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Wyświetlanie postów z sierpień, 2025

Evangelists - John

  My name is Jan Kowalski. You know, among us spendthrifts, each of us takes a new name. For example, the one by the kiosk is also Jan Kowalski, and the other one is Stanisław Nowak. And there are almost 10 Janeks and the same number of Staśeks living here. It's easier that way. Why would anyone need to know our names? Sometimes the police come and take down one of us, and then our real name comes out. Oh well, it's pointless to talk about it. You're asking who a spendthrift is, because we're generally divided into two groups: those who were born homeless with their mothers' milk and those who were handed it to them by fate. And then there's another division: those who beg and those like us here – those who work. No, we here at platform five aren't exactly poor. I have a great sleeping bag, which I keep in the luggage compartment during the day. One day only costs 2 złoty, and I earn 20 złoty a day delivering strollers. Overall, it's not that bad here. T...

friend, Angel.

  Agata opened her eyes. She saw a white ceiling and a fluorescent light. Then she looked around. On one side was a window. Behind it, a leafless tree swayed. It was raining. On the other side, there were several beds. Some were empty, some with girls or women on them. One was sleeping, another was doing a crossword puzzle. The third was reading a book. On the bed next to the door, a blond girl sat staring at the wall while a nurse ruthlessly administered her an injection. 'Where am I?' "What happened?" Agata thought. It was very difficult for her to think. She felt a slight pain in her right forearm. She looked at it. There was a needle in it, a clear tube connected to a white bottle hanging on a hook by the bed. Agata concentrated. With great effort, the last image she remembered came to her mind. A large number of pills in her hand. And a glass of water beside her. And her last thought: 'I'm done with this...'. So that was it. She failed. She sat down o...

Paul

I've been thinking about him a lot lately... I remember him... I remember our willow tree and how we used to play under it together as children... I remember the engagement ring he gave me when I was six... green and orange, made of wire... I remember standing right under the altar, just because he was an altar boy, and I wanted to look at him without being punished throughout the entire mass... I always went to church to look at him... my friends would call us "a couple in love"... all this went on and on for years... we grew up together... we even dated a few times... the first time was probably in eighth grade... even for sure... they wouldn't let him into my party, but he waited by the window throughout the entire party... he walked me home later, and we sat for quite a while under the immortal sandbox where Oleńka now plays... after that party, we went into my stairwell... he walked me almost to the door... we spent so much time sitting on the stairwells and talk...

White eyes

"Oh, Jesus! It's snowing!" the nun greeted them, confidently entering the classroom. She smiled cheekily and said calmly, as always, "I invite everyone to pray together." Chairs scraped. Twenty pairs of legs rose ponderously from their blessed stools. Immediately afterward, voices began to form a long "Our Father." "Please, let's sit down." Everyone collapsed onto the wooden chairs, mentally thanking God that Sister had told them to say another "Hail Mary..." The last lesson. Time passed slowly, as if suspended in a vacuum. The light from the windows desperately tried to penetrate the classroom. However, huge patches of snow prevented it. A strange silence reigned, interrupted occasionally by the gasps of tired students. "Why are you so insatiable?" the sister smiled and opened her journal. An ironic smile appeared on Matilda's face. Every muscle in her body gave out, her blue eyes managed to focus only on the cate...

A destructive addiction

The day was overcast and unusually cold for early October. The wind blew yellow and red leaves onto the sidewalks, streets, and parks. The local children had incredible fun throwing these colorful leaves around on their way home from school. A dark-haired boy with Korean features watched this innocent game from the window. He held a piece of paper and a pencil, the end of which he was impatiently chewing on thoughtfully. "Mr. Shinoda! Is something wrong?" a pretentious, stern voice echoed from the back of the classroom. The boy flinched at the sound of his name and looked up at the angry figure standing over him. "Uh... No, everything's fine," he replied, trying to turn the paper over, but the professor's hand was faster. "Shinoda, you haven't even started!" she said, narrowing her eyes menacingly. "No, because I just..." he began, embarrassed, but wasn't allowed to finish. "You haven't started, and I want to remind you t...