Posty

An explosive mixture of humors

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Obraz
So what if it was pouring? The rain didn't bother me in the slightest – quite the opposite, it was obvious I wasn't going to give up a trip to the city just because I'd be soaking wet after a few minutes. By "city," I mean the center of Częstochowa, where I live. However, my house is located on the outskirts (read: "in the middle of nowhere") of the city, so I was rather happy to wander around the shops downtown, which happens rarely (only once a week) because, unfortunately, I don't have time for frequent trips and sightseeing in my own home. The end of the school year was fast approaching, so I had to spend a lot of time studying (i.e., racking my brain over certain subjects). That day (which was such a beautiful one, by the way...) I was as happy as a lark, and nothing could really dampen my spirits. Well, almost nothing. My mom was kind enough to yell at me right before I left (I was already standing in the doorway) for the mess in my room and fo...
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Oh, that sarcastic smile...

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Obraz
  And what should I write about? The sun isn't shining because it's the middle of winter, the birds aren't singing because they've flown off to warmer climes. But alas. I feel like I want to charm you, my dear readers, with something... It was a beautiful, sunny summer, the birds were chirping happily, and the bunnies were hopping across the road, unaware of what was about to happen to them... Okay, maybe I won't embellish because I'm not very good at it... Anyway, I had the wonderful intention of sharing a real-life story here (whose?! Of course, mine!!!). So where did I end up...? Oh yes, it was beautiful, sunny... have I already mentioned that? Oh, sorry, mistake... I went mushroom picking with a friend. Okay, I won't exaggerate, we simply went downtown for ice cream, as usual, because in such a hot summer, you could spend all day in a consonni. But we didn't stay inside, but after buying what we'd come for (me - a scoop of dried fruit, she - a ma...
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Favorite of the Gods" cont. "Terranum" (3rd and 4th years)

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Obraz
III (finished) They crouched, gripped by fear behind the tin railing. If it weren't for the creaking of the old door, they would have been caught red-handed. Both were now offering thanks to the unspecified god of all birds for sending a pigeon, which, as if on cue, had just flown into the hall through the open window. It took them half an hour to find the entrance. For all the world, they couldn't open the strange lock on the hall door. Only by walking around the warehouse did they manage to climb up the old, rusty fire escape to the roof and from there through the broken window into the hall. They crouched now, watching as the strange figure below returned to the storage room, closing the door behind him. "That's the guy who did this to me," Sienkiewicz explained. "Where was that portal supposed to be?" Michał pointed to a spot on the south wall. Now a pile of cardboard boxes filled the area. "It's just an illusion." Michał was irritated ...
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Wafer

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Obraz
  The man was big, and the girl was small. The little one had a sweet little face, and the big one had a big, ugly one. Nevertheless, they were related, and relatively closely. The big one was the little one's father, and the little one was the big one's daughter. They both had the same surname, though their first names differed significantly. The big one's name was Dżon, and the little one's name was Płatek. They loved each other, though less often lately, since Płatek's mother, Dżon's wife, had threatened her husband with reporting him to the police if he didn't stop fucking their daughter. On the day in question, July 15, 1919, it snowed, even though no one expected such anomalies in the middle of summer. But the snow fell, not caring whether anyone expected it or not. So much for the weather, I think that's enough. The boy got up at 5:45 and went to Płatek's room to kiss his daughter good morning. Unfortunately, near the bathroom, he ran into his...
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Les Paul

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Obraz
Les Paul was listening to Deep Purple's "Sail Away," in which Glenn Hughes and David Coverdale share vocals, when the following thought occurred to him: "Fuck, I'm so fucking sick." Les Paul, along with Inglot and a few other characters in my stories, was one of the truly rare people in the world who could put his thoughts into words. Having concluded this, Inglot turned off the tape recorder and went to the kitchen for a drink of tap water. He'd had a splurge the previous day—to be fair, he was right. Les Paul claimed he wasn't an alcoholic, but he was wrong about that. Generally, anyone who claims they're not something usually is. Take, for example, racists who claim they're not racists—if they weren't, why would they even mention it? Or faggots—they usually insist they're straight. Along those lines, if, for example, you ask a friend or even a complete stranger if she's a nymphomaniac and she replies she's not, you can easi...
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Lost Love"

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Obraz
  Kamila arrived late for class, quickly rushed into class, and took her seat. Terrible grief overwhelmed her. Only she and her thoughts remained: "Why is he doing this to me? How could he... Paweł, my dear Paweł," she repeated over and over in her mind. Suddenly, the teacher's loud shout interrupted her thoughts... "Kamila, what did we talk about last lesson? Remind me and the class of the last topic." Kamila stood up shyly, all eyes on her. She stood there silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. The physics teacher immediately noticed his student's strange behavior: "Kamila, is everything alright?" "Are you feeling bad?" the teacher asked gently... "A lot has happened, but who cares?" she thought... At one point, she ran out of the classroom just as the bell rang... The teacher asked her to come back for a talk the next day... She couldn't stay at school any longer; she couldn't think, let alone work... She returned...
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About how we went for a smoke

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Obraz
There's this huge bridge in Prague. It's impressive, I swear – an iron colossus with enormous domes, at the foot of which the Vltava River rolls its turbid waves. And everything sparkles in the sun; provided, of course, that the sun feels like shining when the bridge has the urge to shine. That day, a sunny and joyful one, Irka and I went for a walk. We wandered along the quay, chatting about this and that, kicking stones, smoking cigarettes, and glancing at the girls. Some of them glanced back at us, some giggled foolishly, and some even responded to our teasing. And that was quite enough for us – it was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and we had nothing better to do. That's how we reached the bridge. "Nice bridge," I said. "Nice," Irka agreed. "Nice domes," I tilted my head upwards. "Must be a beautiful view from there. " "Yes, it must be," Irka tilted his head back. "I've never sat on a bridge before. Shall we go up? ...
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