and touch. He caressed her neck and nape, caressed her shoulders, and moved lower... lower and lower. He touched her breasts and listened to her long breaths. He sucked her nipples, moved his tongue ever lower to her navel. He drove her incredibly aroused. In one movement, he pulled her summer skirt off her and gently touched her pubis. He didn't mind the folds of her belly or the wideness of her hips. He loved her just the way she was. He adored the plump Paula, who had given him more love in a year than his mother had in her entire life. He entered her and, with gentle movements, brought pleasure. She felt warmth and a slight pain. She felt his breath and immense joy. When he brought her to orgasm, she moaned softly and settled down next to him. "Thank you, my love," she said, kissing him on the lips.

She opened her eyes. She was sitting in the hospital, waiting for the test results. The tension was visible on her always calm face.

"Mrs. Paula Jadczak," she heard at the window. She rushed over and grabbed a white sheet of paper saturated with the hospital smell. She glanced nervously at the results, and at that very moment, tears welled in her eyes... Then a smile, and then more dark tears.

He was waiting in the park... Her man. Smiling, he touched her pensive face. He immediately sensed that his beloved was worried. He sat her down on a bench and looked deeply into her eyes.

"What happened?" Where does this sadness come from on your beautiful face?

She couldn't find her voice. She remained silent. She lowered her gaze. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"I see you're not in the best mood today, honey. Maybe I'll tell you what I have planned for my vacation... I thought we'd go to the seaside, to that lady I always went there with my parents... Are you listening?

" "I'm pregnant.

" "What pregnancy?

" "We're having a baby... Ours..."

In an instant, the boy's happiness vanished. He looked at her with a menacing gaze, stood up, and simply said, "You meant to say, your baby, not ours." Then he walked away, leaving her on the bench. She watched his retreating body, blurred by huge drops of tears. She touched her belly, and a single positive thought flashed through her mind: "Only now will a man appear on Earth who will love me truly, sincerely, and for the rest of his life. There's no other like him." She took a deep breath and headed home.

"Now I'll never be alone again," she smiled, and once again looked at the positive pregnancy test result