Cottage

The forest was a dark place, an impenetrable land, and she couldn't know what awaited her once she entered. But she had to walk this section of the path, just like all the others. There was no turning back; she was in a hurry. The path she was following disappeared a few meters ahead, slowing slightly as she passed the first trees. They seemed alive. Beautiful, enormous pines stood silently, watching her steps in the darkness. She knew this path and was almost certain she could manage; it wasn't far, after all. But she had never walked this way at night without a flashlight. Every step was a risk; she couldn't see anything, and there might be a root in the way, she might get lost. Was she even sticking to the path? All she could hear was the gentle rustle of the upper leaves of the birch trees growing here and her own restless breathing. With her hands stretched out in front of her, she tried to touch the air in front of her, trying to see the path. But she couldn't. She touched something and stopped, her heart pounding. But after a moment, she realized it was a tree trunk, just rough bark and that familiar smell. She left the path. Which way should she go now? I'll go left, she thought. She walked slower, so as not to get lost, but unfortunately, she touched the tree again. I'll be late, no, I can't be late, she thought, growing increasingly nervous. She sped up a little, this time veering slightly to the right. She walked for a minute without touching anything. As long as I walk this path during the day, ten minutes at most, I have to succeed, I can't get lost now. It's so important, I can feel what's happening to my body. She touched something, but it wasn't the tree trunk. She almost screamed in terror. She pulled her hands away and curled into herself. She heard nothing new, the silence punctured by the rustling of trees and the hooting of a tawny owl, her own breathing, and nothing else. But what was it, what she touched, something at arm's length. She slowly raised her hand and touched something flat, cold, and alien in this place. I must have gotten very lost; it must be a wall. Touching the wall, she went left. When she reached the end, she turned and continued walking until she came to a doorframe and a door. Where am I, what is this place? She opened the door and went inside. In the darkness, she crossed the room and found a table with a candle and matches on it. She lit a candle and was about to leave when she felt a contraction combined with pain. Only this time the pain was so intense that she lost her breath. After a moment that felt like an eternity, the contraction passed. She took the candle outside, but she hadn't gone far before the flame went out. I have to go back for the matches, she thought. The next contraction was stronger than the last. She knelt down and breathed rapidly to ease the pain, but nothing helped. When it ended, she stood up and groped her way back to the cottage in the middle of the forest. Before she could find the table, however, she fell to her knees again, breathing rapidly. "I won't make it! I won't make it! I'll give birth here in the forest without anyone's help." Terrified, she cried, and even though the pain had subsided for a moment, she remained on her knees. She needed to gather her thoughts, but she couldn't.She cried as another contraction ripped through her belly and lower back. And when it ended, her mind returned. She stood and lit a candle. She placed it on the table and looked around the room. "I'll give birth to my child here," she thought, and then said aloud: "Honey, we'll see each other soon for the first time, by candlelight, in an old cottage in the middle of the forest. You'll see the little one. We'll be happy together." A bed stood against the wall where the door had been. She approached it and wondered whether to lie down or not. And when another contraction came, she knelt before the bed and decided to lie down for a moment. It wasn't dirty. It even looked freshly made. She lay down and waited for the next contractions and the breaks between them. The silence in the cottage was almost palpable; she couldn't hear the trees, only her own thoughts and screams as she couldn't bear the pain anymore. Finally, she felt something else, something telling her to get out of bed, but she couldn't get up, so she knelt on the sheets and knew what to do. She pushed as hard as she could, gritting her teeth and eyes. Then she breathed rapidly, trying to get enough air into her lungs so she wouldn't run out when she pushed again, but she didn't have time; the next contraction came too quickly. She pushed with all her strength and choked. Another moment of rest, another breath, and another contraction came before she could catch her breath. She pushed, choking harder and harder, the pain tearing at her lower body, she felt like she was about to burst. So this must be it, she thought. She gathered all her strength and willpower and pushed endlessly. She felt it happening, the baby coming out. She touched the head with her hands and helped the baby out of herself. It took a moment longer, she had to keep pushing, but finally the baby came out and she took it in her arms. They looked into each other's eyes. She and he. He's so beautiful, he has such wise eyes, and he knows I'm his mother. She savored the moment and forgot about the birth. But after a moment, the placenta, which she still had to deliver, reminded her. She bit off the umbilical cord and threw everything into a bucket on the other side of the room. The baby whimpered, sighed, and closed its eyes. "Don't fall asleep, little one," the mother thought. She lay down next to him and watched her son for several hours. She gave him her breast to suck, and after a few hours, she fell asleep. When she woke up, it was light, and she saw the little one sleeping beside her. "I have to go home." She wrapped the baby in a sheet and left the house. She carried the little one and walked until she reached the town. Then she told him about what had happened to her, but no one had ever seen that house again, and she never found it again.A bed stood against the wall where the door was. She approached it and wondered whether to lie down or not. And when another contraction came, she knelt in front of the bed and decided to lie down for a moment. It wasn't dirty. It even looked freshly made. She lay down and waited for the next contractions and the breaks between them. The silence in the cottage was almost palpable; she couldn't hear the trees, only her own thoughts and screams when she couldn't bear the pain anymore. Finally, she felt something else, something telling her to get out of bed, but she couldn't get up, so she knelt on the sheets and knew what to do. She pushed as hard as she could, gritting her teeth and eyes. Then she breathed rapidly, trying to get air into her lungs to keep it going when she pushed again, but she didn't have time; the next contraction came too quickly. She pushed with all her might and choked. Another moment of rest, breathing in reserve, and another contraction arrived before she could catch her breath. She pushed harder and harder, choking, the pain down below was tearing her apart, she felt like she was about to burst. So this must be it, she thought. She gathered all her strength and willpower and pushed endlessly. She felt it happening, the baby coming out. She touched the baby's head with her hands and helped it out of herself. It took a moment longer, she had to keep pushing, but finally the baby came out and she took it in her arms. They looked into each other's eyes. She and he. How beautiful he was, with such a wise look in his eyes, and he knew I was his mother. She savored the moment and forgot about the birth. But after a moment, the placenta, which she still had to deliver, reminded her. She bit off the umbilical cord and dumped everything into a bucket on the other side of the room. The baby whimpered, sighed, and closed its eyes. Don't fall asleep, little one, the mother thought. She lay down next to him and watched her son for several hours. She gave him her breast to suck, and after a few hours, she fell asleep. When she woke up, it was light, and she saw the little boy sleeping beside her. "I have to go home." She wrapped the baby in a sheet and left the house. She carried the little boy and walked until she reached the town. Then she told me about what had happened to her, but no one had ever seen that house again, and she never found it again.A bed stood against the wall where the door was. She approached it and wondered whether to lie down or not. And when another contraction came, she knelt in front of the bed and decided to lie down for a moment. It wasn't dirty. It even looked freshly made. She lay down and waited for the next contractions and the breaks between them. The silence in the cottage was almost palpable; she couldn't hear the trees, only her own thoughts and screams when she couldn't bear the pain anymore. Finally, she felt something else, something telling her to get out of bed, but she couldn't get up, so she knelt on the sheets and knew what to do. She pushed as hard as she could, gritting her teeth and eyes. Then she breathed rapidly, trying to get air into her lungs to keep it going when she pushed again, but she didn't have time; the next contraction came too quickly. She pushed with all her might and choked. Another moment of rest, breathing in reserve, and another contraction arrived before she could catch her breath. She pushed harder and harder, choking, the pain down below was tearing her apart, she felt like she was about to burst. So this must be it, she thought. She gathered all her strength and willpower and pushed endlessly. She felt it happening, the baby coming out. She touched the baby's head with her hands and helped it out of herself. It took a moment longer, she had to keep pushing, but finally the baby came out and she took it in her arms. They looked into each other's eyes. She and he. How beautiful he was, with such a wise look in his eyes, and he knew I was his mother. She savored the moment and forgot about the birth. But after a moment, the placenta, which she still had to deliver, reminded her. She bit off the umbilical cord and dumped everything into a bucket on the other side of the room. The baby whimpered, sighed, and closed its eyes. Don't fall asleep, little one, the mother thought. She lay down next to him and watched her son for several hours. She gave him her breast to suck, and after a few hours, she fell asleep. When she woke up, it was light, and she saw the little boy sleeping beside her. "I have to go home." She wrapped the baby in a sheet and left the house. She carried the little boy and walked until she reached the town. Then she told me about what had happened to her, but no one had ever seen that house again, and she never found it again.The next contraction came too quickly. She pushed with all her might and choked. Another moment of rest and breathing, and another contraction came before she could catch her breath. She pushed, choking harder and harder; the pain was tearing her apart down below, she felt like she was about to burst. So this must be it, she thought. She summoned all her strength and willpower and pushed endlessly. She felt it happening, the baby coming out. She touched the baby's head with her hands and helped the baby out of herself. It took a moment longer, she had to keep pushing, but finally the baby came out and she took it in her arms. They looked into each other's eyes. She and he. How beautiful he was, with such a wise gaze, and he knew I was his mother. She savored the moment and forgot about the birth. But after a moment, the placenta, which she still had to deliver, reminded her. She bit off the umbilical cord and dumped everything into a bucket on the other side of the room. The baby whimpered, sighed, and closed its eyes. Don't fall asleep, little one, his mother thought. She lay down next to him and watched her son for several hours. She nursed him, and after a few hours, she fell asleep. When she woke up, it was light, and she saw the little one sleeping beside her. I have to go home. She wrapped the baby in a sheet and left the house. She carried the little one and walked on. Until she reached the town. Then she told him about what had happened to her, but no one had ever seen that house again, and she never found it again.The next contraction came too quickly. She pushed with all her might and choked. Another moment of rest and breathing, and another contraction came before she could catch her breath. She pushed, choking harder and harder; the pain was tearing her apart down below, she felt like she was about to burst. So this must be it, she thought. She summoned all her strength and willpower and pushed endlessly. She felt it happening, the baby coming out. She touched the baby's head with her hands and helped the baby out of herself. It took a moment longer, she had to keep pushing, but finally the baby came out and she took it in her arms. They looked into each other's eyes. She and he. How beautiful he was, with such a wise gaze, and he knew I was his mother. She savored the moment and forgot about the birth. But after a moment, the placenta, which she still had to deliver, reminded her. She bit off the umbilical cord and dumped everything into a bucket on the other side of the room. The baby whimpered, sighed, and closed its eyes. Don't fall asleep, little one, his mother thought. She lay down next to him and watched her son for several hours. She nursed him, and after a few hours, she fell asleep. When she woke up, it was light, and she saw the little one sleeping beside her. I have to go home. She wrapped the baby in a sheet and left the house. She carried the little one and walked on. Until she reached the town. Then she told him about what had happened to her, but no one had ever seen that house again, and she never found it again.

Cosmic Conspiracies

A commercial skate cog sailed across the roaring northern waters, laden with cargo from Tremes, a port town nestled between the fjords, to Kasterkar. A strong wind tossed the cog in all directions. Hectoliters of water poured from the cloud-black sky. The cog's skates helped keep it upright, but they would have been a huge problem if the ship had run aground. The sailors struggled with the square sail, which was flopping like a fish on land. Two sailors shouted at each other, trying to keep the sail level. In the doorway to the lower deck stood a captain with a goatee and short mustache, a small scar under his right eye, and a long yellow hooded coat. The captain directed the sailors, barely able to keep his feet from the rising wind. The sailors struggled with the lines. Suddenly, one of them was thrown from the mast as if by a slingshot by a sudden gust of wind. He held on to the rope, circled the choppy waves, and returned to the deck. He struck the wooden mast and fell like a log to the ground. Without a second thought, the captain rushed to the rescue. He grabbed the unfortunate man by the collar and, with great effort, dragged him into the room. He called another sailor to help him hold the sail. The second sailor ran to the deck in just his undershirt and, like a cat, climbed the mast. The ropes twisted wildly, and the sailor barely managed to grab the thickest one, corresponding to the position of the sail. The sailor who had fallen from the mast lay in the room with a gash in his head, clutching his bleeding wound, applying a wet cloth to the wound. The lamps hanging on the deck had long since extinguished by the rain, even though they were supposed to be waterproof. The wind continued. Suddenly, reflections of light appeared on the water. The captain, with great curiosity, crawled to the side. The reflections visible in the distance were approaching the ship. The captain clung to the railing. Underwater, he saw the outline of what looked like a large fish. Suddenly, the object leaped from the water and hovered several meters above the ship. The captain examined the faintly glowing object, its outline resembling a thick, elongated cigar. He also saw the large, engraved letters XQ. The object brightened slightly and moved like an arrow, away from the ship, further causing an unimaginable gust of air. The cog capsized.

Right

Two great armies faced each other. Two armored forces with arguments of steel. The men turned their weapons against each other. In a few moments, they would fall upon each other and begin killing. Which was better? Neither knew, but each fought to defend his own. Another battle would soon begin, one that would resolve nothing.

He was there too. He stood among similar, indistinguishable soldiers. Fear united them all, transforming them into puppets holding weapons. He stood, clutching a banner. The most precious thing he had ever seen. He was ready to die for it. But neither he nor any other soldier could realize that he was actually holding a long pole with a red flag unfurled, with some colorful painting on it. For him and the puppets with him, it was the most magnificent symbol. A symbol of the cause they had known since childhood, in which they believed, which kept them alive… and for which they would soon begin killing.

Finally, at a signal from a better-dressed puppet, the battle began, and the large armored regiments charged at each other. He too moved, still holding the banner. Like the other puppets, he lashed out at the enemy with an incomprehensible, blind rage. Steel clashed against steel. The earth opened its weary mouth and began to drink blood in disgust. But he no longer saw blood, suffering, or pain. He shut off his mind and did what others did—fought.

He still proudly held the red flag, giving strength to his entire regiment.

The fight was fierce. Besides… what isn't fierce? Many, many, many died. Most of the puppets later felt that too many had died. His regiment began to win. The banner he held waved proudly above the bodies of his enemies like a stick stuck in a pile of mangled corpses. Suddenly, the enemy saw a glimmer of hope—the toppling of the banner. A large group charged at him. He defended himself bravely, and several began to help him, but all perished. Eventually, he too began to weaken, but he continued to fight and defend the banner. He was wounded many times, but he persevered. Unfortunately, under the enemy's pressure, the banner slipped from his hands and fell to the ground. With his last remaining strength, he picked it up and continued fighting.

Finally, peace returned to the battlefield. He could breathe a sigh of relief. He was greatly surprised to find that the enemies were not attacking him, but were simply pressing forward. What terrified him was the loss of his cause. He couldn't bear to watch his friends being slaughtered, and what he had always believed in slowly fading into oblivion. He didn't understand why the battle had taken such a sudden turn, and why his cause was suddenly in a losing position. After all, he had defended the banner and raised it from the ground at a critical moment. He looked with pain and resignation at the torn flag fluttering in the wind, and when he saw it, he froze with terror and stood there until the end of the battle...

The flag was blue...

Associate Professor

She met him when she was fifteen, her head full of dreams of love's ups and downs, spinning absurd fantasies about every boy she met. They met at language school when she was starting a preparatory course for the FCE, radiating skill and talent. For the first nine months of their acquaintance, nothing worth remembering happened. She breezed through the course, absorbing English like a sponge absorbs water. Without realizing it, she had turned it into the greatest passion of her short life.

June brought changes. On the last day of the course, the teacher took them out for a cola, celebrating their completed collaboration and the rapidly approaching exam. And on that warm June afternoon, they actually talked for the first time. And neither realized how important that conversation would become to them.

On the way home, walking along the sidewalk and feeling the warm sun on her face, she realized something had changed. She didn't yet know what it was, or how significant the change was, but she was certain that this day was no ordinary day in her life.

And then the problems began.

*

Natalia Stankiewicz, a twenty-two-year-old student, couldn't believe her eyes. She froze, bent over the shoe she'd just tied, her mouth half-open as someone she'd forgotten entered the hallway and as they casually chatted with her employer. Her chest pounded, her breath suddenly shortened and became ragged. "My God," she thought after a few long seconds, "the world really is so small."

Mrs. Nagły had two children – ten-year-old Anetka and twelve-year-old Dawid. Both were enrolled in private foreign language lessons. Natalia taught little Anetka the basics of French, while Dawid, reluctantly, learned English. And although she'd been working for Mrs. Nagły for a month and a half, she'd never seen teacher Dawid, who arrived every Thursday afternoon just minutes after she left. It had never occurred to her to question his identity.

It would never have occurred to her that he was her former teacher. The same one she'd been in love with for eight excruciatingly long months.

The man turned and gave her a strange look. She froze for a second time, feeling herself blushing. "This can't be happening!" she thought in panic. "I wasn't supposed to see him again! I'm over it! Whatever it was, I got over it a long time ago!" None of these thoughts prevented her from noticing how much he had changed. His blond hair, though still quite long and thick, no longer fell into his eyes like it used to. The goatee she'd never seen him with was flecked with gray, and the faint wrinkles around his eyes, which she remembered from six years ago, had deepened. The eyes themselves seemed completely different from those before—much older and less cheerful. But he was still thin and tall, his features still irregular, and the same crooked smile was still on his face.

Mrs. Nagły's voice snapped her out of her trance, quickly and politely introducing them to each other.

Natalia felt her tongue failing her. Unsure what to say, she simply bit her lower lip. Mateusz Sokołowski remained silent, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Nice to meet you," he said after a moment, still looking at her strangely.

And suddenly she realized he hadn't recognized her. For a brief moment, she felt hurt ("What do you mean, he doesn't remember me?"), but a moment later she pushed aside the negative feelings and almost burst under the onslaught of a thousand mischievous thoughts. Regardless, she emerged from her state of total surprise unscathed, having an advantage over her opponent. "Ha. Nothing like having control over the situation."

"The pleasure's all mine," she replied in fluent English, raising an eyebrow and offering him her hand. "It's just a shame we already know each other. My name is Natalie."

Her triumph, however, contrary to her expectations, was short-lived. She fell at the first glint in his eye, at his first attentive glance, at his enigmatic smile. And when he opened his mouth and spoke, she lay there, defeated, on the battlefield, with no prospect of compromise.

"Hello again, Natalie. You've changed."

*

The next month passed in constant mood swings and battles with her thoughts, the scales of victory swinging from one side to another, and even three. Her heart laughed and rejoiced, rejoicing in the fulfillment of a dream. She'd been thinking about meeting him when she was twenty since high school, fueling a long-lasting infatuation that lingered only on the memory of one brief conversation and various fantasies of a possible future together. She'd known then that she'd been too young and naive to expect anything, so her dreams were enough. And now, with one of them coming true, she didn't know what to do.

Her heart told her to subtly prolong Anetka's lessons so that she might accidentally, deliberately, stumble upon him again. Reason reminded her that right after her ten-year-old class, she had English with fourteen-year-old Karol, on the other side of town. Reason also dictated restraint. She remembered her infatuation well – it had lasted perhaps eight months, but during that time, she'd only seen him twice, and after the second time, the entire crush had died a tragic death, never having given any sign of returning to the world of the living. You idealized him, reason suggested, it seemed to you that you'd met a guy with whom you had something in common, with whom you had something in common. But then you grew up a bit and dismissed the whole story as a fairy tale. And she was right.

She partly agreed with her reason. Still hoping that by some miracle they would meet again, she regretfully gave up on her scheming. "Whatever will be, will be. I wash my hands of it." And then her wish came true.

He was waiting for her in the parking lot in front of the building, leaning back against his shiny Golf IV and drumming his fingers on the body. He spotted her wrapping a scarf around her neck as she emerged from the stairwell.

"Good evening, Natalie. Nice to see you.

" Her heart leaped, and she almost slipped in a frozen puddle. Feeling a growing tightness in her chest, she plastered on a broad smile and stood beside him, automatically switching to English. She couldn't remember ever speaking another language. Polish seemed terribly unnatural between Mateusz and her.

"Good evening. Why aren't you coming upstairs?

" "See, I've been waiting for you," he replied, shrugging. "For the past month, I've been trying to come as early as possible to see you again. To no avail. So today I decided to wait for you on purpose."

He had upset her again. She hated it. She hated the lack of control over her emotions and her behavior. She got it from her mother, who taught her to always keep her head held high and never give up. In every area of ​​her life, she'd always taken the initiative. When the tables were turned, she'd completely lost it.

"Is there any special reason you wanted to see me?" she finally managed, stumbling. Mateusz's smile widened.

"Of course. I wanted to talk to you.

" "Really?" she murmured. "What did you want to talk about?

" "About everything and nothing. Just to talk. We haven't seen each other in a while.

" "Yes..." she nodded quietly. And suddenly she felt more confident. "But you see, there's a slight problem. My bus leaves in two minutes, and if I don't take it, I'll be late for my second tutoring session.

Alternating between calling herself an idiot and praising herself for her control, she looked at him apologetically and was just about to head for the bus stop when he stopped her by grabbing her forearm. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Is it far? I can give you a ride if you want.

" "But... But you'll be late for David's," she objected, completely taken aback.

"I can always call and say I'll be there a few minutes later."

She gave up. She still had half a century to be assertive.

*

Iga Han, her best friend and recently also her roommate, was a bit unsettled by the whole incident. Sitting on her bed in their small apartment, looking at Natalia over the top of her black glasses, she tried to explain her point of view as delicately as possible.

"I don't know what to think about it," she said. "On the one hand, he's just a guy, and you shouldn't worry about him. Whatever happens, will happen." Either you'll get back together or you won't. You know perfectly well I don't have much experience in this area.

Natalia frowned, giving her a warning look. Iga liked to feel sorry for herself.

"But on the other hand," she continued, ignoring her friend. "You told me yourself that in all the time you haven't seen each other, he's already married and divorced, which, in my opinion, is worth considering. And besides, you don't know him at all. Now the question is whether you want to get to know him better, because I think that's what this is all about."

Natalia nodded silently, too occupied with the hope budding in her heart and the growing desire to learn everything she could about him to bother answering. During the ten-minute car ride, she'd learned that he was divorced, that he was pursuing a second degree in sociology, and that he still brought homemade cheese pancakes to work. She also managed to boast to him that two years ago she'd passed her CPE with an A and gotten into the English translation program at the University of Silesia. She didn't fail to inform him that she'd managed to master French at an advanced level and, in the meantime, had also casually started learning German. His satisfaction that she hadn't abandoned languages ​​practically glued wings to her back, and she barely managed to keep herself from flying into the air. She had to be careful.

Iga snapped her out

of her reverie. "But you see," she added, avoiding her gaze. "There's something important. I hope you won't take this personally, because it's nothing personal... But this Mateusz is thirty-five, right? And thirty-five-year-old guys quite often look at much younger skirts, right? How old are you? Thirteen? I really wouldn't want you to get carried away..." Ignored

, the wings fell off with a thud.

For the entire week, she functioned apathetically, from lecture to lecture, from tutoring to translation. She felt completely drained of energy, unattractive, uninteresting, boring, unimportant. Iga's kind words didn't help, nor did the steaming lemon balm, nor did the long, hot bath in her parents' apartment. She no longer even had the strength to reproach herself for her stupidity or to remind herself to control her emotions.

The following Thursday, she arrived at Anetka's early, finished early, and then calmly took the bus to Karol's. The lesson went without any significant changes; she collected her paycheck, dressed, and left, heading back to the bus stop.

She didn't get far. A graphite Golf IV surprised her on the sidewalk in front of the building, and Mateusz, emerging from the window, left her completely stunned.

"Hello!" he called, grinning. "Need a ride?"

"Ah..." she stammered, finally coming to her senses after a short while. "N-no, really, there's no need, I'll take the bus.

" "But I insist. Look how snowy it is. You can't ride buses in this weather.

" "Shouldn't you be at David's now?" she asked sharply, trying not to look him in the eye for too long, afraid that her entire breakdown would prove pointless.

"I left early," he replied simply. "Get in, don't freeze."

Against all logic, she got in. And immediately regretted it. He was looking at her so intensely, so strangely, like she'd never imagined anyone could look at her. A shiver ran down her spine.

Mateusz set off and, following her directions, led the way toward the town where he and Iga lived. For the first few minutes, the conversation was rather one-sided: Mateusz talked mostly about his work, while Natalia limited herself to occasional words and nods. Halfway there, she stopped talking altogether. And towards the end, when she was barely paying attention to him, his monologue exceeded her wildest expectations.

"Listen, Natalie... What are you doing on Sunday? You see... I have a free moment, one of my tutoring sessions has fallen through, and I'd love to go out for coffee. Would you like some?

"His tutoring sessions have fallen through!" she thought, indignant. "Doesn't he do anything else but work? He's always teaching at a language school in the afternoon, at a primary school in the morning, giving countless private lessons... No private life." Iga's words, echoing in her head, combined with the recurring doubts from six years ago, made her bristle. "That's exactly why I stopped crushing on him! I discovered he's a heartless careerist!"

"I'm so sorry," she said coldly. "But I'm busy this Sunday." She

glared at him so hard that he never mentioned it again.

For two days, it seemed to her that he was behind her and that nothing stood in her way of continuing her life as before. She spent the weekend with her parents and, treating the whole situation as just another amusing anecdote, told them about the entire abstract incident, turning it all into a joke. A strange unease gripped her as she noticed her mother's warning glances and her seemingly innocent negative comments about Mateusz. She even went so far as to casually mention that she wouldn't be thrilled if their Sunday meeting happened. Natalia merely laughed and assured her that it wasn't possible. Despite this, she felt uneasy inside.

The week at university had passed rather peacefully. The exam period was behind her, so she could devote herself to other activities. But instead of delving into the mysteries of German grammar, her thoughts increasingly wandered to Mateusz. Conflicting thoughts, visions, and feelings kept recurring in her mind. She didn't know if the feeling in her stomach was caused by longing or the awareness that she'd briefly considered something her normally unprejudiced mother considered immoral. On the other hand, her personal doubts weren't related to morality, but to his motives. Her mother's behavior had upset her and made her want to do something to spite her. "Why would she oppose it? Maybe I'd be happy with Mateusz, who knows. As a mother, she should want the best for me."

But she quickly reasoned with herself. "Getting upset won't change anything. I decided myself that dating him was pointless; I didn't need motherly advice at all," she thought, preparing for Thursday's classes. "I'm not going to change my mind just to oppose her."

He surprised her as she was leaving Anetka's that afternoon. He was standing in front of the building, his jacket open, his cheeks red, and a small bouquet of yellow roses in his hand. His car was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as he saw her, he smiled, somehow so sadly. Suddenly, he walked over and stood right next to her, taking her hands in his and placing the bouquet in them. Once again, she froze, her breathing becoming uneven.

"I'll be honest, because I've always been honest, and I'll be honest until the end of my life," he said quickly, looking at their joined hands. He took a deep breath and said nothing for a moment, still looking down. "It's damn hard to talk about these things, you know? But I really have nothing to lose. Remember that conversation we had at the end of the school year a few years ago?"

Her eyes widened, and she could only nod.

"Remember," he continued, "we talked about your future in English, right? It worked out." He smiled radiantly, looking up. "We also said we both preferred speaking English to Polish, remember? When you didn't show up for your fall course, I was disappointed. So much so that teaching the others stopped bringing me joy. And when you showed up at school, I felt revived... I didn't know what was happening then. Then you disappeared for good, and life went on as it did..." He stopped, taking a deep breath. "And then when I saw you again... It all came back. Only this time, I knew what it meant." He paused again. "I know you don't have time right now... But would you at least give me a chance? The invitation for coffee still stands."

Despite the protests of reason, she gave in. It was high time for reason to go on vacation.

In the restaurant

Restaurant Madness.

We had such a wild sexual fantasy that we were coming up with increasingly bizarre ideas.

Jola, for example, sensed that I liked her telling me made-up erotic stories. She always did it with such conviction and talent that I wasn't entirely sure if she was making it up or telling the truth.

I asked her about her progress at university, and she replied:

"We had a problem with a certain professor. He was sucking cocks into almost everyone. But one of them found a way to get over him. It turned out he'd do anything for a young pussy, almost anything.

After that introduction, he was already hard on me." Seeing this, Jola slowly took off her pants and sat on top of me, facing away from me.

"What was that way of dealing with the professor?

" "Very simple: for giving him a blowjob, the girl got a B, and for giving her pussy, an A.

" "Now the professor is still sucking cocks—but not for the journal," I replied.

"Well, you could say that," she replied, fiddling with my zipper.

"What did you get in that class?

" "I needed to raise my average and I wasn't about to take him in my mouth. So I knocked on his door and promised him that if he gave me an A, I'd show him something new.

He closed the door, and I sat him down in the armchair, took off my pants and panties, and did just that.

Then my Jola lifted her ass and sat on my cock, pushing it all the way up her ass. I was surprised by this move, so spontaneously, without preparation or caresses. Jola rode me with her tight hole, but sighed as she continued.

"It wasn't difficult because his penis was as big as your biggest finger. I fucked him all the way, then got dressed, and he gave me an A for creativity.

" "Didn't the girls ask what you have to do for an A?

" "They did, I said you just have to study and have it in your ass.

" "And now you have me there, and I'm about to fill you up."

"That's all I'm waiting for, my love." A few more sharp thrusts, and I had to hug and kiss her. Strange thoughts raced through my head. Why was today so different, and I pushed myself into her ass without ceremony?

Everything became clear: my darling was on her period and cravings for madness. The only way to reconcile this was Greek love. Her slit already contained one intruder – a tampon. She knew me well enough to know that such a story would evoke the right reaction. All I had to do was prepare well in advance and direct my thoughts in the right direction. Isn't that an art form in itself? I love her for that.

There's also a certain story in the restaurant, which involves a little voyeurism and a little Jola's stories. This adventure resonated throughout our later sex lives.

We had a big anniversary coming up. I decided to invite Jola to a restaurant that day. It would be a bargain, but it was quite elegant.

Of course, everything at our place was laced with sex. So this time, too, Jola received new underwear as a gift. Don't be surprised; after all, you buy it for yourself, so it's worth the investment. There was a beautifully decorated table, an elegant waiter, and wonderful delicacies. We already had something else in mind; I saw it in my girlfriend's eyes.

"Honey, remember that movie SLIVER with Sharon Stone?

" "I remember something.

" "Are you wearing that underwear you recently got?

" "I do.

" "So, show me that bra now.

" "I knew you'd come up with something. I can always count on you in situations like this."

She wore a long dress buttoned up to her neck, so it was quite a challenge. She deftly unbuttoned her dress, slowly revealing her charms. When she reached her breasts, she leaned forward a bit so I could get a better look. Maybe someone was watching us, although it wasn't crowded and we didn't care anyway. I saw the promised breasts in the bra, and I was already thinking about something else.

"And the panties, honey?

" "What, the panties, do you want to see?

" "I want them right here and now." She just smiled. This time, the long slit on the side of her dress made things a bit easier. She rolled the dress up to the other side of her thigh, slid her hands under the dress, and lifting her ass, pulled out the panties.

"Here," she said, handing them to me over the table for everyone to see.

"I won, just like in the movie.

" "No, honey, this is my movie. See that guy behind me on the left? Show him your pussy.

" "That wasn't in the script.

" "I told you this is my movie."

The guy was sitting alone at the table and was clearly interested in us.

"So, honey, are you giving up?"

She didn't say anything, just turned over, looked flirtatiously at the guy, and moved the bottom of her dress again so that her knees were visible. Then she placed her hands on the insides of her thighs, pulled them higher, pushing her dress aside and parting her thighs. If I could see everything so clearly, he had something to see too. Smooth thighs, caressed by her hands, parted, and between them lay dark, curly curls, always trimmed so that it was obvious whether her shell was just damp or still parted. This time, it was only damp, but the view was still promising. She tucked her magnificent legs under the table. Her hands brushed her dress.

And Jola declared,

"I win, end of scenario."

I was about to nod when a guest, charmed by Jola, approached us.

"Can I buy you a drink and sit down for a moment?"

I looked at Jola, and she nodded, so I agreed.

He got straight to the point.

"Tell me, my dear, where did you find such a chick? Not only is she gorgeous, but she's also devilishly seductive and daring."

I winked at her knowingly and replied,

"I bought her for tonight, she's an exclusive young lady; I have a holiday today, and I went wild."

I kept glancing at Jola. If she got mad, I'd back out. I could only see her trying not to laugh.

"How much does such a pleasure cost, may I ask?"

"This gentleman," Jola replied, "paid only a thousand zlotys, but only for the restaurant.

" "And what if I add two more so we can all go to my place now?"

This completely caught us off guard; we didn't know what to say. The guy was intelligent enough to finish his drink and leave us to think.

"Want to try it?" Jola asked.

"And you?" I replied.

After a moment, I replied,

"I only love you, and it doesn't matter what we do, but on the other hand, it might turn out you prefer him more than me."

"Sure, I'm already in love with him."

"So, my dears, have you discussed this?" he asked, approaching again.

"Today doesn't really suit me," Jola replied, "maybe another time.

" "Maybe, here's my card, you don't have to worry about anything from me." "Now I have to find a real girl to go with me tonight; your girlfriend has really warmed me up,"

he said, winking at me knowingly.

And we had another topic to talk about, because, to be honest, we almost ended up at his house. I folded his card and put it in my pocket. Seeing this, Jola smiled at me and whispered,

"Worms, worms are in your head, and they'll creep up on me later. "

After a moment, she added,

"Let him wander around, that's not the kind of thing I'm thinking about."

"What, what, darling, will you tell me?" I asked.

Untitled

Laskowa—a small village hidden deep in the Beskid Mountains, tightly guarded by mountains and overgrowing forests. Laskowa—a village of three thousand inhabitants, a world where people don't lock their doors at night. My world. For the young, a place of buried ambition, for the old, the seclusion of a peaceful retirement. Yes, yes, time passes slower here, but contrary to appearances, this is not the fairytale land from Leśmian's poems. The beating of hearts quietly measures time. It's night. A scream. He quietly enters like a shadow. You can clearly hear his heavy, yet very controlled breathing. He blindly selects a few defenseless, young minds and, after a moment, says warmly, "Follow me..." But it's not the voice of Christ—it's the whisper of an inconspicuous addiction. "Follow me"—and they follow like a herd of possessed pigs. Then, the sand of words pours down. Family speaks, the priest speaks, friends speak—the words fall like rain. They flow helplessly from my face. They sink into the ground. It's useless, because I'm still hurtling with all my might into the abyss. My wild thoughts race and vanish—it's too late. In the morning, I wake up in a cold sweat, and it's different than ever before... From today on, I belong to Him. It wasn't a bad dream. This is how my story begins. A story full of vague joy, the taste of youthful madness, all the way to the piercing pain of playing with death.

I've been keeping a diary for a long time. I've never read it in its entirety, because reopening old wounds is too painful. Just because I write down my thoughts doesn't mean (as some might think) that I'm soft and can't cope with my psyche. I'm not looking for a fairy tale in life, and I fight to the end—that was the case this time, too.

As I mentioned, the specter of drugs caught me practically in my own backyard. Why did I let his dirty hands touch me? I don't know! Maybe it was a desire to impress my friends, maybe I wanted to forget about reality, or maybe the soda just went to my head.

Let's start one step at a time. I was a happy girl. I never complained about missing anything—well, maybe I missed my father a little, who was almost never home. I grew up without him, but I could accept that because I knew he was working away somewhere in the world so I could eat and wear clothes. I was—well, I'm incredibly grateful to him for that. I was bursting with happiness. How could a child with a loving family, a big, bright house, and so many ambitious, often unrealistic dreams be unhappy? I had two sisters, but we rarely played together, due to the significant age difference. My mother was busy with work, but she always found time for me. I loved it when she took me on trips, or when we worked together in the small garden. She taught me how to tell beech from hornbeam, how to pray, how to behave at the table like a "little lady." I love her. She was my role model, and I tried hard to emulate her in everything. She helped me see that happiness lies in a thousand everyday little things, and to achieve it, I simply need to believe in its power. Often, when I got a "F" in school or felt sad for some reason, she would say, "If you want your dream ship to sail, you must first build a harbor for it." I didn't understand her words, but I knew I had to get to work, and I studied hard to improve my grades. I have very fond memories of my childhood. Everything was wonderful, but there comes a time in every person's life when everything turns upside down. That's how it was for me, too.

It was going to be a beautiful day. But it wasn't an ordinary day – I'd been waiting for it for a long time, because my class and I were putting on a Father's Day play. My grandmother took me to school. Just above the door hung a large banner reading: "All dads welcome, fourth graders." Well, the teacher wasn't exactly original. I wasn't particularly important – more of a cameo character, but I was very keen on how I turned out. The clock struck ten. The teacher greeted the arriving fathers at the door, and we peeked from behind the curtain to see what was happening. We were getting impatient… Finally, the curtain fell, and we began singing the song. I looked around the room helplessly. Dozens of bearded faces smiled at us. All the dads were there except mine… I felt terribly sorry – how could he have forgotten?! I'd just handed him the invitation yesterday! It was my turn. Right after Kasia, I was supposed to step to the front and recite my poem. A complete flop. Halfway through, I stopped and returned to my seat. I didn't even feel any regret. I didn't care about anything anymore. I was furious. After the performance, I returned home. There was no one there. Well, yes—my sisters were at school, and Mom had mentioned something about going to Gliwice to visit Uncle Andrzej, the doctor. But where the hell was Dad? I thought to myself. Oh well! I'll take advantage of the silence and do my homework. I sat down. Suddenly, I heard the door slam slightly. It was Dad. He calmly took off his coat and went into the bedroom. Everything wasn't okay. He didn't say, "How are you, young lady?" as usual upon returning, and he didn't even look at me when I followed him.

"Why aren't you explaining yourself? How could you not come?!" I shouted, furious; I think I blamed him for my failure.

He turned and looked at me. He remained silent. The silence was penetrating, I admit, even irritating in its very essence. After a long moment, he said dryly,

"Sit down.

No!" This is too much, maybe he'll at least apologize?!

- I was in Gliwice with my mom. We didn't go to visit at all. She had to stay in the hospital for additional tests. Uncle Andrzej will take care of her.

- Why? What happened?

He looked into my eyes with a meaningful look. For a moment, I thought a tear welled up in his eye. It was the first time in my life I'd seen him like this.

- Mom... Mom has breast cancer...

- Cancer? What is it?

- It's a disease, but don't worry, everything will be fine.

I wasn't moved, perhaps because I didn't realize the gravity of the situation. Besides, my father hadn't told us everything. I thought my mother would be back tomorrow, or two days at most. The hospitalization turned out to be much longer. Finally, she came home. I don't remember how I reacted. However, the constant check-ups at the hospital consumed her completely, and the whole family focused mainly on this. I didn't resent the fact that we weren't going for walks or that she had little time for me (she was still weak and often in bed), because my father explained to me precisely what was happening. I had lost that carefree life. I had more responsibilities—I even had to learn to cook, but somehow I managed.

And so time passed. A month passed, then a year... I matured and understood the meaning of independence. But problems were not far from me. I had problems with school because I couldn't balance taking care of the house and my younger sisters with regular studies. My exemplary student days were now just a memory. May arrived. The weather was so beautiful, it would have been a sin to stay at school, especially since I was in danger of failing the next grade. Skipping school became my daily bread. However, I didn't ignore everything. My old ambitions and dreams of studying in Krakow hadn't completely fallen into disrepair. I was nervous about what would happen if I didn't pass; I couldn't afford it! I wanted to be someone, and studying was the only way to achieve that. I had no intention of sweeping floors my whole life and dying a housecleaner.

One day, I forgot everything—my studies, my dreams. During one of my skipping classes, I met Rafał. He was a friend of a friend, and I knew nothing about him. He immediately noticed I was tense. He asked what was going on. We sat down to one side, and for some reason, I cried into his shoulder. He was different—he seemed to understand me. I told him everything—about my mother, about school... He knew my worries and worries, and I didn't even know his name. I trusted him. We met a few more times. He impressed me with his personality and sensitivity. I eventually fell in love with him. He could play the guitar well and knew all the songs by my favorite band. He knew exactly how to manipulate me, and it wasn't that hard—I would do anything for him.

One day, when I was really down after another first, he asked directly,

"Do you want some?"

"What's this?"

"You'll feel better after this, you'll see! It really works!"

He slipped me a joint. He looked innocent, but I wasn't naive. Could my ideal man be a drug addict?! My thoughts were tangled in my head like stray dogs. I looked at him in disbelief.

"Are you crazy?! Do you smoke weed?

" "Yes, I do, but it's not that bad. You'll see—you'll get those y's off your chest.

" "No, thanks, I'd rather not," I replied.

I was still shocked by this news.

"Girl! You're a fan of Jam and you've never tried it?!

"You don't have to smoke to listen to Jam.

" "Hey... What are you doing? Don't trust me?

Great. He's driven me to a dead end. I care about him so much... My brain was racing – if I don't take it, I'll lose him, but from her perspective, I know it's a crime.

" "Come on..."

I said in an unsteady voice.

"Come on! I love you and I would never hurt you. I'm doing this for your own good."

He spoke with such conviction. I think he truly believed he was right. Without a word, I reached out and it happened. After a moment, my good mood returned. Very good. It was so blissful, so pleasant, I felt like the queen of the universe. Yes – it was a good idea. Why hadn't I done this before? I liked it and continued my dance of death. It didn't just end with marijuana; there was also, oh, alcohol. Eventually, I became addicted, but what good was that if I was head over heels in love?

Contrary to my initial beliefs, I quickly discovered that addiction wasn't about a blissful life with my beloved. It wasn't about my family's screams, because I ignored them, nor was it about the priest's morale, because I didn't care about that either. I began to worry about my body—what happens after taking them. At first, it was "cool," but then... I noticed that I was failing at what I do best, and I felt blessed by this state. Menstrual problems, frequent nausea, and other symptoms added to the mix. I was afraid. But hell was yet to come... I experienced the full splendor of the destructive power of evil. Sin has the unusual property of being sweet on the lips and bitter on the tongue.

One evening, I went to a party with a friend of his. Everyone was having a good time. Finally (as is our ritual), we smoked to lighten the mood. I'll never forget that day. A kind of animalistic ferocity awoke in Rafał. I thought he'd overdosed, and I said it would be better if we left... Then he flew into a rage. He hit me. I felt a searing pain on my cheek. I felt so humiliated! Then came a barrage of words aimed directly at my human pride. He called me a whore and a common slut. I left. It didn't affect me at first. For a while, I kept deluding myself that it was just a bad dream. The worst words wouldn't hurt me easily. I don't know how I got home. My mother was standing in the doorway. She said something, but I can't remember what it was because the event is hazy. But I remember that I flew into a rage and started screaming loudly. I said terrible things. "What can a woman with a breast amputated know about love! What right do you have to order me around?!'' Only now do I realize how much pain I caused her, how I tried to kill her with the products of my tongue. Words divide like a wall, spoken from the mouth of someone I love, they deliver a fatal blow. It's a shame I realized this so late; I dragged myself to my room and plopped down on the bed. I put on "Ashes" at full volume and started humming softly to myself. The song perfectly captured my mood. "You look hopefully at the bottom of the mug, there's still some foam there. You want to see Aphrodite there, but your gaze is already drunk." I didn't feel like sleeping. I glanced at the table and saw my diary out of the corner of my eye. I started writing. I don't like to reopen wounds, but with my young peers in mind, I'll share one page I wrote back then. Let my testimony be preventative; see what a person at rock bottom thinks. A human being, because I still was one, although it wasn't so obvious at the time.

I've lost my way in the forest of words. I've gone too far. I'm completely alone again, lost in the thicket. I run. I run, and nothing. There's no one willing to help. There's nothing. Gray all around, and strength is leaving my wounded body, crippling my soul. Possessed in nakedness by shame. Where is the light? Where is it?! I can't see it, and I'm afraid. I fall again, I fall flat on my face. And I can't get up, because why, why should I run? And they? They'll tear apart my blood-soaked body. Will they touch it? They'll leave in disgust, for leprosy has clothed me. Wicked wolves. I knock on people's doors, I knock on their doors, but they're closed to me—a wasted sinner. Anxiety tears at my soul like a rag in the wind. Poisoned by sin, but I lack pride. To taste even a drop from the Jordan abyss. Just one, so I won't blame anyone. Will you give it to me? My nostrils crave your air. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for taking it. I know I'm weak and I must leave, but... let me live for a moment longer. I know! It's time to die. What are you saying secretly among yourselves? They call me the scum of the universe. I've lost, but I want to rise up silently. In a duet of souls, I don't fulfill myself, in the communion of hearts, I don't count. My psyche is corrupted, and they scream impatiently. And they call because they don't want me. The ravens have pecked away my dignity—only loot remains. But I'll forget them, I remember nothing. And what is this? The hope in my eyes? What for? It's not for me. God, please don't waste your supplies. Leave them for others. It's not worth it. They convinced me of what's good and what's evil. They taught me I'm no different from a dog. But I am! I open the door, though I have no one to welcome, let the air enter my home. It is my friend. It swirls and disappears, carrying away my cries. It embraces me, strokes my hair. Air!

It is you who have tied my lips. Oh, people of virtue! It is you who have bound my thoughts. But I am pure and desire no revenge. Not to give too much, not to take too little—this is your art of ambition. Take everything, forget nothing! Just abandon me as quickly as possible! Pain can be nourishing and tastes better than human hypocrisy. So I stand again before the threshold of sin's house—should I turn back or move forward? I don't know, for I am alone.

The sun shone brightly into my tired eyes. I woke up in my clothes and shoes. Morning. I heard the doorbell. It was Rafał. I didn't want to talk to him and turned off the phone. The CD ended—oh yeah, I forgot to turn off the stereo for the night. I played it again. "Letter to M"—a nice song about a mother. A mother? I listened intently to the lyrics. The memory of yesterday's incident flashed before my eyes. I cried like a child. What right do I have to sin? How can I harm the person I love most with impunity, who instead of support receives contempt from my hands. How can I humiliate and despise my own family? What about God? And yet, contrary to His teachings, I consciously cause Him pain, even though I do everything to avoid being touched. Doesn't He disguise Himself as other people? What punishment awaits me for my own crimes? Death? No! This isn't the solution, because it's easier to die like that than to live with guilt—my own helplessness, adding dimension to my hopelessness. To feel my ego dying in slow agony. To fade from second to second... There is nothing more cruel than taking someone's life. And what about my life? Am I God, to decide my own death? Satan is a cunning crafty man, waiting to drown us in the dung of his own wickedness. He tempted Jesus in the desert, and because he is so similar to us, he tempts us, young people, too. To be the architect of our own fate? Art, isn't it? But as we grow older, as we sink, painfully feeling the ebb of the strength once so swelled, then we truly know what was wrong—we already know the roadmap of life, but only now are we able to use it, now that for many it may be too late—far too late... Then we realize how easy it was to be a saint, how easy it was to outwit the malicious tempter. If youth knew, if old age could. Let's not let the blinders of addiction cover our eyes. It's hard to go through life blindfolded. If I have the power to inflict wounds, can I also heal them?

I went to my mother... She was cooking dinner. I threw my arms around her and began to apologize. I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. I begged her for help. She said she had prayed for a long time to God to help her get her daughter back. It was an incredible event, one I will never forget. Someone who hasn't experienced similar problems cannot comprehend the magic of that moment.

The path to abstinence I was about to travel was very long and exhausting, but I was no longer a lonely pilgrim. My mother explained that together we could accomplish anything—we could defeat any dragon. She said that in moments like these, you have to stop for a moment and think about what the day was like, what it gave, what it took, whether it had brought me down, whether it had been worthy of my humanity. Faith not only moves mountains, it can also heal, and no one knows as much about this as my mother.

Life is too short to learn, and only a few succeed. What can a young person do who doesn't know where their escape hatch is? Who can't, or doesn't, heed the advice of their elders—why? Because this is their time, their world, their perspective. But despite these difficulties and the traps set against their youthful trust, they have no right to become an island, they can't build a wall of nothingness around themselves, only to face hopelessness. So how? What should they do? Despite everything, it's not that difficult, for life is like a vase—an expensive vase. It's not about money at all. The vase stands on a massive wooden wardrobe. You find yourself at its feet. Beneath it lies a luminous pebble—exactly like in your dreams, the object of your desire. All you have to do is move the wardrobe—but wait... It's too heavy, and you're too weak to move it. You give it your all, but it's to no avail. You must patiently wait until you grow up and gain strength. Your meaning of life lies quietly beneath the wardrobe, and you are too young to achieve it at this moment. However, there are those who don't want to wait. They try to acquire a pebble at all costs – shortcuts, through alcohol, drugs, sex, or television. You are finally strong. But if you push the wardrobe too hard, the vase on top will fall and shatter. Your soul is a flower – it draws water from the fragile, porcelain existence and is dependent on it (at least here on earth). You must do this delicately yet firmly – if you use too much force, you will perish; too little, you will never achieve your goal. Many have succeeded, but there were also those who failed in this difficult task… Their vase fell, and they had nothing to give their existence meaning. They lost everything. Perhaps it's better to appreciate what you have, not what you could have had. Remember, you're gambling, meaning it's all or nothing. It's not worth gambling with death. Young man, look at my testimony. Fight for life honestly, don't take shortcuts—they lead nowhere. Fight! If you don't, you'll wither away with a sense of unfulfillment. You don't have much time left... You have a choice, but will it be the right one? Your future is in your hands... Take advantage of it. Don't play the part—be yourself. The world doesn't need any more bad actors. "Draw from others, but don't copy them; one of your kind is enough."

I was incredibly lucky. Many of my friends weren't, and after soft drugs, it was time for hard drugs. From there, it could only get worse. The flower didn't get water—he died... Don't buy a ticket for this "train," because you won't get off when it picks up speed. Don't look back, run as fast as you can from the boulevard of broken dreams.

Today, all that remains of that period are faint memories, restless nights, and a few scars. The pain of the past has vanished, and the wounds are slowly healing. Life has become beautiful again. Yes! Sober life can be beautiful! Old dreams have blossomed again. I have new friends, new acquaintances. Everything has returned to normal. After the storm, fresh, crisp air comes, and I've learned to breathe it. I'm an optimist again. Every moment in life is beautiful, and it's worth living for. I noticed the beauty of some immediately—I had to wait several years for the rest. God created me human for a reason. I didn't disappoint Him. Life is delicious, but no dish in the world knows its taste, no drug, because life is a mixture of everything. No dealer sells a similar product... So let's live side by side. The world is constructed so that there's enough room for you as you are. Be yourself.

My Christmas

The days are getting shorter, the nights even longer, and the mood is joyful, festive, and festive. Christmas is coming – the magic of being together.

For us, the preparations for the holidays are special. Although most of us dislike cleaning and hours spent shopping, everyone is very happy. From early morning, they're bustling around the kitchen, preparing specialties. Right before Christmas, even Dad doesn't work that long, and Mom tries to get off work as quickly as possible. She'll pull several late-night pullouts just to have twelve traditional dishes on the table. And these aren't ordinary dishes. Kutia – dating back to ancient times, prepared according to Grandma's old recipe; carp with mushrooms; pierogi with cabbage and mushrooms; red borscht with dumplings – Mom's favorite dish. Delicious tench in aspic and herring with olives. A Christmas table must also include poppy seed strudel, cheesecake, and gingerbread with dried fruit.

When this wonderful day finally falls, the eagerly awaited evening finally arrives, and the first star appears in the sky, we all sit down at a table covered with a white tablecloth. We forget about arguments and disputes. Christmas is a time of joy and forgiveness. We share the Christmas wafer and exchange best wishes. It's one of the most touching moments, one that brings tears to many a tear. On Christmas Eve, everyone is close, and no one can be alone. That's why we set a spare place for the lonely traveler. Under the tablecloth, there must be hay to commemorate the manger—the birthplace of Christ.

The crowning glory of our holidays is the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. In ours, it's always a massive spruce, whose scent permeates the entire house. Everyone has a hand in decorating it. First, Dad strings the lights evenly to illuminate the entire tree. Then Mom and I hang up the tinsel and baubles. At the very end, Mom decorates the tree with a sparkling chain and angel hair. For as long as I can remember, there have always been gifts under our Christmas tree for our loved ones, which brought us great joy. I never look forward to receiving presents and singing carols in the evening. I think they're familiar in every home: "God is Born," "In the Silence of the Night," "In the Manger He Lies."

Christmas is the most wonderful time of my life, full of joy, love, and happiness, where even the most secret dreams come true.

I love Christmas very much. I would love for it to be an unforgettable experience for everyone.

"On Christmas Eve, at the rising of the first star

, everyone exchanges wishes, so I take this opportunity

to wish you good health, happiness, and joy. May the unattainable come true, and the

distant become yours."