On the bridge of consciousness...

:

"We cannot stop ourselves

from making beauty any more than we can

stop the whole world from doing so..."

A. Rice

Ď

It had been a long time since she had seen such a sky...

It was hard to say what this particular kind of vault looked like. Worried in its expression, or perhaps expectant. Lead clouds hanging disturbingly overhead. Unevenly distributed billows reflecting some earthly kind of light. A picture drawn in pencil by an artist's skillful hand. The morning seemed like a late evening wrapped in night. What if it were night...? No. The day was just beginning, but it was so bored with itself that it seemed to eagerly await dusk. As if it knew everything.

Perhaps it had been here before. She felt the same way now. Those days when, walking the streets, she couldn't find her place. She felt haunted by unseen eyes above her. Such a condemning yet curious touch, a gaze on her back. Not burning like a human one, but just as insistent. Anxiety mixed with frantic excitement. Angry with herself, she didn't understand the reaction of her entire body. Something was wrong, yet she couldn't find the words to describe it. Her aggression only intensified. She seemed to be begging every passerby to provoke her. She would have seen the senselessness of such behavior if it weren't for anger. Anger without a source. Blind.

Ď

She left the house at "dawn." She wrote a note saying she'd return the next day. She excused herself with a party at a friend's house, which she hadn't wanted to go to anyway. She dug some money out from behind the bed. She grabbed her sweater and backpack almost as if fleeing a nonexistent fire. She dressed on the stairs and, with her first cigarette, took a deep breath of fresh air. For a moment, standing in the doorway of the dirty, dingy tenement building, she gazed at the windows. Instinctively, she pondered each apartment. What secrets were hidden behind two windows and a section of wall. Who are all these people and what are they thinking about? She stubbed out the glowing cigarette against the wall and went to get breakfast. The thoughts that had been raging a moment ago vanished like smoke, streaming from her mouth.

The corner shop turned out to have all the necessities of life: a large yogurt, a roll, and two beers. She wasn't of age, but as long as she had money, no one cared about her age or the state of intoxication she was in when she bought it. She was a nameless wallet. Another one that day, another one of no consequence. Stuffing everything into her backpack, among hundreds of other completely unnecessary items, she set off. Slowly at first, as if savoring each step. Soon she was running as fast as she could, the echo of her heavy footsteps, shod in pitch-black combat boots, echoing through the dead streets

.

She stopped only when she got there. Lowering her head, resting her hands on her knees, she tried to calm her breathing. When she looked up, she felt a kind of surprise. As if she hadn't come here. She couldn't understand how she'd gotten here, and above all, why. Well, since she was here, maybe she should start eating. Her stomach was demanding attention more and more loudly. She climbed onto a concrete platform. Pulling out her breakfast, she began to admire the view before her. The old railway tracks were undoubtedly beautiful. Quiet and peaceful, though if you listened closely, they were still bustling with life. After all, not long ago, trains full of people had raced along the now grass-overgrown iron tracks. And the wagons... Off to the side, just beneath the large oak trees, stood two old structures. Rusted, rotten, lonely. It seemed no one had been here for a long time. Apart from her footprints in the bent grass, there was nothing. Strangely, there wasn't even any garbage. Pulling out a beer, she grabbed her camera and seemed to fall into a trance. She walked briskly, each flash awakening this world from its slumber.

Î

One, two, three plates... She reached the train cars. The acrid smell, hypnotizing her nostrils, was hypnotizing. The lack of light, the shadows, the devastated elements perfectly harmonized with the background... Heaven!

With the last photo, she felt a sense of relief. The blissful joy of fulfilling her duty, yet simultaneously exhausted. She finally managed to open the bottle of golden beverage and immerse herself in her book. As if that were her only goal. And that's how she looked. She fit into this picture. In every way, she was the missing element that day in this place. A petite figure huddled in the corner of the stage. Flaxen, straight hair falling over her shoulders. Delicate hands nervously stretching an oversized yellow sweater and jeans with artistic rips. That's what she was. An unremarkable figure with eyes like the sky... She was supposed to be his art...

Î

She didn't know how long she spent in that place. Given her mentality, owning a watch seemed inappropriate, to say the least. She'd come to read; she could only leave when she was finished. Each page she turned filled her with satisfaction. The satisfaction of understanding, of self-fulfillment. She increasingly grounded herself in being a so-called outsider. Loneliness could be oppressive, but at the same time, it was incredibly creative. She changed from day to day; even mirrors reflected a different face. When had it all started...? A few weeks of abandonment, or...

She had always been drawn to the strange side of life. A downright abnormal fondness for death. She was afraid to talk about it. Mocking laughter hurt her more than pretending. A few years ago, she'd stopped expressing her thoughts. It stirred too much controversy. She'd learned to nod dully, and all the arguments had instantly subsided. She locked what she felt behind a large door. She shared only with herself. She was her own interlocutor. Wait... There was also Tomek.

Tomek had been a fascination, dating back to the days when school was full of childish naiveté. He had never represented the value her peers recognized. He was a human being. The essence of philosophy and knowledge, which she craved with her entire body. His gender was irrelevant. Whether he was male or female, she didn't see that. To her, he was a sexless artist. A conversationalist to the next bottom of a blood-red bottle.

He was. A remarkably apt use of the past tense. Since he became a man, he had forgotten to grasp the world. He left for love. After a month, he had even forgotten the letters. She said he died in an accident. It was easier for her that way. Almost every day, she went to the cemetery with an armful of flowers. She chose a dilapidated grave at the end of the alley. There wasn't even a nameplate, just a rotting cross. She cleaned it, tended it, sat for hours before the symbolic piece of earth, whispering monologues. She buried him alive so as not to lose him.

Ď

How she'd actually shown up at the party in question, she couldn't remember. She'd lost a few hours of her life. No, she hadn't gotten drunk—she'd simply forgotten. Not for the first time, nor for the last. The force of fact was that she now stood in the middle of a crowded room, dressed in some black dress. She could feel the makeup and the delicate touch of the fabric on her skin. She was slowly beginning to awaken from her mental slumber. The headache her body had reacted to the music convinced her even more. Medicine was needed. Immediately!

Like a gift from heaven, a cold bottle of vodka sat under the kitchen table. In all the chaos, no one noticed its disappearance. Besides, there was enough alcohol for a three-day wedding. Somewhere along the way was a cabinet, stocked to capacity. Drinks in every color of the rainbow, glasses, bowls of ice, and food. Everything your heart desired. Strange. I wonder who had organized this "lavish feast"? She grabbed something from the edge and fled, pushing through the crowd. A mischievous grimace cleared the way for her. She entered a side room. There was no one there. The dance floor was too small. She was sitting on the windowsill, her legs dangling outside. Eighth floor? Never mind. Half a glass, a few ice cubes, orange juice to disguise herself.

"The drink is as good as it gets..." she said simply, to herself, for reassurance.

"Of course. You could just as easily have drunk from the bottle. You're dirtying the glass unnecessarily.

" "W... hello, Basia! Have you been standing there long?" Despite the rather irritating situation, kindness radiated from her.

"Enough. Can you tell me what you're doing?" A cultured grievance, perhaps a distinguishing feature. Every argument sounded the same. Calm, composed, intelligent, and so terribly painful. Contemptuous...?

" "Sorry, I didn't think of company. Shall I pour you one?

" "No, thanks." – hissed the short figure – You know very well that I hate it when a woman drinks. And you especially. And why?

"Honey... If I'd known, I wouldn't have drank." A composure upon composure. Increasingly, their conversations were becoming an incredibly sophisticated game.

"As always, the same stupid explanations!" It stung.

"You'd better leave, I have no intention of giving up." She slowly raised the glass to her lips and took a huge sip. The alcohol burned just as slowly down her throat, sending a pleasant, warm shiver across her skin. She didn't want to dwell on the decency of her actions. She was supposed to calm the storm of thoughts, and this was one of the most effective remedies. Another sip, her body growing warmer. She stopped feeling the wind and the altitude. Another.

"Drink. Get drunk and jump out that shitty window. I've had enough of you! I'm not carrying you home." Desperation trembled in her voice. The slam of the door definitely masked everything with anger.

"I know. You don't have to..." she lowered her voice. "But I know you'll do it anyway."

Baśka had a kind heart. She could get angry, scream, but she still extended helping hands. She was like sunshine to wet earth. That's what they called her – Sunshine. A bulwark against the next storm. She worried about everyone, every single one of them, rarely about herself. Now, it seemed, her patience was wearing thin. And she was changing. She grew bitter, always standing a meter behind him.

The vacation was looking increasingly worse.

Ď

She drowned her consciousness relatively quickly. After about an hour, she was having a wild time. She even turned the table into a section of the dance floor, remarkably agile for her state of intoxication, arching between chips and fruit salad. She was nestled in the arms of a man. She threw empty bottles from the balcony, singing, or rather, screaming at the top of her lungs. She had definitely overdone it... Tomorrow she would regret it. But for now, she paraded barefoot across the cobblestone market square.

Ď

Dawn came far too early. The first rays of sunlight brazenly penetrated the window. They squirmed across her face, pried open her eyelids, and made a merciless racket on all the furniture. She'd forgotten to close the blinds. Damn it. Right side, left. Still nauseous. It was starting to get warmer and warmer. Her body, curled up under the covers, was covered in a layer of sweat. Everything stuck together. She sighed. Horrible! The stench of her breath, trapped beneath the covers, was nauseating. She pushed the sheets to her legs. An unpleasant tingling in her limbs, as if she'd run a marathon yesterday. "Is everyone out to get me, damn it! What for...?" She was already angry and helpless enough—further sleep seemed completely out of place.

She opened her eyes. Far too quickly for her previous night's exploits. Still too numb. Full of the strangeness of it all, she lay stiffly for several, perhaps a dozen minutes. She tried to focus. It took her a long time to recognize the room. She was home, but how had she gotten here...?

It hurt, as if she were at least opening her head in search of last night. Step by step. She stood in the middle of the room, then took the bottle, the room, the window, the clash with Baśka. Things were starting to get ugly. Some guy, damn it, who was he? She couldn't remember anything about him, his name, his face, not even his clothes, nothing – except maybe the fact that he was a terrible kisser. Dancing on the table, throwing bottles – it was getting worse. At the very end, there was probably a market. And… Teary eyes, lulling her to sleep. My dear Basia…

She went, or rather staggered, to the bathroom. She turned on the water, setting the temperature, poured in her favorite oil. The reflection in the mirror was… funny. She, just, so funny. With narrowed eyes, makeup smeared like a doll from a cheap bazaar, hair sticking out in all directions.

"Well, look, Monisia, this is what the landscape looks like after a battle." "It'll take a lot of work to restore this facade." More laughter.

A voice of complaint reached her from her parents' room.

"Monika, have mercy! We got back an hour ago..."

She left. She only reached around the doorframe of the other room to grab the doorknob.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, "I'll be quiet now..." She

gently closed the door and returned to the bathroom. Strange, they hadn't said they were going out. It was just like them. They were clearly having a good time.

Ď

Her parents were a wonderful couple. Even after twenty years, they behaved like a couple of teenagers in love. They were young and felt even younger. Friends called them "the Woodstock kids." They were right. They looked like a woman in her twenties with long blond hair and a perpetually cheerful face, short, fashionably dressed. The man was tall, well-built, serious, and disarmingly spontaneous. They always walked hand in hand. An aura of happiness hung around them. They were liked even by strangers.

They had plenty of friends, so they spent most weekends away from home. They worked long hours doing what they enjoyed. She was a landscaper, and he trained police dogs. Work also filled the house—in the form of ubiquitous potted plants and a German Shepherd. But no matter the time of day, their occupation, or the reason, they were always within arm's reach of their child, their offspring.

They raised their only daughter in a rather controversial manner. From the moment she entered her so-called rebellious phase, they tried to be more friends than teachers. They believed in the principle that everything in life should be tried. That's why Monika grew up the way she did. No, she wasn't spoiled at all. She studied at the best school, was exceptionally bright and intelligent—all three of them made sure of that. However... At seventeen, she smoked at home without the slightest embarrassment. She could approach her father and ask for money for alcohol because there was a party at a friend's house that evening. Her mother knew about every man who, under one circumstance or another, entered her life. There were no taboo subjects at home. Even at Sunday dinner, she could ask about things generally considered indecent.

She had a home she was proud of—warm, loving, and full of trust, though sometimes she would sarcastically say it was almost too good.

Ď

The water was warm and sticky. It enveloped her pleasantly. She gently moved her body, like impersonal hands—caressing. The scent of rosewood permeated every cell with a soothing shiver. She stretched her legs. Immersed from mid-calf to shoulder, she stared at her feet. Amusingly, she waved her fingers, laughing quietly to herself. She lay there until the warmth escaped the tub and clung to the mirror. She stood up. She watched as tiny drops made a racetrack of her as they raced down. She dried herself with a fluffy towel, drawing patterns on the floor with her wet feet. How much fun it was. Like a small child, she traced flowers and hearts on the fogged glass.

"All I'm missing is a yellow duck. I think it's time to treat myself."

She washed her face. She wiped yesterday's day with a paper towel. She brushed her teeth with extreme care, so as not to reminisce. She styled her hair as usual, no unusual things today. We're back to the well-worn "today as usual"...

She tiptoed to the kitchen. Completely unnecessary, but still. She ate breakfast naked, and why not! Cornflakes dipped in cocoa. Or maybe it was Inka? And a jam sandwich. And yogurt. Sausage. Oh, we have cucumbers. She's about to throw up. I think I also want ice cream. Too bad we don't have whipped cream, but strawberries would be fine. "

Bastion

, come on, let's go scare the passersby," the dog lifted his head from his bed. There was joy in his still sleepy eyes. He knew they were gone for the whole day. He would run through the dry meadows, play with pieces of wood... No, not today. Joy gave way to understanding. This wasn't one of those wild walks. He knew he'd have to lick the tears from his face today. Incredibly salty. He was ready to drink even an ocean...

The echidna jingled melodically as it slid onto the dog's perfectly black neck. She could barely contain her sobs. Her eyes now held such a commanding expression. She sank her fingers into the soft fur. Her backpack weighed comfortably on her shoulders. She poured the note with the tea over it.

"Whoever travels, gets the wind in their hair..." the door sighed, creaking. Closed.

The

bus took them where they wanted. To the very end of town. Where the road seemed to be an unwritten boundary between two worlds. Birch trees on either side of the asphalt ribbon leaned inquisitively, their branches almost caressing the faces of the rushing people. To the left, though in the distance, the city screamed its grievances, climbing towards the sky. From this perspective, the apartment blocks and skyscrapers weren't so repulsive anymore. They didn't even seem dirty. They were trees of barren land. They were simply there. To the right, a meadow. Colorful and purring, like a carpet beneath the sky's bed. The thick grass made the black shadow that had been walking at her feet instantly disappear. Only a trail remained, rippling, like the touch of a hand when water bends silkily. A forest loomed on the horizon. Insects swarmed in the scorching air. Sunlight spread beyond the trees. It hadn't rained in a week.

She took off her shoes. They were just sandals, easily stuffed into her backpack. The dress, light, probably linen, blended like sand, into the grass. She walked slowly forward. She closed her eyes to experience it all differently. Less certain senses heard, touched, felt, but were still unsure. The first drop trickled from beneath her cascade of eyelashes. The sun wiped her face with a delicate brush. Suddenly, a wet touch on her thigh made her shiver slightly, startled.

"Don't worry. Everything will be alright. Enjoy the meadow; I shouldn't get lost," she heard only a quiet growl in response. A wet tongue comforted her hand, which hung limply. The grass rustled. He disappeared.

The shade of the trees was cool. She opened her eyes. Trunks and branches slowly emerged from the blackness. The moss swayed softly underfoot. She took a few steps. It was like a ritual. She always came to this forest for the same purpose. To cry unhindered by the presence of others. The dog had shared her life from a young age. Once Leon, now he – Bastion, black as pitch. Always someone… He stood in for her siblings and her most loyal friend. That was why he could be here now. He could watch her sit under the burnt oak, shuddering with convulsive weeping. The tree, once mighty, was now just a charred shell. (Oh, merciless storm.) Just like her. Maybe not. Not entirely… Here she was defenseless and aching. Charred like that trunk. Washing away the bad parts of herself. She didn't hide the whispering of strange litanies. She could scream, choke, and punch until she felt exhausted. That was precisely her purpose. A bit strange, tangled, rooted somewhere deep. She believed that the gaze of others made us weak. She fought to keep her weakness from being seen. Every day, she donned cold royal robes to despise. Here, she stripped naked to pity. I still don't understand it. But... Three hours had passed. Enough. She stood up.

She looked down from the escarpment. A mound of sand, now overgrown with greenery, had been broken off at that particular point—unfinished. Below, a ditch filled with fog roared. That was where she was heading. Barking sounded somewhere behind her. Far away.

"Bastion! Don't scare the squirrels." She found her voice again, though it still trembled, now it seemed to vibrate. Was it a smile...?

The water in the stream was icy. It stung like a thousand invisible needles as she sank her feet. The large stones at the bottom were slippery and uncomfortable. She spread her arms to maintain her balance, but it was pointless. After a few steps, she slipped and crashed into the water with a splash. It was neither shallow nor deep. It was only cold. She emerged with a scream, gasping for air. Shivers ran wildly up and down her body. She dove in and tried to swim a short distance. No chance. Despite her efforts, her body was numbing at an alarming rate. It was as if winter had already settled in the water, while summer was still basking on the stones. The magic of the forest is astonishing...

Î

Her mother opened the door. The figures on the threshold were a picture of misery and despair. The storm had been raging for a good hour, and they were surely late for the bus. She, wet and blue from the cold. He, muddy and equally wet. To emphasize his satisfaction, he dusted himself off, decorating the walls with brown stains. Wonderful, simply wonderful. How good it was that there were tiles in the hallway. First the dog. Monika sat wrapped in a blanket on the floor by the door. She stared absently at the ceiling. She felt happy, cleansed, and filled with the worst premonitions. Along with the storm, something unpleasant hung in the air. An undirected unpleasantness. Her sixth sense proved all too acute.

She was dreaming... The streets were covered in fog. Morning was still a long way off. The night was aging slowly and nonchalantly. Burgundy streetlights filtered onto the sidewalk. The clatter of boots clattering through lace. Someone was coming to meet her. A shadow with an invisible smile. His white hand stretched forward into an airy embrace. Thick millimeters and...

She shook herself. Completely unexpectedly, her heart beating rapidly. Where was the street and that hand? So cold and well-groomed. Certainly warm. A face. A smile...

"Will you finally answer that phone?! Did you fall asleep?" The sound was loud. It seemed to have been tearing through the air for a long time. Finally, it arrived.

"I'm listening..." still absently. What street was that? I think I know that place, somewhere downtown. I've already dreamed about it...

"Hello, darling! I've missed you so much. How long has it been, four months, I think. This city is truly wonderful. Why haven't you said anything? By the way. I'm sorry I haven't written, there just hasn't been time. And you? Did you lose the address? It doesn't matter now. You have to come to me. I'll show you... Beta...! – a moment of silence – Monika! Are you there?

Shock. Shock combined with relief – so that was it. That persistent image. I wonder what time it was? Do I recognize that shadow? A soft murmur in the receiver. She missed her too, but. It hurt too much to say now.

"I think you got the wrong phone number. Goodbye."

The sound of the disconnected call definitely put the final nail in the coffin...

Ď

The images were persistent. They took over unbidden, without asking for her opinion. Now, on the bench outside the building, only an empty form sat, holding a frozen bottle of mineral water. A distant streetlight gave its face the appearance of a wax mask. A tragic effigy with flowing hair.

It stood on the bridge. Waiting for someone. That's how it was, you see, obediently soaking in the cold rain. A sidewalk, right next to the highway of speeding lights. In the distance, a gray shape paced in circles. On the other side, a person, a person, knows better what it means to wait—the longer it gets wet. Time was measured only by umbrellas splashing water directly in her face. She had nothing with her. Her hair stuck to her face. A bored gaze wandered the world. Everything turned gray, along with the sky. Houses and the castle, the river and the trees. Why were those drops so sad...?

He was a mere blur when he emerged from around the corner. He danced in the street with a catlike gait. His cloak gleamed, veiled in the light of the streetlamps in front of the bridge. She stared at him, mesmerized. He radiated magic around him, a strange shiver that made it impossible to look away. Only black, uniform. He approached slowly—distinctive. He extended his hand to her. Snow-white, with fingers like vipers, long, milky nails. He wanted to touch her again. An alabaster extension of his thoughts. He was so close now. She closed her eyes to feel his touch. She felt only the wind. He passed by, even though he was walking towards her. She lowered her head in resignation. She didn't even deserve... "Call me." She didn't know who he was, but hearing those words within herself, she was certain. He was speaking to her. He spoke with a delicate, purring thought.

"How can I call you when I don't know who you are..." Her lips barely quivered, as if gasping for air. But she knew he could hear her. "If you don't know me, call me. Just as a small child calls a new one, call me." He walked relentlessly, slowly disappearing behind the wall of water. The feeling ripped through her, alive. No, don't let him go. Stop him!

"Wait... Give me a moment. What should I call you? A creature, a name, a feeling. Stop!" She trembled with desperation. Her eyes were still closed, her back to him, but she could feel him through her skin. "Call me yourself."

"But how..." "Call me your longing and desire. What you seek and what called me here. Call me your gift, you clairvoyant..." His voice was fading, only a singing echo.

"Please don't go..." she fell to her knees, sobbing. "Please... heal me...

Yes!" A ghost shrouded in mist, bringing healing. She gasped for air as if emerging from the bottom of the ocean. Greedily, she held everything within. A second of waiting.

"Rafael...

" The wax on her face suddenly trembled, as if bent by doubt. Her mouth fell open. Her cold hands, resting on the bench, suddenly tore away.

"Rafael!!!" A scream so heartbreaking, so sad, rose with the water. The concrete blocks reverberated a dozen times. They summoned him, along with her, sobbing. Waking from this dream. Terrified, unable to control her own body. Curious eyes, malicious, mocking, surprised, stared at her from windows and sidewalks. Burning with shame, she rose and walked away. Calmly at first. Faster and faster, faster still. She drove like mad. She didn't slow down even at red lights. She dodged between cars. Behind her, only shouts filled with resentment and honking horns. She stopped only at the door. Panting, she sank onto the mat. Leaning back against the door, she wiped away her tears... Back then, she hadn't believed it was possible to fall ill with the world...

Ď

It was only two hours until midnight. Deep in the peace of a graphite armchair, she was reading one of dozens of similar books. The sweet aroma of tea wafted nearby. Something played softly in the corner, a violin, I think. And it was so good. So pure and dispassionate. The dog ran in his sleep, and his parents watched television, snuggling close together.

The storm and its retinue had long since fled to the nearby forests. The city sky gleamed like a mirror, completely devoid of the most beautiful of luminous discs. The moon probably shone for other eyes today, certainly not for her. But all those street lamps wanted to shine for her, now frozen above the black letters. They pushed through the window in their gold, white, and green dresses. They pushed airily across the windowsill, creating three shadows, one of a single, solitary flowerpot. Which one is better, which one will outline its simple shapes more precisely, which lantern will paint the black leaves and buds more truly. Gray eyes tore away from the book. She glanced at the windowsill, as if trying to perceive this argument. She tilted her head slightly, her hair falling from her shoulders, already completely dry. She watched and seemed to understand every word. She even laughed softly.

Suddenly, an orange screen lit up on the desk, and her cell phone emitted a sound like a fragment of the Moonlight Sonata. She rose from her chair a little reluctantly. The room was so warm, and the message probably announced an exit.

"'I'm sad. Beta, will we meet at the tower? I guarantee something to warm you up, just please come. I'm already on the bus. Kisses. Witch,'" she read aloud, as if she couldn't understand the words. She sighed in disapproval, but her lips curved into a smile. The witch, I mean, Justyna, had every right to such unannounced antics. They'd been friends for a year, since the beginning of high school, and they worked exceptionally well together. Diametrically opposed, and yet.

She pulled a sweater and jacket from the closet, grabbed a backpack, and didn't even lace up her combat boots properly. She also grabbed a package from the kitchen—I think it was crisps. Water and an apple.

"Mom, have you seen my keys?

" "They're in my coat. Are you going out?" Her voice was hushed; her father had clearly fallen asleep with his head in her lap. Working with the puppies could be truly exhausting.

"I'm going to the keep. Don't wait up for me.

" "Justyna?

" "How did you know? Are you reading my mind?" She loved this kind of surprise, so warm and loving, just like a scarf.

"Only she's capable of such madness." – laughter – "Give her my regards. If you overdo it, come here. Her mother doesn't handle—wait, what does she call it—overconsumption? – Another laugh, light and bell-like. – Go now. Don't let him wait.

– Good. – she kissed the air. – Goodnight.

– Wait!

– Huh? – already on the stairwell, repeated by the echo.

"Maybe you'd better take Bastion with you, I'm worried about you. Oh, and you have cigarettes in the cupboard above the fridge. Be careful." The cupboard door creaked, and the spiked collar clanged. The door whispered before closing. And then...

"I love you, Mom." The doorknob grated metallically, and only footsteps echoed down to the ground floor. The door slammed.

Ď

The Witches' Tower. How picturesque at this hour. Once a historic site of torture, of women suspected of witchcraft, now the most wonderful setting for long conversations. During the day, it was teeming with people. Visitors with cameras around their necks, and local subcultures. You could always meet someone you knew here, at least she could. She had lived with these people and loved them for who they were. Now she was supposed to be here only with Justyna, just like a year ago with... with Tomek. No, not right now. She didn't want to remember that anymore. He was gone. He's sleeping underground, peaceful and all hers. But he called, a few hours ago. It wasn't true! It was just a mistake. If you like...

The soaring tower almost reached the sky. The stormy sky still dripped from the roof. The red circle sparkled so beautifully in the light of the ancient lanterns. Even the air seemed to smell different in this very place. She left the apartment buildings and then walked straight along the narrow sidewalk to her destination. The dog walked obediently at her side, not like in the forest; here he was a guardian. Fog. I wonder when it had lifted. It had already reached the first narrow windows of the building, letting the light in so beautifully. The city was already falling silent. Her footsteps seemed unusually loud and insolent, at this hour, when the lights were already fading. She noticed the darker shape quite late; it was becoming increasingly milky. The dog lifted its muzzle, sniffing, and almost immediately moved forward. A cheerful laugh assured her she was heading in the right direction.

"I thought you'd lost your way. Why so long?" – She wasn't nervous at all, and even if she was, she hid it beautifully. The always smiling witch, suddenly so serious and withered. It was going to be a long night, or maybe just a moment of crying…

– You know… I don't like running around town when I can take a walk. And today it's so beautiful. – She hadn't yet returned to reality. She spoke as if reciting poetry, passionately and in a hushed voice. She stood on tiptoe and gently kissed her friend's cheek. It was cold, even icy; she must have waited a long time.

– I hope you have cigarettes. I only had enough for a small bottle of rum for tea.

– Of course. Tea… How good that you remembered about last night. I couldn't have survived another dose of something stronger today.

– Last night… No, I didn't. And tea, because I want to talk, not forget. – Her voice changed tone. She spoke like a teacher, with understanding emphasis, an unyielding gaze directed at the listener.

"Okay, I understand." She held the open pack out in front of her. The slightly irritating scent of dry tobacco and dried apples filled the air. Unique to this particular brand. They began their conversation, as always, with the simplest of banalities. Then everything became saturated with emotion, escalating in intensity. After the climax, they fell silent. And so it is now...

Silence fell. Calm and lulling. In it, only even breathing, fog. Trees before and behind them bent their branches in agony of pain. The city was no place for nature. Even the grass was a different color here. Everything, poisoned by exhaust fumes, trapped in concrete, cried out to Mother Earth for vengeance. It cried out with its silent scream...

"Thank you." Justyna's arms wrapped around her companion's neck. They were already warm, and her lips kissing her cheeks were tired of thousands of words. "You're irreplaceable.

" "Don't exaggerate, and I need evenings like this, too." Everyone needs to let go of all their fears. Sometimes you have to voice them shamelessly and wait to see what happens next." She finished, tilting her head upward. She wandered through the sparkling sky.

"Of course, but few people...

" "Don't finish. I appreciate it, but I don't need you to say it every time. Now look up at the sky. Do you see...?" Another poem, the words catching in my throat at its sound.

"What?

" "A shooting star. Over there, above the castle tower. Do you see?

" "Not yet...

" "The sky, the most beautiful of wonders. Dark and calm at night, completely different from stormy or sun-scorched. Changeable, colorful, dressed or naked. Always breathtaking with equal force. An incomprehensible wizard in a velvet cloak. I could spend my life next to him without being bored for a moment...

" "Your sense of poetry dulls the mind. Look." It's just cardboard, dripping a fresh drop of white paint.

"Do you think..."

Ď

She walked her home around midnight. The city was completely deserted, the lights in the houses long gone. Even the roads were lonely, devoid of cars. She walked down the middle of the street, completely mindless. Her mind somewhere deep inside, barely a finger of perception still there. An electronic cricket played somewhere in her backpack, trembling gently on her back. Before her eyes, there was only blackness. The apartment blocks were only in the distance, behind her back and far ahead. And here, as if the world had ceased. Viscous shapes, darker than each other, all uniformly black, emerging from beneath the ground. Overflowing as if mad, suffocating and choking, creating ever new visions. Everything around her equally deep and warm. Electrifyingly delicate – the touch of velvet on a dry, cold hand. Shoes thumped against the asphalt, their rhythmic and hypnotic music. Left, right, left, right...

There was something beautiful about it. Tragically beautiful. The sight of her was somehow moving. She was beyond reach, beyond sight, yet passing her, one could smell her scent, the sweet scent of skin. Like a ghost. Transported from another era, utterly unreal, yet so terribly visible. A vicious cycle of failed concealment. The more she tried to become invisible, the more eyes rested on her body. Her eyebrows knitted over eyes brimming with irritation, and her mouth frozen in nothing—extremely expressive. She wanted so much to escape...

Ď

She read until dawn. It would be terrible not to take advantage of the silence. A silent silence, yet alive, not the silence she feared. The dead silence, piercing her ears with a constant noise of shrieks and screams. Indefinable, full of nonexistent sounds that, in their macabre symphony, grew ever stronger, shattering the inside of her head. Terror... But I'm not talking about that. The sun rose slowly, still white, and knocked on the open windows. Monika yawned as she rose from her armchair, or rather, from the enormous pillow that served as its function. She lowered two layers of purple velvet curtains into the light. The room was flooded with the dawning night. She took off her sweatshirt, tossing it somewhere in the corner, found the right button on the stereo, and put on her headphones. The duvet was light and pleasant to the touch. Almost immediately, she warmed the fabric against her body and fell asleep.

Around noon, a knock on the door, accompanied by a dog's growl, served as an alarm clock. Whoever was on the other side clearly had a gallows sense of humor. To the uninitiated, it was simply knocking. But to her, it was a game. The rhythmic tapping of the same passage from the funeral march over and over again. She didn't need to wake up to know who had arrived. The newcomer was too distinctive to be mistaken for anyone.

"Easy, Bastion, it's only Paweł. Good dog..." When she reached the door, the dog calmly made his way to his seat. The lock creaked, and the wooden wall gave way.

"What took so long? My fingers are already aching from knocking on that gate." – in black, as always. Smiling nonchalantly, handsome, charming, and so... feminine. His face possessed incredibly soft features, long lashes around green eyes, and a cascade of blond hair, tied in a ponytail with a red velvet ribbon (a gift from her), he could easily pass for a beautiful woman. At his feet was a large backpack on a frame.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm letting you know I was asleep. Besides... Maybe a 'good morning' or at least a 'hello'?" – I don't know. She seemed happy to see him. The feeling between them could be called love. A rather strange one, but love nonetheless.

"Hello, darling..." he leaned in for a kiss, and she offered her cheek instead of her mouth. "Are you offended? Did something...

" "Silly. Nothing happened. I just didn't have time to brush my teeth. I got up 30 seconds ago. Have mercy." They both laughed loudly. She gestured for him to come in. "Make yourself comfortable. Are you home or..."

"Straight off the train, in case you hadn't noticed." He gestured to the luggage. "I missed you, I couldn't go home." He tried to convey exhaustion with a dramatic expression, but it came out neither as despair nor as nausea. He laughed again. His smile was also beautiful, completely sincere and spontaneous. It was almost perfect. Sometimes she wondered why he couldn't live without her. She didn't consider herself pretty, quite the opposite, but he always answered every question the same way, with the same degree of protectiveness—because you're an autumn wind's dream..."

He

left around four. It seemed like it always was—wonderful and romantic, but something was clearly jarring in the whole thing. It wasn't so much a fact as a doubt. A persistent thought, something that kept her from focusing on the situation at hand. The phone rang.

"You have no honor or remorse!

" "Hi, Sunshine.

" "Don't be here, Sunshine." I'm the one who has to spend my parents' hard-earned money calling you to remind you that I should apologize?!

- Sorry.

- You're welcome.

- Hmm... What's up?

- Not so good. I heard Paweł came back. Is that true?

- Yes, he did come back. - Even her voice was tinged with reluctance.

- Is something wrong?

- No. He was nice, sweet, smiling. Sensitive as always and... you know what?

- Hmm?

- I feel like throwing up! This guy is going to kill me. He's like three cartons of wafers eaten in one sitting and washed down with a cola.

- You know, that seems like a more embarrassing topic to me. I'm having tea in 10 minutes. Fruit tea, please. Bye. - She

hung up.

- They'll both give me a nervous breakdown someday. - It's so hot. You could melt at the first intersection. I melted about twelve times before I got here. That tea thing probably wasn't the best idea. She said it all in one breath, immediately and so quickly that Monica thought she was listening to a cassette being rewound on the screen. "Of course, I'm glad you came. It's nice to see you too. We really do have beautiful weather." She kissed Basia's cheek, which was ablaze with the sun. "Oh, stop being sarcastic. Pro forma? Good morning. Thank you for inviting me. Nice weather we're having today, isn't it? How are you doing?" They laughed loudly. Ritual sniping at each other at every turn. Unbearable for others. So charming for them. "And now, please, give me something cold to drink, or I'll go get a drink from the toilet. " "It's taken. Bastion is sleeping in the toilet because it's cooler there. But I made grapefruit juice. Will that be enough? " "Thank heavens. May Mother Earth reward you in her children." She reached for the beautifully frosted glass of orange-red drink. The ice cubes clinked pleasantly against the rim of the glass.

"You'd damn well choke!" A snort and a laugh.

Well, she shouldn't have said that. The liquid matched the hallway paneling quite well, but the terracotta in the kitchen presented a rather unpleasant image. Especially when they joined in. Tears of laughter, they sat amidst this whole scene of misery and despair – a mess after breakfast for sixteen people, and one. The dog didn't react; he'd gotten used to it by now.

Half an hour later, they were deep in the throes of cleaning. Incense sticks burned in the corners, but unfortunately, they had no effect, as all the windows, including the balcony, had been opened simultaneously to air out the room. The girls, half-naked – to avoid sweating and getting too dirty – took turns running around with dusters, dishcloths, furniture polish, a bucket of floor cleaner, and a vacuum cleaner. Manson was screaming from the speakers, so loud it seemed strange that no one was bothered. The police hadn't arrived, and the neighbors weren't banging on the door. Or had they? At least they hadn't heard a thing.

When they could even see their reflections in the floor under the fridge, they sank down onto the balcony with a heavy sigh. Another dose of juice and a pack of cigarettes.

"You know, this might sound strange, but..." Sunny's voice was laced with tiredness, but also with joy.

"Hmm?" A curious look emerged from the inside of a huge glass.

"I actually enjoy cleaning at your place." Embarrassment? Pointless.

"It's the same as at your place. But I've had enough today. You can order a thorough cleaning... for example... what are we having today?

" "Are you asking me? It's vacation. Whatever happens, it's Saturday.

" "Indeed. So, cleaning for the Saturday after Saturday, which will be tomorrow, because this Saturday has already worn me out."

"Okay, until after Saturday then."

Despite the heat and exhaustion, they clung to each other. They liked being together like this. Especially since... Sometimes it wasn't so beautiful. Oh well! To hell with bad memories! It was wonderful then. Wonderful, that's all.

" Ď

During dinner that same day, her parents announced their plans. They'd impulsively bought last-minute tickets and were going to Thailand in four days. They'd be gone for two weeks. At first, she was simply speechless. They'd always had a strange approach to many things, one might say rather irresponsible for people their age, but this time they'd outdone themselves. She sat for a moment, staring at them with a stupid expression, her sandwich frozen halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me, but what about her?"

"You're joking, right?" The question didn't sound like a question in itself. She knew they'd already bought the tickets, and had probably arranged leave from work as well. She was just waiting for the next move. There was still her and the dog. They can hand the animal over to the police for custody for the time being, but will they hand her over somewhere too?

"No, honey. Daddy and I decided we wanted to go on a wild vacation. We bought tickets just for ourselves; we know you don't like hot resorts," her mother said in a velvety voice. As if she wanted to caress her daughter from years ago with her words. That little, always surprised creature in the green dress, with a ponytail tied with a yellow ribbon. Just like the one that stood in gilded frames at both grandmothers' and most aunts'.

"Well, you've succeeded there. I don't like the beach. But I think you've gone a bit too far. And what now?! Are you going to give me and the dog away for safekeeping?! Lock me up somewhere to vegetate these two weeks in peace?! Oh no, I won't let you fool me!" As usual, she got carried away. She felt bitter, abandoned, and she probably wanted to express it as clearly as possible with every drawled word.

"Not in that tone, young lady!" "Lady?" Oh, her father felt offended. He rarely called her that, and every time it meant trouble. Serious trouble.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get carried away. But try to put yourself in my shoes." – maybe he'll still find a way out...

"Monia, I understand you, child. That's exactly what your mother and I want to talk to you about." – he managed. The parental voice took on that pleasant tone again. "We wanted you to decide for yourself. We could take you to the countryside; I'm sure your grandmother will be happy to have her prodigal granddaughter back. Aunt Bożena invited you to the capital; she could use a little help. Or you could stay here, at home. You're an adult now, you can manage on your own. If you don't want to feel alone, Paweł can settle in with us for the time being, either he or Słonko.

" "Do you think that's a good solution?

" "Don't exaggerate. Father will make sure there's a security patrol in the area. You'll be safe. I don't think anyone would be able to enter the house without first having a preliminary conversation with Bastion." – At the sound of his name, the dog opened his left eye, surveying the situation. The mother started laughing, and Monika's initial nervousness somehow subsided. After all, what teenager wouldn't want an apartment for two weeks? As they say, "the old ones have no place to stay, oh, it'll be a party!"

– Besides, I also took care of your entertainment. Don't think you have such degenerate 'old ones' anymore. Remember that Mr. Zbyszek from the Warsaw Police Department? His daughter works at a large wholesaler of photographic supplies and...

– And...? That sounds like a form of bribery to me. Okay, let's see what you have to offer.

– Don't play with fire, little one – as the master of ceremonies would say: laughter in the audience. – Well, we've decided that you take such good photos that buying you a course with a professional and turning the third, cluttered basement into a darkroom is a really good idea.

– Really? Fantastic! – finally. Six months of begging and pleading has yielded some results. Your own private darkroom. Just... a second home. - So when are you leaving?

- Nasty monkey!

"Mom, I'm kidding.

" "We know, we know. The final touches are still being made. You'll get the keys to the darkroom in two days, the workers are having trouble getting the door closed, and the chemicals, paper, and everything else will arrive next Wednesday. I hope you can contain your excitement until then.

" "I'm sure you will. You're amazing..."

"We'll discuss the details later tonight, because you have to get going. You're supposed to be at the end of town in 30 minutes." This specialist, his name is Rafał, looked at your films and decided he's dealing with talent, so you're getting to work right away. His address is next to the cell phone. I hope you find it. Take a notebook. And I hope you'll be happy.

" "I'm here. I love you... even though you're weird... for parents. You're...

" "Awesome. Yes, we know. Run, now, or you'll be late for your first lesson. The camera is in a shoebox in the hallway." I arranged for you to have it cleaned and get a new lamp. It cost a bit, so they gave me four plates as a promotion.

"Devide et impera, Dad... Thank you!"

Ď

It was only when she was standing at the station, her eyes barely catching the train's taillights, that everything fell apart. Her parents were comfortably seated in their compartment, reading books or talking, and she stood on the platform, probably still waving to them, mechanically shaking her hand. The city was full of noise and shouting, but to her, it seemed as if everything had suddenly fallen silent. It had vanished with the rhythmic clatter of wheels. It was already empty. She could sit on the concrete and bury her face in her hair, hands, and the thin shirt that had once belonged to her father. She was afraid, and she could finally show it. She didn't have to smile and pretend to be happy. She was looking the truth in the eye. She felt threatened, terrified, and furious. And she was ashamed of it. Her strongest defense against the world was enjoying a two-week vacation in a faraway land. And here she was. Monika, a grown woman on her own vacation. Monika, a little girl whose mind was building something that threatened her normality.

The dog had roused her from this whole declaration of submission. Until then, he had been sitting quietly, still staring in the direction his masters had departed. He sat and watched as his beloved guardian cried again, curled up in the middle of the platform, this time in the middle of the platform. People passing by looked at her with curiosity, perhaps concern, but they were afraid to approach. Some might say that, being a dog, he couldn't do anything. But he knew he had to do something. And four paws and fur were no obstacle. First, he nudged her whole body with his head. It didn't help. He decided to be more radical. His teeth clamped down on the girl's forearm. Gently enough not to cause harm, but hard enough to cause considerable pain.

"Are you fucking crazy?! Bastion, that hurts! Leave me alone, do you hear me?! Let me go, damn it!!" Her voice was imperious, but the dog seemed to know better than anyone what he was doing. He stood up and began practically dragging her, hunched behind him. She tried to struggle, but that only hurt more. Screaming was pointless, and when she tried to whip the dog with the leash, she couldn't. His eyes were determined, so she decided to follow him in this comical position until he decided to let her go.

They walked along the platform and a little further. Here the station buildings ended. Only one small structure stood alone, resembling a concrete block with windows. About ten meters behind her, behind the fence, grew a tree. A tree of indeterminate species, a vast shelter from the scorching sun. Bastion stopped just inside the metal bars of the barrier and almost immediately found an abandoned tunnel. He crossed to the other side and, facing his stunned owner, began barking. Except that his barking, like the entire act, was almost reminiscent of human behavior. He barked, and it seemed to her that he was trying to form sentences. He wanted her to immediately join him. How did she know? On the one hand, it was quite obvious, but on the other, it was as if she understood what he was saying to her.

She grabbed the upper rail, pulled herself up, and deftly swung her legs over the other side. For a moment, she remembered how she and her friends had escaped over the fence from the police training ground just like that. But now it was different.

"So, what next, Mr. Freud? Where are you taking me now?" She pulled up her shirt sleeve, wet with dog saliva. Her arm presented an interesting image. "Look, silly, now not only do I have a bruise, but I also have a jawbone like a horse's." She heard only one bark in response. After a moment, a tug on the leash attached to her belt. It looked almost like an episode of "Monty Python's Flying Circus"—a dog taking a lady for a walk.

Beneath the tree, as it turned out, were quite high stairs. An old concrete structure made of slabs forcibly driven into the ground. Their venerable age could be deduced from the cracks, chips, and all sorts of deformations. Today, they didn't really resemble stairs, but rather a fragment of a pile of rubble leading nowhere. They stopped. A bark.

"Okay, I'm sitting. What's next?" the dog's muzzle pointed to the right pocket of his jeans. "Am I to understand you're letting me smoke? Something serious is brewing." The shaggy black head settled into Monika's lap, and with equally black eyes, she tried to say something.

"But I don't know what you're trying to tell me. Are you mumbling? Okay, maybe I know what you're saying, but I don't want to know. You see how it is. What do you mean? Like a pile of rubble. I know you want to comfort me, but it doesn't do much good. What can I do if I'm going crazy? Rafał speaks without moving his lips, I daydream about things I can't get rid of, my parents are leaving, Słonko is going to grandma's, in the middle of the night some guy sits on my windowsill, I have hysterical attacks, and now Paweł wants to live with me. It's just too much for me. Too much! Aaah!!! I missed this! I'm talking to my dog. And I don't even know who's crazier. You talking to me, or me talking back...

Just the wag of a black tail over dusty records. Her shirt pockets proved incredibly useful once again when she found a Walkman with a cassette inside them. Attached to the back of her belt, it erupted in her ears with a soothing, loud sound, drawing the entire world to the melody of her beloved voice. She knew the barrier wouldn't last long, but at least she'd make it to Słonek's house. She hoped to find her again, or rather, she probably wished her something bad, like a broken leg so she couldn't leave. She needed her here and now, today. Complete with warm bedding, a few bottles of wine, and cigarettes. A tug on the leash. Oh yes, the whole package was completed by a dog that suddenly started talking and reading minds. This vacation was getting weirder and weirder...

Ď

"...it's so hard to believe our hearts are made to be broken by love..."

But Baśka wasn't home. Damn, she wasn't, and that was that. Her parents' car was parked quietly in front of a tall apartment building, but the door remained unmoved, unresponsive to the persistent knocking. It didn't even respond to the brutal kick when, in utter resignation, Monika decided to give in. She went down. She ran. Or rather, she flew down the stairs, making as much noise as possible. She slammed the cage door with a mighty flourish. What harm could she do? It calmed her down a bit, but what next?

Out of the corner of her left eye, she caught sight of long blond hair, tied in a ponytail with a wooden clip. Paweł. She called once. Twice. A third time. He was far away, but it was impossible for him not to have heard her. Only when she ran after him and got close enough did she realize it wasn't Paweł after all. This wasn't her... friend? ... always smelling of good cologne and coffee. Suddenly, all their shared memories flooded her head like an avalanche of images, sounds, smells, and regret. Bastion sat down across from her and began barking.

"Monika... remember... even if the whole world collapses, you can always come..." a voice she'd heard only yesterday, sounding like a memory from half a century ago.

"Bastion. Shut up. I don't want to hear you!" We're going to Paul's... It's now or never...

Ď

The house was quite close. She hadn't realized it before, or maybe she was just walking so fast this time. So many conflicting thoughts were racing through her mind at once. She had to do something. It was definitely impossible to leave things to their own devices, like they used to. They'd been together for almost six months, and sometimes she couldn't even say a word about him. Did something connect them...? Love without love. Without passion. Without anything. Friendship with intertwined hands. A bond without definition. Lethargy somewhere between concepts. Meaninglessness.

The beautiful sepia-toned building stood out among the square and rectangular white blocks. An immaculately manicured garden, a manicured lawn, an open garage, and a multitude of car parts littered the driveway. He was probably playing little mechanic again. No, wait. These weren't car parts. No, definitely not. She recognized the size, the individual pieces lying side by side, the grooves. As she approached the gate, more and more details emerged from behind the small trees. Nearly bald tires, engine, spark plugs... the engine housing. Black paint, with some vague markings meticulously painted on it in burgundy paint. To the uninitiated, they were simply interesting pictures. But to Monika, it was something more. Much more.

"How dare you! Who gave you permission to touch his... my... our... What right do you have to pry into my past with your shoes?!" She placed her left hand on the cold metal gate. She shifted her weight onto it and swung her legs over to the other side. "What do you think you're doing? What are you even doing?!

"I'm fixing your motorcycle. Mariusz and I decided it would make a nice gift for your...

" "Fuck! He... Has he... You lost your mind?! You think you can just take out and modify something that belongs to me like that?!" Only to me... You know why that motorcycle, or rather what was left of it, was lying in Mariusz's scrapyard. You know perfectly well! You've heard this story a thousand times. From me and everyone else. Back then, I abandoned it, along with all my memories. Can't you understand that I don't want to go back to that?! She hadn't been this angry in ages. Furious and simultaneously helpless. That one small fragment of bodywork. A piece of old, rusting sheet metal.

It was the same day again. That same hellish day when... When they were happy. Gods, had it been two years already? Two years? Two damn years! She hadn't even once visited his grave. She couldn't drag herself along the musty cobblestone path to where his body lay. White, dressed in a beautiful black suit, with the once-shiny motorcycle helmet she'd decorated for him. How many days had it taken her to draw the head of a howling wolf. Wolf. That's what they called Piotrek. Their guide. At the wolf followed by his ... pack.

Ď

"Get a grip! Monika!" She felt a searing pain in her right cheek. Impossible. Paweł had hit her. He looked at her with terrified eyes, but he didn't hesitate to hit her again. She gasped for air as if she'd just emerged from water.