diamond painting,

 

diamond painting,

 

diamond painting,

 

Diamond painting

 

Under the Arm.

 

It's been a while since I arrived here. It was a just sentence handed down by the highest. I deserved it. I lived for many years without any greater sins than cheating on my wife with peasant women in conquered lands. Then everything changed. I stopped believing in God because I trusted some witches. I believed their foolish prophecies and wanted to do everything to make them come true. She helped me do it. She committed suicide, but was she really? That's how that cheap theater salesman later wrote it down. What was he supposed to write? He didn't know our history well. If it weren't for Lady Macbeth, none of these crimes would have happened, but I can't just blame her. People, don't trust a woman. I'm one of the few men this side of the Styx. Most of the inhabitants of this land are lovers, mothers, and wives who clearly weren't devoted to a single man in life. The witches had a significant influence, but not as much as she. She stained the guards with blood. She was the one who said she wouldn't fulfill her marital duties at night unless I brought her the head of a different victim each day to our lodge, which she wanted to divide in two. She was the one who turned me into a monster. One evening, I couldn't bear it any longer and killed her. It was another severed head of a victim I brought her. But I couldn't break this habit, forced upon me by my wife. I continued to commit whitewashing and defend my power in the kingdom. Every night, I entertained myself with a different peasant woman, brought to me by my servants. I experienced a great shock when one day the forest approached my walls, and a man not born of a woman placed a sword on my neck. My head was beheaded, and with it under my arm, I found myself at the gates of heaven, where St. Peter threw me down with a loud bang, all the way to where he has been for over 500 years. Even Satan has changed his methods since then. He no longer uses the voice of so-called conscience, but computers and cell phones, but one thing that has remained constant is the form he usually takes on earth. Next, it's the figure of a beautiful, young, and wise woman.

Hell—if it weren't for the dark colors, the knowledge I received during my lifetime, and the fact that I'll have to sit here for all eternity, it would be beautiful here. Hell—a land of darkness, untraversed by anyone except Lucifer himself and his close followers. The gate to Hell, interestingly enough, is just as Dante described it in his work—though only a gate. The road to it is long, as it leads across the Styx, where poor Charon tries to collect his paltry obol from some dead man, but unfortunately, no one believes in him anymore, so he has to transport them free of charge to the lair of Cerberus, who awakens only when approached by someone who hasn't been touched by the lips of the White Lady.

The White Lady,

the sister of an old grandfather, is named after time

, which will never know sleep.

The White Lady .

He kisses a person only once,

with a breathless kiss.

The next stop on the road is a gate on which an inscription is carved and smeared with blood, reading:

Through me, the road to the city of affliction, Through me, the road

to eternal

torment, Through me, the road to the nation of perdition,

I am the work of a great, just hand.

I was raised from the ground by omnipotent power.

Supreme wisdom, firstborn love.

Creations older than me do not exist .

Unless eternal, and I am indestructible .

You who enter, say goodbye to hope...

But for me, this is not a city of either torment or perdition. "Life" here is not as hard as it seems, because Lucifer rarely deals with us and has given us free rein on the condition that we promise him we will not run away. He is more occupied with finding new inhabitants for our land than guarding us. Here and there, you can even find flowers; It's true that these are poppies prepared by the Lord of Darkness specifically for drug addicts, so that they can make all sorts of drugs from them, from ordinary opium to a brewed poppy seed compote they call "makiwara"; but they're not so happy about it. The only people you'll encounter with poppies are youngsters who've recently arrived here.

Once, during my wanderings through the underworld, I met a few interesting people, but nothing compares to meeting Eve, a former resident of Eden. I was sitting quietly under a tree, holding her severed head in my lap, when she suddenly approached and asked if the tree was truly permitted and if she could eat its fruit. I looked at her like she was crazy, but then I recognized her. I'd already seen this face on the "wall of fame" in Lucifer's office when I had to report to him on my first day and sign all those papers. She was beautiful, but tired. It was obvious she'd been there for some time. We started talking, because that's all there was to do here besides sleep, to occupy one's time. She told me how St. Peter had thrown her into the depths of darkness after an initial conversation and allowed Adam to behold the glory of the Heavenly Lord. He explained it to them this way: when God created the world, he already knew he would send a savior to earth who would cleanse us of our sins. When Adam, the first man, refused to pick the fruit, the Lord had to send him a woman, Eve, who was the one who committed the sin, but who, in a very cunning way, persuaded her husband to bite the fruit. After being expelled from Paradise, Eve gave birth to two sons. However, God failed to notice that in Paradise she had committed the sin of adultery with Satan. Abel was Adam's son, and the second, Cain, was born of a relationship with Lucifer. After the murder of his innocent brother by his elder son, the spawn of Satan, the Lord of Heaven condemned him to eternal damnation on earth. She now wanders the world as a vampire, sucking the blood of humans and animals to gain the strength to endure until the next night without suffering torment. Eve was sent to Hell not for picking the fruit, but for betraying her husband. After finishing her story, she began to cry. I left. I left her alone.

Quite recently, I met another very interesting person. A young man. He introduced himself as Lendalian. He first listened to my story and started laughing heartily. He told me how he had recently been mistreated by my story, written by that Englishman, and then he told me his own story. He let me read his poems and then explained that they were partly the reason he was here. His poems weren't the best, but some of them were captivating. After he started writing another poem, he realized that life is really just a speck of dust blown by a strong wind. So he finished his last poem, took it to the cemetery, and burned it over the grave, as he called it, of the only person who believed in him. He returned home. His mother sent him for coal, and when he didn't return after a long time, she went out after him and saw him lying in a pool of blood, a heavy axe covered in mud and blood beside him. At the Golden Gate, St. Peter asked him to show his last poem. He was burned, however, and Lendalian was sent to Charon. He told me another story. Before the boat across the Styx, he met a little girl. They had a moment, as she had not yet been summoned before St. Peter, and he was waiting until enough prisoners of darkness were found to make it worthwhile for the old man to sail. After speaking with her, he wrote a poem and gave it to her, but he also copied copies for himself. It went something like this:

A little girl

stood at the gates

of a great kingdom

, but no one would open them

. She knocked one last time.

Silence.

She left.

She had nowhere to rest her head. She

lay down on the forest floor.

She slept in a dark forest.

When she left, she was no longer a girl,

she was a woman.

Even though she didn't want to, it

hurt.

Three boys wanted to be men.

They didn't care about her opinion.

She just wanted to be a little girl.

She knocked on the gate again.

Again, there was no response. Again,

she had to seek shelter.

Again, she would have to sleep in the forest.

Again, it would probably hurt.

She went to the gate

. She knocked one last time.

She let her hair down.

The strap was long,

she wrapped it around her neck three times. She

hung the end of it on the gate latch.

The tiny heart stopped beating.

Now nothing knocked against the small chest.

The gate opened with a bang.

A tall man emerged.

"We were waiting for you."

He grabbed her hand.

They walked through the gate together

into the endless light

. With that, I ended my conversation with the young man.

I met many more interesting people in Hell, but I couldn't find the little girl from Lendalian's story anywhere. He clearly knew what he was talking about when he spoke of passing into endless light. If I've bored you with anything, please direct your complaints to the Lord of Darkness. I have to go to his place soon for some tea and a chat, because he's really not as bad as he seems in all those earthly pictures. Maybe someday I'll have to tell you some stories, but for now I'm very tired, because here too, a person can get tired even if they don't carry their head on their shoulders but under their arms.

Country Life"

 

Chapter I

It was a perfectly ordinary day. It was already evening, actually. The streets were already dark. Older people sat in their homes watching TV, young people were lounging about, smoking and drinking, and the kids were sleeping soundly in bed. There was no indication that anything unusual was about to happen. Marcin and his friends – Tomek and Artur – were sitting on the steps in front of the bar, drinking Reds, when suddenly an older man, around 70, approached them and said something they didn't understand. As if in some strange foreign language. The friends looked at each other, then at the old man, who repeated the same thing, just as incomprehensibly. Marcin got angry because he had just run out of Reds and handed it to the old man,

"What the fuck do you want? Are you looking for some fucking friends?"

The old man seemed to understand. He raised his hand and offered a leaf to Marcin. Tomek and Artur tried to defend their friend, but they couldn't make a move. A few moments later, a black Aston Martin pulled up to the bar and scooped up all four of them.

The old man spoke first in the car.

"You, what's your name?

" "What the fuck do you care?"

(slap, the old man handed Marcin another strong leaf. Tomek and Artur remained motionless)

"You'll answer my questions nicely, and without swearing. So, what's your name?"

"I'm Marcin.

" "Okay. Well, listen. I don't want you calling me "fuju," or you'll get punched. Got it?

" "Well...

" "Now, introduce me to your friends

," Artur and Tomek

said. "Okay. Well, listen, all three of you. You've been selected for a mission. You must go to Poland and report on what's happening there, as we lost contact with them some time ago. And since you three were born in Poland, you can enter without any additional checks."

"And what if we don't agree?"

(The old man raises his hand)

"Okay, we agree.

" "Fine. Now we're going to the Polish border. If they ask you why you're going there, say you're going to meet your parents after recently finishing school abroad. You have phones you can use anywhere in the world. You have free text messages, multimedia messages, and calls, so I'm counting on frequent and accurate reports from home. Okay. Now eat something and get some rest."

Chapter II

The car slowly came to a stop. When Marcin woke up, Artur was still asleep, and Tomek was texting with his friends. The old man was gone. Marcin started a conversation.

"Well, we certainly have something to do. Did you notice, did the old man leave us any information or something?"

Tomek nodded and pointed to three backpacks. Marcin looked into the backpack closest to his. There he found a laptop, a wallet with a rather large amount of money, and a packed lunch.

"And there are no cards? No information?"

Tomek pointed to his cell phone this time. Marcin took his phone and turned it on. "7 messages received"… "Show"… The description of their mission reached him.

"You'll be dropped off at the border in Cieszyn, you have to photograph everything you can and send it to me. You have my number saved in your phone contacts under the name M48. I wish you luck, and I look forward to hearing from you."

"Well, that's great," Marcin concluded.

Now he had a chance to take a closer look at his phone. A Nokia 9500, with a 2GB memory card. Absolutely fantastic.

"What if the phone gets stolen?

" "Everyone got four of them, look in their backpack.

" "Not bad…"

Artur just woke up.

"Hey, mate!" Marcin greeted him. "How did you sleep?"

"I'm not complaining, I had a bit of a strange dream, we were kidnapped by a black Aston Martin and sent to Poland

." "I'm sorry. It wasn't a dream." We're almost in Poland," Tomek told him. "Take a closer look at the phone, it has our master's details on it."

The car stopped. The door opened and he peered into the three M48s.

"Get out, we're here. Your mission is just beginning. Good luck, and I'm waiting for the data. Don't forget your phones and backpacks!"

Marcin, Artur, and Tomek got out of the Aston Martin, put on their backpacks, put their phones away, and approached the customs gate.

"Welcome to Poland! I'd like your documents, please. "

Chapter III

"Oh FUCK!" Artur exclaimed.

"I think so too," Tomek added

. Marcin just looked around. For the first time in their lives, they found themselves in a place they were completely unfamiliar with, with no idea where to go, with a lot of cash, and the latest phones.

"Come here, there's a map!" Marcin said to his friends.

They approached it but found nothing of any use.

"You know what?" I guess we just have to start a new life here, from scratch," Artur said with a little regret. "But we have to find a good hotel, we have enough money."

So they started looking for hotels on the map. Suddenly, Tomek had a brilliant idea.

"Guys! I know what we'll do! My grandma lives in the middle of nowhere, in this country, in Łaziska Górne. We'll go there and maybe live there!"

Marcin and Artur agreed.

Chapter IV

"Okay, so where exactly is this apartment?" Marcin asked

. "Pocztowa 2b/4," Tomek replied

. "Do you know where it is?"

"No."

Artur approached the first man he met and asked,

"Excuse me, where is Pocztowa 2 Street?

" "Near the post office. Go straight here, then turn right after the post office. That's post office street.

" "Thank you."

Artur returned to his friends.

"Let's go, guys!"

And they set off in the direction the other guy had indicated.

"Now all we have to do is find 2b/4..." Marcin said. "Ooo... I see 2a, there should be 2b somewhere around here...

" "Okay, mom, it's back here," Tomek replied. "Come on."

They approached the intercom. The Kowalski family lived in number 4.

"Tomek, are you sure it's your family?" Artur asked.

"I don't know, I'll check right away," Tomek replied and rang

. A quiet voice came from the speaker.

"Yes, I'm listening?

" "This is Tomek Jaskrzyk speaking

." "Ah! It's you, Tomuś! What are you doing here!? Come in!"

All three entered. The apartment was on the second floor. Tomek knocked. An elderly woman, probably his grandmother, opened the door.

"It's so nice to see you! Did you bring any friends? Come in, everyone, I'll get you something! "

Tomek entered first, followed by Artur and Marcin.

"Take off your shoes!"

They took off their shoes and entered the guest room. The apartment they had just entered was M3. Suddenly, Marcin's phone rang. It was M48. Marcin hesitated for a moment whether to answer. He answered.

"Yes, I'm listening.

" "Hello, Marcin. I'd like to remind you and your friends that I'm waiting for your reports. Goodbye."

Marcin, surprised, put down the phone and exchanged glances with his friends. His throat felt empty. It had been a long time since he'd had anything to drink. This couldn't be. But they had to find accommodation at Grandma's. Grandma had just arrived and sat down across from Tomek, next to Artur. A few moments passed, during which Tomek was lost in conversation with Grandma. Marcin was too tired to listen. If only he could at least have a cigarette... But there was no sign of quenching his thirst. He wanted to go to bed already... He was falling asleep...

Chapter V

- Marcin! Marcin!

Marcin woke up and looked around. Tomek was standing in front of him, calling him.

"Marcin!" It's nine o'clock! Get up! Grandma bought us a pack of Marlboros and some Gingerbread! Come on!

When Marcin heard this, he immediately woke up completely and stood up. Artur was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a drink, and judging by the empty cans, Tomek had already drained his.

"Hi Artur!" Marcin greeted him.

"Hey! Sit down and drink, we're going out soon; we'll need some food. "

Marcin didn't answer, just sat down and gulped down his Gingerbread.

"Where are the cigarettes?" Marcin asked

. Artur pointed to the refrigerator. Marcin looked in that direction and saw a still-sealed pack of Marlboros. He went to the refrigerator and started to open it, but Tomek came over and grabbed the pack from his hands.

"Not here! Not in the apartment!" he explained.

"Okay, I'm going to get some fresh air."

He put on his shoes and left. Artur and Tomek followed.

They stopped in the parking lot in front of the apartment building. Marcin opened the package and shared it with his friends. Tomek managed to find a way to light it. After a few moments, Artur spoke up.

"So what do we do now?"

A long moment passed before anyone answered

. "I have a clan meeting at 4 p.m. today, I think I'll have internet on this laptop," Marcin said

. "Okay, what are we going to do until then?

" "Maybe we should go wander around town?" Tomek suggested

. Marcin and Artur agreed.

Chapter VI

Marcin, Tomek, and Artur walked slowly through the market square, looking around. Grocery stores, second-hand shops, clothing stores, automotive stores, liquor stores…

They stopped at such a store. They went inside. The line was short, only a few rather groggy customers. Marcin took his place behind them.

"I'd like 12 Reds.

" "I'd like your commander .

" "I'm sorry, I don't have any. I'd like those Reds, please."

"You want me to call the police?

" "What, I can't even buy Reds!?"

Then all three of them left the store.

"Fuck, how stupid, they won't even sell us beer. Oh my god," Artur said regretfully.

Marcin and Tomek didn't respond, just sat down on a nearby bench. After a long moment, Tomek spoke up.

"Maybe we can at least pick up a girl? At least on the phone?

" "Ugh, no chance with a guy like that, no one will fall for you," Marcin replied.

"Well, we can try."

Tomek pulled out his Communicator and started taking pictures, then opened it and started doing whatever came to mind. A few moments later, Tomek was sitting without his phone. Some fucking skater snatched it from his hands and ran off.

"Not bad. The phone count is minus one," Artur said.

The three of them sat on the bench in silence for a while longer, then they got up and went for pizza and then to Grandma's apartment.

"Well, our lives are screwed..." Marcin declared.

Their friends nodded and said nothing. It was only 2 p.m. on their second day in Poland, and they were already fed up. They didn't know how much longer they would have to stay in this country or what exactly they were supposed to do.

Grandma returned home at 4 p.m., finding Marcin in front of the computer and Tomek and Artur staring blankly at the TV.

"I'm with the kids!" she greeted them, but only after a long moment did Marcin speak

, "Hello!", and return to his game. That was the end of their conversation. The whole day had flown by.

Chapter VII

The next few days were very similar. They only had six phone calls left. M48 never once surprised them. They were terribly bored, and they spent entire days and nights wandering around the city. They still lived at Tomek's grandmother's house. They managed to find a liquor store where they could always buy drinks, and near it there was a bench where they often sat and sipped their drinks. They didn't know exactly what to do with themselves. A whole month passed like that. Tomek couldn't handle it anymore. He fell into depression. He started spending entire days in front of his computer, leaving only to go to the bathroom or pick up a previously ordered pizza. He missed all his old friends, whom he had abandoned without even saying goodbye. When he called M48, he always got his stupid voicemail. Marcin and Artur were also on the verge of a mental breakdown, but fortunately, they felt better than Tomek. All three wanted to return home on their own, but it was impossible because they had no identity documents. They were stranded in Poland. No job, no home, no information on what to do next. Simply empty…

A better way

"Why does everything have to be so difficult?" she thought, opening another bottle of wine. She drank more and more each day. She didn't think about the fact that, from a certain point on, the glass and the mirror had become her best friends. It didn't matter. She did what she did because she was sad. She drank to avoid falling into the abyss of despair he left behind when he left... The one who promised love and friendship forever was gone... As she poured more of the red liquid into herself, she forgot all the pain and pleasure she had experienced with him. It was simply easier this way – alcohol gave her this extraordinary power to laugh at the whole situation. Sober, she couldn't do that – she couldn't look at her life optimistically. The wine gave her courage, so she gazed into the glass with hope. When she drank, she believed she would find lost meaning, be able to find new purpose. She couldn't believe those who told her that what she was doing wouldn't solve her problems, but would only create new ones... How could she trust them when it wasn't true? After a few sips, hundreds of ideas came to mind... and she didn't act on them simply because she didn't have enough strength yet. She explained to them that she needed to decompress: "How can I do anything when He's taken away my last strength?" But they refused to believe she would be able to live a normal life. They resented her for retreating into herself, or rather, at home, and refusing to talk to them. Or perhaps they were angry that she wouldn't listen to them, that they had stopped influencing her life...

But she didn't care, didn't notice that the phone wouldn't ring all day, that her doorbell was increasingly silent. By locking herself in her apartment, she had become dead to the world and to the people she once called friends. However, she condemned herself to this when she rejected the help and good advice of her loved ones. She didn't need them at that moment; now she had found a new way to spend her time. She had found something that didn't ask unnecessary questions, didn't intrude on her private life, and above all, didn't try to convince her what was good and what wasn't for her. It was a glass that had always listened patiently and offered her a kind of comfort with its contents—just what she needed now. Drinking, she didn't dwell on memories of sobriety, which she clearly associated only with Him. The wine allowed her to forget about His eyes, His lips, His hands—simply Him. When she wasn't taking this wonderful "anti-sadness" pill, He appeared before her eyes—she felt Him touching her and speaking sweet phrases to her, which she naively believed every time, because why shouldn't she? After all, she trusted Him implicitly. On the one hand, she liked to return to the way things were. For a time, she even tried to live in an unrealistic world created for her own needs, where life was close to ideal. However, in the long run, it made no sense, because why immerse yourself in something that would never come true? Why waste so much energy when you'd never feel someone's warmth, breath, or smile? Because what can derive pleasure from communing with characters and events that are made of nothing but air and exist only in our consciousness lead to? Of course, following this path will lead us to one place – a mysterious room, without windows and with a door that only goes one way, where we will ultimately sink into the claustrophobic world of our lost ideal. She knew this well – that's why she desperately wanted to find something to distract her from the vision of "closed doors." She searched for a long time. She wandered down many paths and couldn't find one. She started with friends and family, but despair overcame her at the sound of the words: "Get a grip – you'll forget eventually" or "Everything will work out somehow." It pained her that they – her loved ones – couldn't understand one thing: that she didn't want to forget; on the contrary, she wanted to remember. And her only goal was to adapt appropriately to the new situation. She didn't know how someone could be so thoughtless, how someone could repeat slogans that everyone knows and knows are not easily adopted into the circle of principles that guide us. Yes, they become obvious over time, but probably no one ever fully acknowledges them, and above all, accepts them immediately. It's so difficult that it takes a long time.But why didn't anyone around her understand this? She didn't know, and she probably never would. It was this that made her decide to cut them out of her life, or if that couldn't be done, at least limit their interference in her distinct and definitively different world.

By cutting off her friends, she began to have more time for herself. But was it a good move for her? She knew perfectly well that this wasn't advisable, not even a little. The more free time, the more opportunities to wander through memories—which she couldn't afford anymore. So she kept searching, until she finally found it.

Walking down a dark street one evening, she came across a pub. She entered and ordered a glass of wine. Then a second, a third... the more she drank, the better she felt. She no longer remembered what had been, nor did she think about what was, nor did she ponder what would come—she simply lived in the moment and reveled in having her mind cleansed of the past. Happy, she returned home and fell asleep. For the first time in a long time, she didn't dream of Him, of their life together—her peaceful, memory-free sleep filled her with joy and finally allowed her to fully relax. When she woke up, her state of sadness suddenly vanished. But she already knew exactly what she had to do to summon Him. Equipped with a miracle cure, she locked herself in her house and began to enjoy life. With her new friend, the glass, she was certain she would conquer the world. There was only one thing she hadn't foreseen: that in time, she wouldn't be the conqueror, but the vanquished. She was unaware of the impending danger – she thought she had everything under control and was the master of the situation. How beautiful that sounds... suddenly, from a victim consumed by memories, she transformed into an executioner, placing head after head on the gallows without the slightest blink of an eye. The murder weapon was the glass, and the victim was the wonderful memories, along with the past.

Yet sometimes she caught herself drinking not because she wanted to, but because she had to... Slowly, her friend, the glass, became the master of the situation – but she still trusted it – she knew that since they were friends, it would not harm her. Day by day, she believed it less and less, until she finally understood that the moment she entered that bar and discovered the red antidote to sadness, she'd tied a thick, strong rope to her neck with a heavy stone that systematically pulled her down. So deep that in another moment she wouldn't be able to get out. She was already in serious trouble. She couldn't ignore the murmur of the wine in her glass; she couldn't refuse him. At one of his soft whispers, she'd come running—the wavelengths he broadcast on were encoded in her mind. She couldn't ignore that sound. Whenever she thought she was close to freeing herself from the shackles of slavery, he imposed new demands, and she passively submitted. She couldn't refuse him; he was too strong and had the advantage over her: he offered her the escape from her memories she so desperately needed.

And so she waged a lonely battle with alcohol, but she knew full well she was doomed to failure. She wouldn't win, she wouldn't defeat it, because things had gone too far, it had penetrated too deeply into her life, too deeply into her consciousness.

Until finally, He appeared – the one who had brought all these problems upon her. He finally understood that just as she couldn't live without Him, He couldn't live without her. By rejecting themselves, they had severed half of their souls, which is essential for proper functioning. When he finally understood this, he decided to seek her out and apologize for all the troubles he had left her with his departure. With unfeigned joy, she threw herself into his arms and allowed Him to direct her life – her new life, free from the past. Drowned in His broad arms, enveloped in His warmth, she trusted Him and fell in love again. And the glass was placed in the dark closet, where she locked away her memories, sadness, and regret along with it. No one has even tried to look for the key to the wardrobe until now, because why release the past when one exists in the present in a much better and much safer way?