The Other Side of the Sword

She left. And she had no intention of returning. Fifteen minutes was enough to stuff a few essentials into her backpack. She liked that backpack. It held many memories from the last few years. She packed only a warm black sweater, underwear, and a book of Gothic poetry, which she never parted with. She glanced at the cover—a mystical painting depicting an abyss, which she always considered an allegory of consequences, with a mysterious face beneath. She liked that illustration; it only took a moment for her to notice and remember every detail. But at that moment, it was overwhelming, not soothing like it used to be. She picked up her guitar case. It was another item she always liked to have with her. She pocketed all the money she had. It had accumulated over 300 złoty. It had been her birthday a week ago. If her beloved grandmother had known what Magda was spending that sum on, she would probably have died of a heart attack. But she wasn't thinking about her grandmother at that moment. She didn't think about her brother or her friends. Not even about her closest friends, Kaśka and Marcin. She couldn't think about anything after what she'd heard from her mother. Those words were too fresh... They still rang in her ears. She didn't want to remember them. She'd heard time and again that she was nothing. She'd had enough of the humiliation. She wished with all her heart never to see the face of the woman she'd called her mother for 17 years.

"No, you have no right to be my mother!" Magda repeated to herself, "just like I stopped being your daughter. You're right. I'll get out of your life. Forever! I'd love to. And don't think I'll come back! Oh, you see—I'm gone." She uttered these words as she crossed the threshold. But no one heard her. Besides, she didn't care for anyone to listen at that moment.

She stepped out of the building and onto the street. She never liked walking alone in the city at night. It was so oppressively empty... The few people she met looked at her strangely. Was it the combat boots, the too-short trousers, or the millions of ethnic bracelets on her arms? She didn't even particularly care... She was blinded by anger and hatred; she didn't know what time it was or what day of the week it was. She didn't look at the passersby. But did it matter? No, all that mattered to Magda was getting as far away from here as possible. She wasn't afraid her mother would come looking for her; that would have been the least likely reaction. She simply didn't want to be here.

She sat on a park bench. She looked at the trees where she'd often sat with a book and forgotten... She couldn't predict if fate would ever allow her to return to those wonderful, carefree moments, when her only concern was the fate of the current hero.

She began to think. She quickly assessed the situation and felt a little scared, realizing it was really late and dark, and she had nowhere to sleep! She thought about her friends—how she would hurt them. She really didn't want to destroy the bonds she'd carefully built over the past few years. She was very afraid, especially for Marcin. What if he fell back into the clutches of addiction? She didn't want him to fall back into the same mess, and because of her. She would never forgive herself for that, never! Luckily, he was strong, so she had reason to believe he could pull through. And the others? They would certainly miss their beloved Magda; they would yearn for her. Would they remember her laughter, her conversations, and all the moments they spent together? Would they remember? She believed they would... But she wasn't dying! She was just leaving this place, which didn't mean she'd forget about people. True friends, after all, stayed forever. They would be together again someday, sitting by the river again and talking late into the evening. And for now, there were only rare meetings. Where, when, and how? Now wasn't the time to solve this problem. She was truly confused—she had to warn them about the suffering she—paradoxically—was about to inflict! What if she went to them, before I left, to explain? She thought. She couldn't do that. Yes, they would understand, but still—no one would let her leave. Even their parents would understand; they probably wouldn't condemn her. Kaśka's mother, in particular, was wonderful. For as long as she could remember, Magda had envied her friend's good relationship with her parents and the warmth she always lacked at home. Sitting on that bench, thinking, she lost track of time again...

"Luckily it's June; at least I'm not freezing." One of Magda's greatest strengths was her ability to see the bright side, even in hopeless situations like this. Despite the rather good conditions, she didn't particularly enjoy the prospect of spending the night in the park. She decided to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, now! Maybe that was for the best? Goodbyes hurt so much... Especially long ones. Besides, she didn't have the strength to meet anyone right now. She went to the station. On the way, a suspicious man accosted her. She was startled and quickened her pace. Luckily, she quickly lost him. It took her about 10 minutes to get there. She didn't meet anyone else; the streets were empty and gray like never before. The wind had calmed. It was quiet, so eerily, terrifyingly quiet! It was a strange silence. An evil silence. An ominous humming in Magda's ears... Finally, through sheer willpower, she overcame her fear.

She arrived. Once there, she looked at the timetable. Warsaw, Poznań, Kraków, Gdynia... And suddenly, she felt complete freedom. The kind she'd always dreamed of. She stood before the board, wondering which train to choose. She could go practically anywhere; all of Poland was open to her!

Kraków. She'd only been there a few times, but she loved this city. It was one of those many places you always return to. Everything was so beautiful there! The old streets, the tenement houses, the young people. And that wonderful, unique atmosphere... The next train was 11:48 PM. She glanced at the clock—11:19 PM. She had almost half an hour ahead of her. She bought a ticket, not wanting to risk an unpleasant encounter with the ticket inspector. Fortunately, the platform wasn't as empty as these streets. Only one elderly woman stood there, but that was enough for Magda to overcome some of her loneliness. The mere presence of another person gave her strength. She sat on a dingy station bench and started thinking again. She remembered pleasant moments. Unpleasant ones, too. Her whole life now seemed like a strange yet wonderful dream, a combination of dreams and nightmares. She didn't want to wake up. After all, she loved life like nothing else! Even pain can be wonderful in its own way, because it's real. And dreams? They, too, appeared quite often in this dream. What were they like, did they come true? Some did, others didn't. But they were always beautiful. And this beauty didn't lie in the richness of the imagination, but in the fact that they could come true. At that moment, she remembered a quote that had once helped her understand a lot: "Dreams are neither better nor worse than reality. They're simply completely different!"

Stations have a way of provoking reflection. That probably explained Magda's feelings at that moment. Another feature of this place was the frequent wind and cold. For as long as she could remember, she'd usually been freezing on the platform. She put on a sweater and pulled out a book of poetry. Reading the melancholic, slightly depressing poems, her mind transported her to a completely different world. These works were so close to her; she could identify with each of them in some way. That fragment of Bandurski's poem, for some reason, always held a special significance:

"The Lesser Evil"

Half face closed in shadow,

Half face bathed in sunlight.

A hand holding a silver sword,

Hand and sword joined in blood.

The face of a man on the ground gleams with surprise,

A man's face drenched in blood.

Words that cut through the air,

Words that carry pain and anger. [...]

Time passes differently with poetry, so waiting for the train was quite pleasant. She entered, found an empty compartment (which wasn't difficult, as few people traveled at that hour), and sat by the window. The dim lighting wasn't sufficient for reading, and she didn't want to fall asleep for fear of those who were less honest than she. She dreaded thinking about what she would do next; besides, such thoughts tormented her. Yet the question kept coming to her mind: "What next?" Involuntarily, perhaps even against her will, she found herself lost in thought. Where would she go? Where would she get the money to live? What she had wouldn't last long. The best way to earn a few pennies seemed to be singing in the market square. After all, that had never been a problem for her. The more difficult problem was the question of sleep. A train station, a park? That would be too dangerous for a girl. Usually, when she couldn't find a solution, she hoped it would come naturally, and only then would she consider it again. She decided to do the same this time. She looked out the window again. It was dark everywhere. The shadows revealed the faint outlines of trees, and here and there—small houses or large factory buildings with slender, ominous chimneys.

The train had stopped. How long had she been traveling? Now, too, she lost track of time. She never wore a watch or looked at it unnecessarily; she didn't want her life to depend on one stupid device with hands. The hours, the minutes—they seemed so distant in an instant, as if they didn't concern her at all. Getting off at the Krakow station, she felt a great deal of anxiety—she was about to start a so-called "new life"! She was excited about this, and despite her fear of the unknown, deep down she felt happy at her almost complete freedom. "Finally, no one will tell me what to do, think, how to dress, what I'm allowed to do and what I'm not!" she rejoiced like a child. But she didn't know what to do next—where to go, and whether it was worth going to bed, or better to wait until morning? She glanced at the clock—4:46. The platform was empty, except for a homeless, emaciated, ginger dog sleeping under a bench. She decided to stay there until morning, which was already slowly beginning to dawn. She sat down next to the dog and immersed herself in her reading again. Finally, she fell asleep, too exhausted to fight sleep.

A soft whimper woke her. She opened her eyes, and before she remembered her situation, she wondered why she wasn't in her own bed. The mutt was sitting next to her, still whining. He was still looking at Magda with those black, pleading eyes. He looked hungry. "I don't have anything for you, little one," she said, petting him. He calmed down. It had been ages since anyone had shown him warmth...

"I need to get myself together. I can't sit idly by the station all day," the dog proved a good listener. "Our situation won't change if we do nothing. We have to get out of here and seek our happiness elsewhere..." Come on, are you coming with me, shaggy?

Her new friend didn't listen. He seemed to prefer a quiet life. She felt a bit abandoned—even the dog wasn't with her. So she went alone, though she decided to return with a treat. She figured that if something was going to happen, it would happen in the market square, so that's where she headed. She didn't feel so alone anymore. There were tons of people around, life seemed to go on as usual. But there was something extraordinary about this place. Some inexplicable magic that made Magda fall in love with Krakow. She even felt it was a reciprocated love. She always felt good here; she rarely had to endure strange, unfriendly glances saying, "You don't belong here!"

She turned into another alley, sat down across from an Empik store, and began observing passersby. She enjoyed doing this, guessing what they were like, what they did, and what they were thinking. It wasn't prying on her part, but simply a curiosity about the human psyche. She even planned to take it up seriously someday. After a while, even this fascinating activity bored Magda. She pulled out her guitar, placed the case in front of her—perhaps someone would understand her and throw in a few pennies—and began playing songs by her beloved Dżem and other good old Polish bands. Quite a few people stopped to listen, usually tossing in coins. She spent an hour, maybe two, carefree—for to her, it was more entertainment than work. She noticed that for some time now, a girl sitting a few meters away, on the other side of the street, had been watching her. Young, maybe 16 or 17 years old. Red hair, dressed in worn, dark corduroys and an old olive sweater. Magda was very intrigued. She began to stare at her too, though a bit more discreetly.

"Hi, I'm Ola

," the redhead was the first to muster the courage, approach, and introduce herself. "You don't have anywhere to go, do you?" "Um...Magda..." The woman's bluntness and directness made her a little nervous and also uneasy. Besides, she didn't feel obligated to confide in a stranger. "Of course I do! What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I'd offend you. But you don't have to lie.

" "What are you even thinking? Why would I lie to you?" Magda was beyond angry. She didn't know why she felt such aversion to this girl. "Go away.

" "Okay, fine! If you don't want to talk, then don't. If you change your mind, you know where I am," the woman said, and sat down in her old seat.

Magda felt utterly devastated. She felt remorse—how could she have treated this girl like that? Surely she hadn't meant any harm. And besides... she was right! "Why did I lie then? Why didn't I even want to talk?" She didn't understand her own actions. After all, she'd never avoided people. Besides, she was usually honest, despising lies. Therefore, she was on the verge of despising herself. To prevent this, she slung her backpack over her shoulder, picked up her guitar, and approached the redhead.

"You know people." The woman raised her head and smiled.

"I try. But in your case, I didn't have to try.

" "I'm sorry. But I felt offended... Maybe I was wrong.

" "I understand. You're not the first to misread my intentions.

" That's how the conversation began. They chatted as if they'd known each other forever, like old friends reunited after years. Both felt they'd met a so-called "soulmate." They understood each other perfectly, had similar views on life. They talked about their problems, their dreams, the people they knew—everything... However, their situations were very different. Ola studied here and rented a small apartment, but she had a happy, ordinary family in a small town near Warsaw. They both chose to live in Krakow for more or less the same reasons. In that respect, they understood each other perfectly. Probably because they were similar in some ways...

Ola most enjoyed hearing about Magda's friends. Probably because she never really had a friend. Her friends were divided into those who considered her a snob and could only envy her money, and those who hung out with her because they saw her as an endless source of cash... She never felt superior just because her parents were better off. In fact, she even felt guilty, claiming it wasn't fair that some had a lot and others nothing. So she left to start over. Here, no one judged her by stereotypes. People were finally starting to see her inside, not just her wallet.

A new acquaintance offered Magda help by providing her with a roof over her head. An hour earlier, she would have been nervous at such an offer. But now, she felt only a slight embarrassment. However, she firmly refused. She knew she had to face the consequences of her actions. It wouldn't be fair to have every comfort in exchange for running away from home. She wouldn't feel good about it. She had to overcome all these hardships on her own...

They spent a good few hours talking, and suddenly it was quite late. The girls had to say goodbye. Magda only took a small, crumpled note with her friend's address. She promised she'd come. They both felt strange as they left – each going their separate ways. To Magda, it all seemed so unreal, so surreal! Just two days ago, if someone had told her she wouldn't have anywhere to spend the night, she would have laughed in their face. She couldn't quite believe what was happening around her. She felt as if she were drifting between reality and dream. The line was so thin it was almost invisible! She didn't even notice when she crossed it...

She walked slowly through the streets, looking at shop windows. Clothes, toys, jewelry. She glanced at her reflection. Her own face suddenly seemed incredibly alien... Some kind of... wild, unfamiliar? A strange uncertainty and fear radiated from it. Her green eyes shone so terribly! She felt helpless again. So small, so defenseless... She wanted to sleep, to forget... To go to a place where nothing was real, everything was just a reflection of her thoughts. Unfortunately, that wasn't possible at that moment. She had to face the real, cruel world.

She went to the station. Along the way, she wondered if the mutt was still there... He was. He wagged his tail happily when she entered the platform. She petted him and felt much better. She saw the dog's joy at seeing her, and that somehow made her happy. She sat on a bench just as she had the day before. The only difference was that the station was empty. Now several people were waiting for the train. Next to her sat a little girl, maybe eight years old, with a teddy bear-shaped backpack. Beside her stood an old woman in an old-fashioned purple coat, probably her grandmother. A little further on was a group of young people with backpacks and sleeping bags. They were probably going on vacation together... They were talking, laughing. Everyone was in a great mood. On the bench next to her – a man. A businessman. As a businessman would, in a black suit, with a briefcase and a cell phone to his ear. She didn't know these people, but she had the impression that they were all diametrically opposed, with different values. And she was certainly right – everyone is different, after all, with their own individual characteristics...

She didn't want to sleep yet. She was a little embarrassed by the whole situation. She decided to wait until no one was there. She couldn't just lie down here and now, in front of these people. What would they think of her? The little girl would probably ask, "Grandma, why is that lady sleeping at the station?" Grandma would say something like, "Oh, these young people today!" The businessman would look with pity or contempt. The students were so absorbed in their conversation that they wouldn't even notice her. She glanced at the clock—9:36 PM. Quite early. A dozen or so minutes later, the train arrived. Finally, the place was empty—only an elderly man sitting near the station kiosk. She paid him no further attention. She petted the ginger dog again, made herself as comfortable as possible, and closed her eyes.

She had a strange dream. A large house, many winding stairs, corridors, doors... And she was somewhere inside, searching for something. What? Nobody knew. It was a fairly common motif. Many people often have such dreams. Her wandering was nothing new either. But this time, at least, there was some closure: she opened another door. But this time, instead of darkness and nothingness, she saw light.

She woke up. The sun was shining directly into her eyes. She looked around. The tracks, the kiosk, then some trees, houses. A few meters away sat her faithful friend. And again, he was looking at her with those sad eyes... She didn't particularly want to leave, for some reason; she felt strangely safe here. As if she were in her own little world! But the feeling of hunger took over, and she was forced to leave. This time, she didn't call out to her four-legged friend to follow her. This was his home... She walked through the underpass and out onto the street. In an instant, she found herself in her beloved market square. But now, the entire "big world" around her seemed hostile; she felt as if everything had suddenly conspired against her. She wanted to fight this feeling. She longed so much to be back in her room, to call Kaśka, drown her sorrows in music, and talk late into the evening over tea, like before. The memories intensified. And it hurt so much! "Maybe I should call her or Marcin?" she thought. But she quickly dismissed the idea—she was afraid of their reaction. She remembered that she was supposed to write to them. She searched her backpack but couldn't find a single piece of paper. She didn't feel like looking for a shop or buying notebooks right now. She looked around. She saw a boy sitting on a wall. His head was down, his long blond hair obscuring his face. He looked sad. He intrigued her.

"Excuse me... Do you happen to have a piece of paper?" she asked, and suddenly what she had said seemed rather silly. He must have felt the same way, because he lifted his head and smiled at her. She liked that smile - so shy and at the same time open and sincere.

"Excuse me? Ah... a card, you say... Sure." He began rummaging through his backpack and pulled out a green notebook about his past. "Here you go. You know what, no one has ever bothered me like this before. A card, hmm..."

She thanked him and left. She didn't feel like talking to anyone, even though she found the boy quite nice. She wrote a letter—she explained, apologized... She bought an envelope, a stamp, and mailed it. She had no trouble remembering Kaśka's address. She went to the store for a roll and kefir, ate this "breakfast" sitting outside the store. Then she spent a few hours aimlessly wandering around the city. She played the guitar for a while, chatted with random people. In the afternoon, she went to a milk bar for lunch. She also did a lot of thinking that day, reminisced. She dreamed. About what? About happiness. She was rebuilding her life. She even decided that nothing could stop her from doing so! Her dreams would come true one day. It would be as she wanted! It would be. Someday.

The day passed quickly. She began thinking again about a place to stay. Back to the station again? No, she didn't want to start living according to a pattern. She decided to avoid monotony. She wandered the streets for a while longer. Finally, exhausted, she found a dingy tenement building. She went to the top floor, where no one lived, put her backpack under her head, and fell asleep.

The next few days passed similarly. One morning, she woke up and realized that this lifestyle was slowly starting to tire her out. She wasn't completely happy; something was missing. She couldn't quite pinpoint what. She felt a strange emptiness and an overwhelming loneliness. She reached into her pocket. She pulled out a piece of paper with an address. Without further ado, she decided to visit her friend. She needed support, and she knew she would receive it, that she could count on her.

She knocked. Ola appeared in the doorway, smiled at her, and hugged her. And she immediately felt better, knowing that she did have someone close to her to turn to. And this time they spent quite a bit of time talking, this time in armchairs and over strong coffee. That night, Magda stayed at her apartment – ​​she had given in to persuasion, as she no longer had the strength to wander. She needed to quickly lift her spirits and regain her zest for life.

Days passed. She spent them wandering around Krakow (discovering new, previously unfamiliar corners of the city), talking to interesting people, and playing the guitar for income and pleasure. Fortunately, money wasn't a major problem; modest meals weren't expensive. Sometimes she'd sit on a bench, pull out a book of poetry, and transport herself to that unreal but wonderful world of dreams and reflection. She slept in various places – at the train station, in tenement houses, and even once under a bridge. Sometimes she'd come to Ola's, and then usually stay the night.

One afternoon, she thought of her old friends again. She felt a pang of guilt. "What if they think I've forgotten?" She bought the cheapest phone card. She dialed Marcin's number. He was surprised to hear her voice. But he seemed pleased to finally be speaking. He asked how she was doing. And if she had any intention of coming back. She didn't know what to say. She hadn't considered it, hadn't even considered the possibility. "No," she replied without hesitation. She wanted to know what it was like there, without her. Had they already forgotten? His answer moved her. Loneliness spoke... The realization of the truth hurt her.

"I'm suffering because of you. A lot. We all suffer. Magda, that's not how it is, understand. I know, you had no choice, you had to. I understand you perfectly. But I don't know if I can forgive. I thought you considered my feelings. Our feelings. I'm sorry," he said, and hung up.

* * *

Magda understood what was truly important to her, what had true value. A few hours later, she was sitting in an uncomfortable seat in compartment 26. She looked out the window. On the surface, everything looked as usual. The same houses, bridges, trees. And yet, nothing was the same! She remembered traveling in the opposite direction. Back then, it had been completely different. She felt so much better. She was transported from a world of hatred and intolerance to something entirely new, mysterious, promising improvement. And now? What would it be like when she returned? How would her friends react to seeing her? Would they react...? She wasn't sure she had anyone to return to there. She was afraid, so terribly afraid... She felt a terrible emptiness and a very faint glimmer of hope that something would fill it.

The journey dragged on like never before. And the entire way, she was plagued by an unbearable sense of guilt and injustice. Again, she felt the world hated her. Again, everything was against her... She headed toward Marcin's house. He lived near the station. She entered the stairwell, climbed the stairs, stood on the second floor, and timidly knocked.

He opened the door. He stood in the doorway...

"The Blade of a Knife"

Two figures illuminated by the dark rays of the moon,

Two figures, stunned and confused, stand facing each other.

Silver swords brushed by icy winds,

Sweaty hands nervously gripping deadly weapons.

Eyes filled with regret, eyes filled with love, eyes empty,

Tired lips, writing a novel with their blood.

Two people, two friends, two enemies,

Two stories intertwined - one will end the other.

- I am one side of the sword, one side of the blade.

- And I am the other side. The impossible must be achieved.

- Blades must be crossed...