Bad

 Moonlight peered curiously through the kitchen window, illuminating its cramped interior with its delicate ray. It seemed as if the world had lost its color; everything was black and white. Even the woman's face looked deathly pale in the light, even though it was actually completely red. Red from crying. She sat on a wooden chair and sobbed—trying to do so as quietly as possible so that Marek, her fourteen-year-old son, who was now sleeping in his room under a soft, colorful blanket, wouldn't hear her. Jola, for that was the woman's name, was in her early thirties, yet she looked much older. Tears were now streaming down her face, where the first wrinkles had begun to appear some time ago. She turned her face toward the window and looked at the moon, but unfortunately, now it only appeared to be a blurry ball, as if hidden somewhere deep underwater. She was trembling. For a moment, she felt as if her heart had shrunk to a tiny size. She instinctively touched her left breast with her hand, but the moment she did, the strange feeling vanished. "I must be going crazy," she thought, and laughed bitterly to herself. She tried to force a smile onto her face, but with horror, she realized she couldn't. She looked toward the hall, her gaze landing on the door behind which her son slept. His smiling face, still so innocent and childlike, began to appear before her eyes. She saw the moment he received Holy Communion, and she remembered the day he gave her a Mother's Day card. She loved him more than anything in the world; there was no one more precious to her than Marek; for him, she would do literally anything. She looked at the door to his room and began to calm down. Her breathing became more regular, her heart slowly beginning to beat in its normal rhythm. She rose from the chair when she suddenly heard that sound: footsteps. His footsteps. They came from the stairwell, heavy footsteps, sometimes halting for a few seconds before becoming audible again. Jola quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sat down in the chair she'd risen from seconds earlier. She felt that feeling she knew all too well. She felt fear – gripping her entire body, almost paralyzing her movements, but most of all, she felt it in her heart. She began to tremble again. A crunch. She flinched. Keys in the lock. The sound of the doorknob being turned, lasting only a fraction of a second, but to her it was just a long, loud sound, boring into her head. A moment later, she heard a wheezing sound, repeated every few seconds. Like an animal dying in the hallway. She stared straight ahead, her gaze rigid, yet she was blind; she saw nothing, only heard the wheezing. Closer, ever closer. She closed her eyes. There was silence, as if there was nothing around her, as if time had stopped.

He didn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling with his blue eyes and recalled the day at school. He'd gotten an A in math; he was the only one in his class who could handle the problem. He was the best at it, often calculating complex equations in his head on his way home from school, and he had the perfect opportunity to do so, as he had no friends to walk with. But today he was walking home with Weronika. He seemed to have fallen in love with her; he saw her smile now, her wonderful eyes, and the words she'd said when they said goodbye still echoed in his ears. "You're a nice boy," "You're a nice boy"... He repeated those words in his mind now, bringing him great joy. He smiled to himself; he couldn't wait for tomorrow when he'd see her again. He rolled over and closed his eyes, wanting to fall asleep, to hasten that moment. "You're a nice boy, you're a nice boy, you're a nice boy..." Suddenly, he opened his eyes. He was staring at one spot, completely terrified. Someone opened the door to the apartment. Marek began to sweat, but he was afraid to throw off the covers. He curled up and listened. All he heard was a wheezing sound...

He entered the house. The world spun before his eyes, he felt a throbbing pain in his jaw, he couldn't say a word. He was angry, very angry. He had been humiliated in front of his friends, punched several times in the face by some young man whose face he couldn't even remember. He wanted to lash out, he wanted to do the same to someone, to prove to himself that he wasn't so weak after all. The pain prevented him from thinking, and the alcohol in his blood was making him dizzy. For a moment, he leaned against the wall to gather his thoughts. He knew how to release his anger—the same way he always did. He smiled, and for a moment, that gleam in his eyes that didn't bode well appeared. He staggered toward the kitchen. For a moment, he couldn't see—he stepped from the dark hallway into a moonlit room. But after a moment, his eyes adjusted to the change in light. He saw her sitting in the chair...

Suddenly, she felt the strangeness of him beside her. His scent filled her nostrils, the same stench—sweat mixed with vodka. She swallowed slowly to push back the contents of her stomach. She opened her eyes and slowly lifted her head. He stood over her, and she could see his face clearly, illuminated by the moonlight. He was angry, very angry. She looked into his eyes and held them for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. She didn't recognize them; they were no longer the eyes of her husband, the man she loved, who brought her flowers every day and whispered "I love you" in her ear. They were the eyes of a complete stranger, madness and insanity emanating from them. She knew what was about to happen, and instinctively she closed her eyes. She waited...

Fear gripped him, and he began to cry. He tried to repeat the words he'd heard from Weronika, but he couldn't. He forgot. He covered himself with the blanket. If he were a grown man, he would have left the room and killed the snarling creature, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He waited...

He stood over her, staring at her face. What did he see in her? There were so many prettier girls, and he had to be chasing this whore? He took a swing and hit her with all his might...

She saw a flash. For a moment, she didn't know what was happening, but she quickly recovered. She was lying on the floor at the man's feet. She tried to get up, but he kicked her in the stomach. She began to choke...

He heard something fall to the ground. His mother. A moment later, a moan reached his ears. He covered his ears with his small hands...

"It feels good." He kicked her again. Yes, that was what he needed; he felt her calm down. "You bloody bitch," he said, but after a moment the pain in her jaw intensified.

She was gasping for air, desperately trying to catch her breath, but she couldn't. The last thing she saw was her husband's boot approaching her face at lightning speed. Then there was only a crack...

He unplugged his ears, listened, but heard nothing. He felt something bad had happened, something very bad. He wanted to hear something, so desperately wanted to hear at least his mother's moan. He wanted to know she was alive, that this monster hadn't killed her...

He stared at her limp body lying on the floor. "What's wrong with you, you bitch?! What the fuck is wrong with you, you disgusting bitch?!" he shouted. "Get up, you bastard! Come on, you bastard!" He became worried. He remained still, slowly gathering his thoughts and calming his breathing. Was she dead? He slowly leaned over her, placing his massive hand on her chest. She wasn't heaving...

Marek heard his father scream. "No!" It's impossible! That was the only thought racing through his mind. Slowly, afraid he wouldn't hear him, he got out of bed. He stood for a few seconds, listening for her approach. He went to the door, opened it slightly, and headed for the kitchen.

He heard a rustle at the entrance. He quickly turned and saw his son. He stood in his pajamas, staring first at his mother, then at him. His eyes glowed like the headlights of a car parked somewhere in the distance at night, and there were tears in them. Slowly, it began to get darker—the moon began to cover the clouds. He began to disappear, as if he were the woman's guardian angel. Now he had no one to watch over... The man realized what he had done and slowly stood up. His mind was spinning, and for a moment he had the overwhelming feeling that it was all just a dream. He took a step toward his son. He wanted to embrace him, apologize, tell him how sorry he was... He began to approach him...

"She's dead, that son of a bitch killed her. She's dead..." Marek repeated in his mind. He was crying. Suddenly, his father began to approach him. "Malku..." he said. Marek began to run, screaming, "Leave me alone, you son of a bitch! Leave me alone!" He ran through the dark hall and stormed into his room. "Where can I hide, where can I hide? He'll kill me, he'll kill me!" He ran to the bed, intending to hide under the covers, but quickly abandoned that idea. He looked around the room frantically. He was acting on emotion; fear completely drowned out any rational thought. His gaze landed on the window. He ran to it and opened it. He looked down—the cars in the parking lot seemed tiny, like matchboxes. No wonder, after all, he was looking down from the eighth floor. He glanced back—his mother's murderer was a few meters away. He climbed onto the windowsill...