EMERGENCY MODE

0:31

I turned on my computer. It's already dark, and outside the window I see a ribbon of car lights, speeding somewhere, who knows where. Everyone just moves by, not even wondering what all the fuss is about or where they'll end up. I'm writing these words because I finally wanted to speak up. I don't want to just watch and listen. That's my job; I listen to others. I'm a psychologist, and people tell me their dreams. Perhaps you've read about me, perhaps you thought I was some important person. Maybe you were proud of me, but I'm just a thirty-year-old single woman who helps others. I forgot about myself.

Today they told me what I feared most. It doesn't matter now; I've had enough to forget about it.

I haven't been able to write in years. Not a single word. Only now, as I sit here and see it all before my eyes, I can't resist. I had to speak up because I need someone. I so desperately want to feel someone's closeness right now. You've been gone a long time anyway, so I won't scare you. I know you've forgiven me for everything and that you'll understand. I've been punished; now I'll have to live with the thought that I was cruel, overly ambitious, thinking only of myself. And yet I love you, you know that.

It's after midnight. I went for a long walk a few hours ago to think it all over. I thought he was the one with the problem, because I wasn't using protection. On purpose. Of course, I didn't want to drag him down the aisle like that (how does that even sound!); to be honest, I don't even love him. I just wanted to have a child with him because he's handsome and intelligent. It's just genetics; I wouldn't even tell him... but he's not the problem. It's me. It's because of me. They told me today. I'll never get pregnant again.

I went to the park completely drunk. Terribly unwise. It was dark, the air smelled of a damp forest. I was walking through the trees, I don't even know where I was or where I found this bag. It's just a plain, gray, cheap backpack. Dirty from dirt and stained with ink from a spilled pen. It lay open, abandoned, and inside were notebooks, some computer disks, and a few other items. I took it with me; when I'm sober tomorrow, I'll take it to the police; I think someone stole it. My purse also disappeared a while ago; I know how much trouble and worry that is. No one was decent enough to even return my documents.

As I look at this backpack, I imagine what it would be like for you to go to school—your first day of first grade. It would definitely rain... I opened it, imagining it was yours. I looked through my things, but it didn't feel right. But I couldn't help myself. Would you wear a backpack like this too? There's a black denim pencil case. I think it was handmade. Inside was that unfortunate pen that had spilled, a few pens with writing on it, and two small plastic bags with white powder inside. One almost empty, the other probably still unopened... there was also a note torn from a notebook.

"Are you going to physics?" "You know I'm suffocating in these classes from boredom." "A. and I will go together. Do you know where...?" "I don't know, we'll talk during break."

Those are your first words—that's what I thought...

9:46

I woke up later than usual today. I read what I wrote last night. The backpack is on the kitchen table; I took everything out yesterday. There are traces of blood on it; I didn't notice it yesterday. I think I made a terrible mistake. Something bad must have happened to the guy who owns it yesterday, and the bag is proof. But I took everything out yesterday. There are drugs in there. Even if I put everything back in its place, my fingerprints will remain. I'm very scared. I look at these things and wonder what I should do with them now? I'll look for them; maybe there are some documents inside; I could perhaps send them to the address provided. I'll have a Vermouth; it will be easier to gather my thoughts.

8:15 PM

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Yes, it's true. Looking at a face can reveal many signals we don't realize. Of course, such things aren't only taught in psychology classes; we all know this trivial truth. But are we capable of deceiving even those closest to us? Maybe no one cares about our eyes anymore? When I sometimes observe my patients, it seems to me they came to me because their loved ones no longer care about them; they've become furniture in the room, nothing special, not worth looking at. I wear contact lenses to change my natural eye color to azure. This color matches my hair—dyed blonde. Only things don't lie. They say more about us than we'd like. And they arouse genuine desire.

I've been going through the things in my backpack since early morning. I started with my notebooks. They're school notebooks for math, physics, and history. They're labeled. I never thought about what name I'd give you. Little girls often do that—they talk to their friends about what they'd name their future children. I liked the name Adam, and I named one doll Natalia. This happened when I was little and innocent. But I didn't want to name you. I wanted to forget about you. Now that this strange moment of reflection has arrived, I can't escape it.

Kamil. That's his name. It's sort of your name now. He's older than you, in his last year of high school. He's a very good student. He left behind several tests and quizzes in his notebooks—all without a single mistake. The highest grades, written in red ink, with teachers' flourishes. Under one paper, a comment: Bravo, Kamil! The only A in the whole class! Keep it up, your classmates should follow your example.

But there was something much more interesting in those notebooks than math problems or written assignments. I always thought the most interesting things were hidden at the end—my notebooks were full of short dialogues with my classmates. Quiet, intimate confessions during boring lessons. As it turned out, this habit hadn't faded, although boys were clearly more reserved. I found several such conversations in Kamil's notebooks. Always without a beginning or an end. The different handwriting and ink distinguish the interlocutors, but he always started and ended them. A strange pattern.

I don't want her to go there.

Didn't you happen to meet her there?

At NO-PLACE...? No. Not this time.

But she's already been there. I saw her with A.

I know, I saw her too. Who met her with A.

I guess everyone who's ever been to NO-PLACE knows A.

Yes, but I'm asking, WHO brought her there?

This conversation really intrigued me because I have no idea what it's about. Is NO-PLACE some kind of youth club? I've never heard of it, but as we all know, young people have their favorite places that only they know. But who is A.? And who were they talking about? And then there's this monologue on the next page:

She said it was the only place she felt truly safe. Only there she didn't have to pretend, she didn't have to live up to expectations, speak correctly, or be careful with her words. This place was like the fulfillment of her most beautiful dream of freedom. I understand that. Here, nearby, along the river runs a freeway. I like it. I like the hum of cars and the whistling of air left by a fast-moving truck. I've always envied people who just go for it and don't worry about anything. They just go, not even knowing where they'll end up. We can't do that; everything's already planned. High school diploma, college, career, money. It's good that there's a place where we can stop thinking about all that. It allows us to remain human. They all want to turn us into rats.

I'm slowly starting to discover this boy. I can't help it; it's drawing me in. I feel a bond growing between us. When I think about it, I've felt it from the very beginning, though I would never have admitted it before. But now I find myself in a kind of limbo. Tomorrow's Monday, but I won't go to work; I'll take a vacation and go take a closer look at that riverside trail. I want to feel the breeze from behind the truck. That breath of freedom we all long for.

0:53

As you can see, I'm still awake. I found a few more very interesting things in my notebooks. Of course, there were a few conversations, short sentences, and longer reflections. I'm sure the most interesting thing, however, would be what's in the envelope. It was between the pages of my history notebook. A plain white envelope. Sealed, but unaddressed. Inside was a letter. I didn't open it. I don't think I should.

There are photos on one of the two diskettes in my backpack. Files are labeled, so I know who is in each one. Kamil is there too. A very handsome young man, with well-defined features. He's dressed elegantly, holding his diploma in his hand—showing it off for a photo. First place in the inter-school math competition. He's smiling at the camera. Is he proud of himself? Or maybe he wants to run away? Is he happy? Certainly, he's successful. This is a role model; all his classmates should follow his example.

What did you do with (here the word is very carefully circled in pen—not from reading)

she went to NO-PLACE

during?

It was amazing—we did things you wouldn't expect.

So, is there anything left for tomorrow?

Do you need anything?

I can't stand being without her that long, do something, please...

His eyes hold an impenetrable mystery.

10:05

AM Today is Monday. First thing in the morning, I called the company to say I won't be coming. I took a leave of absence. I've never done that before, and I felt a slight discomfort at the thought of neglecting my duties. Yes, I'm a conscientious person, I always try to look perfect, perfect. For show.

I stood in front of the large mirror hanging in the hallway of my small, top-floor apartment. Naked. I'm getting older. It's all downhill from here: wrinkles, sagging, cellulite. There's more and more of it. My breasts are sagging, too much fat accumulates around my hips. I go to the gym and fitness center three times a week to look my best. I go to the hairdresser twice a month, and always to the beautician on Fridays. In my bathroom, I have cosmetics from companies that promise me I'll be loved when I become beautiful. But no one can turn back time; I'll only get uglier. I could, of course, opt for plastic surgery, but I'm not ready for that yet. I'll definitely enhance my breasts—their shape and size suit me. And I'll erase those awful wrinkles on my forehead. Looking at them, I want to throw the mirror out the window. I hate them.

Men like it when I slowly take off my clothes, revealing my body to their gaze. It looks like this: he sits in an armchair and imagines it's a porn movie and I'm an actress. I make sounds like I'm happy and that should encourage me to keep doing it. But for me, it's pure agony. I'm slowly revealing what I'm ashamed of. Should I reveal those disgusting nipples already? When should I take off my panties? My stomach looks awful. Let it be over. Always the standard scenario of a bad porn movie. Men have no imagination. I'd rather turn out the lights. Then I'd imagine he's a rich and romantic prince. That we met by chance on the beach and he invited me on his private yacht. There was a long, romantic dinner, culminating in a kiss. Bouquets of red roses and a diamond ring. I'm 20, and he's older, he looks into my eyes and says, "I love you, stay with me forever. "

6:31 PM

"Come in, Auntie," Julia greeted me from the doorway with a radiant smile, to which I, of course, returned the same. "Mom isn't here yet. She hasn't come home from work; she'll be back at four."

"It doesn't matter, honey, I'll wait."

Julia invited me into the living room and offered me coffee. I declined. I preferred to help myself to the wine from the bar.

"Would you like a drink with me?" I suggested innocently.

"Oh no," the girl smiled. "I don't really drink alcohol, I'm feeling lightheaded, and I still have preparatory courses at university...

" "Is it already this year's final exams?" I asked, pouring myself a glass of sweet red wine. She nodded.

My niece is a very pretty, delicate girl. She was dressed modestly in designer clothes, with subtle makeup. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and beautiful.

"Shouldn't your aunt be at work now? It's quite early."

"Shouldn't you be at school now?" I smiled, and she laughed back, embarrassed. "So let's keep it our secret." I took a sip of wine and added, just to be sure, "We won't tell Mom about our truancy."

We sat together in the sunny living room. Today was an exceptionally sunny day for autumn, with the clouds only beginning to clear around three o'clock. My little walk by the river became truly relaxing thanks to this. Busy road on one side and stinking water on the other. I could watch the sun's rays reflect off the windows of the gray skyscrapers on the other bank, and the blue sky, magnified by the glass and steel skyscrapers on my side, far off on the horizon.

"Have you chosen your university and field of study yet?" I asked after a moment.

"Yes, I want to study psychology, just like you, Auntie," she replied politely. "The exams are quite difficult because it's a private school...

" "The one collaborating with foreign research institutes?" Your mom told me about her. Tuition is high.

"But the level is the highest in the entire country." A spark of passion appeared in Julia's eyes. "Nowadays, many graduates obtain psychology degrees every year, but only the best are considered. Only those find employment at companies like yours. I want to be successful, but I have to work for it now.

" "You're very mature for your age," I praised her, "but aren't you overreacting? You should also have some time for yourself. This is the most beautiful time of your life.

" "Everyone in my class thinks the same way. We're afraid there won't be any places for us at universities, and then jobs at truly respectable companies. I'd like my life to be like yours. Mom lost her chance; she's a housewife. It's just work, home, work..." Julia looked me straight in the eye. "I won't end up like this.

" "She's doing it for you, appreciate it," I replied, but I admit I felt encouraged by her words.

The life I led was certainly more interesting than my older sister's. Husband, children, cooking, laundry, ironing... what a torment. A woman worn out by life, someone no one would have thought was forty. She looks older, doesn't take care of herself.

"What's that smell?" I asked, narrowing my eyes like a cat. "Is it the Channel?"

Julia smiled. The mood lightened, and we started talking about girly things. That's how the afternoon flew by. I wanted to stop at the supermarket and do some shopping, so around two o'clock, after two glasses of wine, I slowly started getting ready to leave.

"Tell me, honey," I asked finally, "do you know a club called NO-PLACE?"

Julia's face grew serious for a moment, then a smile lit up her face again.

"No, auntie, I've never heard of such a place."

I looked at her. Nonverbal signals. Hands, eyes, facial expressions. Is she nervous? I remained silent, waiting for her to speak.

"I don't go to clubs much at all," she laughed, embarrassed. "My day is packed with activities. You know how it is in senior year, Auntie.

" "And you're not skipping school at all, are you?" I briefly assumed the pose of a caring aunt. She laughed loudly again, blushing to the bone.

"And where did Auntie hear about such a club?" she asked in the hallway, seemingly casually. I knew she really wanted to ask this question.

"Where did I hear about NO-PLACE?" I asked, echoing. There was another dull pause.

"Yes," Julia replied quietly, now completely serious. "Where did Auntie hear about NO-PLACE?

" "Have you ever been there?

" "No," she smiled again. "I don't know of such a club."

I frightened her. We said our warm goodbyes, and I promised to drop by later that week to visit my sister. Julia closed the door behind her, and I heard the sound of the lock clicking. Then another. Did she feel safe now—locked in her own home? Alone.

When I got out of the car a few minutes later, I found myself in the vast parking lot in front of the entrance to the 24-hour Tesco supermarket. The sun was still shining through the approaching clouds, illuminating the gray surface with cheerful reflections. The wind gently whipped my face. I enjoyed it, as it was actually quite warm for this time of year.

In my backpack, I found several old receipts from that very store. From what I could tell, Kamil occasionally shops for his mother. And, as it turns out, at "my" store. Each receipt contained a long list of groceries. He was undoubtedly the pride of his parents, just as Julia was my sister's world. I imagined the pressure of such love must be crushing. Sometimes, feelings that are too strong become a curse; it's impossible to achieve the expected results. We do a lot to prove our worth, but we still feel like what we do is just a drop in the ocean.

We fear there won't be places for us at universities, or jobs at truly respectable companies.

It's good that there's a place where we can stop thinking about it all. It allows us to remain human.

It's a shame I didn't find such a place when I was their age.

I'm currently drinking an orange Smirnoff-based drink that I bought at Tesco today, along with several other similar drinks. It's already dark, and autumn rain has begun to fall from the clouds that completely obscured the sun when I left the store.

After returning home, I turned off my cell phone, made myself a good cup of coffee, and returned to the things spread out on the kitchen table. Now I can clearly see that both bags from the denim pencil case contain a slightly different kind of powder. The color is almost the same, but one is pure dust, while the unopened one is tiny granules. Is this a different drug?

I also found a few condoms in the backpack. The diskettes without photos contain only files related to school, final exams, and topics from preparatory courses. Kamil is going to study economics.

I examine the sealed envelope. I'm tempted to open it, but I can't. It would violate the boundaries I've set for myself. I'd like to meet Kamil and ask him many questions. Will I have the opportunity? What if that accident in the forest didn't end with just a nosebleed? There's not much blood on the backpack, but if he was stabbed, how much blood could have been on it? I don't want to think about it. If we ever meet, I wouldn't want to know more than I need to. There were no documents in my backpack.

11:50 PM

I bought more than just bottles of vodka drinks at Tesco today. I'm not a very good cook, but there's a website online with simple recipes for quick and tasty meals. I missed lunch at work today, and I felt a slight sinking feeling in my stomach. I never order pizza because it's pure chemistry; I just make something in the kitchen when necessary. I took Kamil's things out of the kitchen, I'll throw the bag in the washing machine in the morning, but the blood needs to be soaked in cold water first. I'll do that in a moment. Now I'm eating the remains of the fruit salad I made for dessert. You could be proud of me right now, because it turns out I'm not completely devoid of culinary talent.

12:38 AM

I shouldn't be up yet if I'm going to be at work tomorrow morning. But I'm here to tell you I found something important!

As I was about to put Kamil's bag into the bowl of water, I felt a small, flat object inside, as if sewn inside. I searched it again very carefully and noticed a small, well-hidden, probably handmade pocket on the inside. Inside was only one thing: a small CD. Signed:

For Kamil from NO-PLACE. Try to find yourself here :-)

Anima.

I carried it out to the brightly lit room where my computer hummed gently, where I was writing these words. I inserted the CD into the drive. It spun quietly. I held my breath as I opened its contents. Dozens of image files, this time unsigned. I clicked on the first one.

A photo of an eye appeared. An open eye, barely visible, the iris. The pupil was dilated to its limits. You could drown in such blackness. The program automatically jumped to the next photo, this time an equally intense close-up of the lips. Moist, feminine lips.

The next one was a credit card. I froze. It was my credit card, the one I'd lost with my purse two months ago. My photo and name. My bank. I didn't have time to pause the app, and another file appeared. My card again, but this time with a neat line of white powder scattered across its smooth, plastic surface. I couldn't believe it. In the next photos, I saw someone using a small tube to snort a drug from that card. Probably this one, because this time it was impossible to make out any details. Dark silhouettes surrounded it, and one girl leaned over a shiny plastic coin. Then others, one after another. It was dark everywhere, the only light coming from the candles around them.

Then the steamy scenes began. A girl, naked and apparently unconscious, surrounded by several young, aroused men. It's impossible to see her face, but that was probably a deliberate action by the photographer. The further the photos went, the sharper they became. Was this rape? Was the girl aware of what was happening? I don't know why, but I suddenly thought she liked it. I thought this as I remembered those bland, bored with everyday life, un-rebellious teenagers from the previous photos on the diskette. Fake smiles, unwanted successes, hated plans for the future, and the fear of what would happen if they didn't come true. I slowly began to understand the force that drives young people into such things. I began to understand it. And I felt it myself.

...Only there, she doesn't have to pretend, she doesn't have to live up to expectations, speak properly, and be careful with her words. This place is like the fulfillment of her most beautiful dream of freedom...

So is she snorting this drug? I glanced at my newly issued credit card. I have this drug, and I have instructions on what to do next.

A letter. I see no reason not to open it anymore. He knows me, even from a photo. If he's among these men, and he definitely is, then he's seen me, maybe even more than once. I'll open it.

Yes. This girl is finally happy, free. It's like trampling on her dignity, but at the same time, unleashing within herself the immense, physical pleasure of rebellion against everything that she is in her daily life and everything she doesn't accept or want. This is the only way to get rid of it, because other forms of rebellion have long since become mere commercial spectacles of modernity.

1:20

I read the letter. Now I understand everything. The nose is a very sensitive organ. I decided to take this drug. I feel strange now that I've done it. I'm waiting for it to start. You're probably wondering what was in the letter? It was the truth. About Kamil. About me. About us.

Hello!

It took me a long time to gather myself to tell you what I'm writing now. We live together in this city, and everyone here is lonely. And you are too. I know it. I see it every day. I see many things. I look. I can watch your face as I wait at the bus stop, for the tram. In winter, I noticed that from the building across the street, I can watch your apartment from the stairwell window. Don't be angry, I don't do that anymore.

You often pass me in the store when you're shopping. We're very similar, but separated as if by an invisible pane of glass. Our worlds don't overlap. It was only THERE that you noticed me. You found yourself in NO-PLACE, like everyone who has ever been there—that is, by accident. Each had their own reasons, but we were united by this inner need to forget ourselves and disappear, even for a moment. There, our eyes finally met. What happens there is our path to hell. But if there's something even worse, it's the life we ​​lead during the day. You chose this life, and we won't meet again in the place where the glass barrier disappears. I always carry two drugs with me to NO-PLACE. One that allows me to find my way there, which I've missed so much more than once. And the other, the one I received, just like you, at the very beginning, allows me to forget and never return. I don't want to, I can't live without it anymore, so I guess it's of no use to me. I no longer believe in its power.

I just wanted to write to you that I love you. Since that meeting, I know that for sure...

I looked away. A naive and sweet declaration of love. And yet it touches my heart, since he wrote it...

I feel the drug taking effect. I begin to see everything clearly. I hear sounds I hadn't heard before. What was once just silence now begins to resemble a concert. The impenetrable darkness transforms into a familiar, damp, and cold place. I decided to find NO-PLACE. This letter was written precisely to get me there. I'm certain. It ends with the sentence: "

I will send these words to you today. I really want you to finally hear them, but since I don't have the courage, at least read them."

And it found its way to me. My Animus is calling me. I see it in the large mirror in the hallway. It's already waiting for me in the dark, cold forest. Where I will find NO-PLACE.

All imperfections have disappeared. A beautiful, pale, cold figure stares at me. Is this still me? I want to walk through this pane of glass separating me from a world where everything is as it should be and people fulfill their true dreams. Now Kamil and I know each other very well. Because only what we have makes us. He knows the things I've lost, and I know his. And we love each other. Yes, I love you too, my Kamil. Very much. I will never forget you, even though I did something so terrible to you. But I know you've forgiven me, and now you'll take me where my pain will vanish. You'll lead me, like a little, defenseless girl, by the hand. To a place where we are no longer. Let's go.