Park 2

 Paweł and Czarek were debating where all the park benches had gone. Paweł noticed that their friend had also disappeared after a good minute.

"Hey, where's Marek?" he interrupted Czarek mid-sentence. Czarek fell silent for a moment and began looking around.

"Exactly," he replied after a moment. "He disappeared somewhere. He probably went looking for food." He laughed darkly.

Paweł didn't answer, just started calling out for his missing friend. Only the cars driving behind them on the street interrupted the silence. What's more, that damned fog obscured everything.

After a moment, however, something else answered them besides the hum of engines. Something like a scream or a moan. Or rather, an echo of those sounds, coming from deep within the park.

"What was that?" Paweł stopped. "Did you hear that?

" "Yes." He nodded and pointed in the direction of the voice. "Over there.

" "Was that Marek?

" "But why would he be shouting?

" "Maybe some thugs attacked him? Apparently they sometimes hang around the area in the evenings.

" "But what would he be doing there? He was standing here with us a moment ago." Czarek fell silent for a moment, then added. "Even if they attacked him, there's probably more of them than us; we can't help him anyway. Besides, we don't even know if it's him.

" "Who else but him?" He was here with us a moment ago, and now he's gone. So that's the first explanation I can think of.

"I think he saw something wrong first and ran home, leaving us," Czarek argued.

Paweł couldn't believe his ears.

"Do you really think so? I doubt he'd just run away. But you probably would, right?"

Czarek sighed and replied.

"Okay, okay. Don't play on my ambition, I'm going now. I'm just too high for such adventures..."

They hurried in the direction from which the sounds had just come. They turned onto the main avenue, bordered by neglected hedges. They stopped at a crossroads and listened. After a moment, voices reached them from further away.

"Over there." Paweł pointed ahead. "It's coming from over there, from a distance."

"Honestly, I don't think Marek could be there," Czarek grumbled. He was starting to think Marek had simply ignored them and gone home.

"So what happened to him?

" "What happened to him?" Czarek repeated, grimacing. "He's probably at home looking for something else to eat.

" "But why didn't he say anything?" Paweł persisted. He sensed something was wrong. "

Because he was too high! Just like you, if you really think he ran there specifically to look for a tumor."

There was a moment of silence. Finally, Paweł spoke up.

"I guess you're right. Maybe I'm getting paranoid." He laughed darkly. "But when we get back, Marek's going to get a slap in the face for leaving us like that.

" "So what are we going back to?" Czarek asked.

"But we just got here. We were supposed to come for a walk. Don't tell me you're cracking up?" Paweł smiled sheepishly.

Czarek shrugged.

"No, I just don't feel like getting lost in front of the local tracksuits."

Paweł sighed.

"Fine, fine. Let's go back. But at least let's walk around." He pointed along the main path. "This way, through the square and home. We'll just have time to smoke a joint on the way."

"Do you have it?" Czarek asked as they set off, patting his pockets. "Because I definitely don't."

Paweł pulled out a crumpled pack of Pall Malls, looked inside, and became very nervous.

"Well, now we know why that fat guy went home. It was left in his cigarettes .

" "Are you sure you don't have it?

" "I definitely do! " "He's a fat pig," Czarek said. "Give me a cigarette, I'm nervous. " "Maybe you should buy one sometime for a change?" Paweł muttered, reluctantly offering him one of his few remaining cigarettes. He lit up too. For a short while, they walked in silence. The fog was getting thicker with each passing moment. Visibility was perhaps seven or eight meters. To their left stretched a hedge, and to their right stretched rows of tombstones, of which only the closest ones were visible. A minute passed. Two minutes. Five. Ten. The landscape didn't change at all. "What's wrong? Why are we walking so long? We should be at least at the star by now," Czarek said. The star was what they called the obelisk towering over the park. "Hmm?" Paweł snapped out of his reverie. "What? " "What? It only takes three or four minutes to walk along this path before you reach the star. And we've been walking for about ten. " "Are we dragging our feet that much? " "No, we're not dragging our feet! We're walking quite fast." He was starting to get worried. "And something doesn't feel right here at all. It feels like I'm here for the first time. And yet we come

 here every day. Don't you feel it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied. But he was lying. He knew perfectly well what his friend was talking about and was beginning to share his opinion. He also felt something was off. Everything seemed the same, yet he felt alien. Like an intruder. He didn't belong here. He felt like a raisin in a herring salad. But he didn't say it aloud. He simply said,

"Let's not stand here like donkeys, let's go home. Come on, let's take a shortcut across the lawn."

He jumped the hedge and headed across the opposite sidewalk onto the adjacent grass. Czarek followed him without a word, looking around and wondering what was wrong with this park. They left the path and headed

toward the street.

Marek had been running for a good fifteen minutes. He probably hadn't run that long in his entire life. He even maintained a fairly fast pace for quite a while. Fear gives you wings. But now he was exhausted. The run turned into a jog, then a walk. The boy was breathing heavily, and his blond hair was drenched with sweat. He was soaked. His lungs, which had been on fire just moments before, now only burned slightly, demanding oxygen. Finally, he stopped and began looking around for a place to rest. Exhaustion overcame his fear, especially since he hadn't heard any disturbing sounds for a while. He still didn't know whose laughter had startled him so much, and he was slowly losing his mind. He had a bigger problem. He didn't know where he was, and worse, he had no clue how to get home.

This was definitely not the park he knew anymore. All the paths ran along completely different paths than before. They branched off in all sorts of directions, sometimes even senselessly looping, crossing, and intertwining, creating some

strange, twisted maze. And of course, the damned, ubiquitous fog completely shattered any hope of finding a way out of this place.

The boy was tired, so he decided to sit down and think it all over calmly (haha, calmly, of course). Of course, to his chagrin, there was no bench anywhere, so he decided to sit under a tree. He stepped off the lit path onto the lawn, nestled between the trees. He sat down next to the one closest to the path and tried to remember how he'd gotten there. After all, they'd just left the house and entered the park. He tried to remember how it all began. He remembered stopping for a moment on the first path. But why? And then a light... or an eye...? He couldn't concentrate; his head hurt, he was hungry, tired, and he was desperate for a cigarette. He thought he'd give anything for a cigarette right now.

Suddenly, he had a flash of insight and began patting his pockets. After a moment, he pulled out a crumpled pack of Red & Whites, and after another, slightly longer search, he found matches. He opened the pack. Among several cigarettes,

he found a joint. He glanced at it and smiled grimly, wondering if his friends were angry with him for disappearing with him.

Well, I wonder if they were all right. Maybe they were lost somewhere too? The thought lifted his spirits a little, and he felt ashamed. But only for a moment. He slipped the joint back into the pack and lit a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke with relief and began to think about what he should do next.

But he couldn't concentrate; his thoughts were buzzing like flies around a chandelier, unable to stay in one place for long. Too much had happened today, and he was already too tired. His eyelids were closing on their own. He wondered if Michał was still sitting quietly at home, studying. He wished he were there now. Lying comfortably in bed. Watching TV and eating chips. True, they didn't have a TV or (at least not today) food, but what if you dreamed, dreamed wholeheartedly? He leaned his head against the tree trunk and took a drag on his cigarette. Sleepiness was creeping over him. The recent fear had completely vanished, replaced only by weariness. He marveled at the peace that had enveloped him. After all, something truly strange was happening, and he was falling asleep as peacefully as he could. He thought again of their new apartment. How he longed to be in his own bed. True, it was just a folding armchair, but whatever. He'd gotten used to it. It was truly comfortable. So soft. He could almost imagine the softness. He felt how comfortable it was to sit there. He opened his eyes. He was indeed

sitting in the armchair. He was back in his apartment. He looked around sleepily. Near the armchair stood the table they had been sitting at just a moment ago, and further along, against the wall, at the table, Michał, his back turned, was still hunched over

his books.

Marek yawned.

And yet it was just a dream. And that was fortunate. He probably needs to stop smoking that weed. It's making his head hurt.

A bang tore him from his thoughts. It was Marek, pounding his fist on the table. He thumped it furiously over and over again.

"How am I supposed to study here? How!? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUCKING STUDY HERE?!" he screamed.

"Shut your mouth!" Marek shouted, now fully awake. "What are you yelling about? Nobody's bothering you with your shitty studying."

Michał stopped struggling. He still stood with his back turned, his head down, his arms hanging at his sides, his hands clenched into fists.

"Can you explain to me how I'm supposed to study? Can you..." he muttered darkly. He slowly turned to Marek.

"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUCKING STUDY WITHOUT MY FUCKING EYES?"

And indeed, Michał had no eyes. Blood dripped from his blackened eye sockets, streaming down his face like tears. Drops of blood trickled from his chin onto his shirt, which was stained with a large red stain.

"This is a dream. This has to be a dream," Marek thought.

"How am I going to pass the exam now?!" Michał screamed, his empty eye sockets gaping.

Marek screamed and threw himself backward. He fell from the armchair and slammed his head into the ground, biting his tongue in the process. He felt pain, then the taste of blood. This completely shattered his hopes that this was a dream.

He stood up and staggered toward the door. Behind him, he heard Michał's accusing shout.

"Get back here, you fat bastard!"

Marek refused to listen. He ran into the hallway and yanked the doorknob to the stairwell. It was locked.

He turned his head and saw Michał trip over a chair by the table and fall to the ground. He laughed hysterically at the sight.

"I'll get you! You'll see, I'll get you and I'll gouge your eyes out!" he threatened, standing up. He alternately cursed Marek and his own blindness.

Marek turned back to the door. He saw it was locked. He pulled the bolt and turned the knob.

Suddenly, Michał's curses stopped. The silence was broken only by Marek's ragged breathing. He turned again and saw that the man was gone. He disappeared like a stone in water. This calmed him somewhat, but he still had no intention of staying there. He had no idea what was happening; it felt like he was losing his mind. He had to seek help, any kind of help.

Michał jerked his head up from the desk. His eyes were wide, he was breathing heavily. He was tense as a string. He looked around the room and relaxed.

"What a nightmare," he sighed to himself. "And they haven't returned yet." He checked his watch. It was almost 11:00 PM. He tried to remember how long ago they'd left. Probably an hour ago. He stretched and yawned. He tried

to remember what dream had frightened him so much, but it had already vanished. He only remembered that he hadn't seen anything, only heard voices. He couldn't recall what they were saying, though.

He looked at his desk and sighed. The textbook he'd fallen asleep on lay open on it. He noticed a large stain of saliva on it. He looked at it with distaste and went to the kitchen to grab a paper towel and make himself some coffee. He still had a looong night ahead of him.Marek opened the door and ran out into the stairwell. However, it was no longer the same stairwell they had exited through earlier. There was no hallway. No elevator. There were no other doors besides the one he had exited through. Only the stairs remained. Leading directly from his apartment, a long, winding steel staircase descended in a circular motion, disappearing into the darkness. The walls were made of slimy black brick. It looked as if he were at the top of some eerie tower. A dirty lightbulb flickered timidly on the ceiling. He glanced down, but he saw nothing; everything was carefully concealed by darkness. He turned on his heel and yanked open the apartment door. It didn't even budge. It was locked. He began to sweat profusely. He looked down again. After a good minute of inaction, he finally moved and began slowly descending the stairs. The rusty steel stairs creaked loudly, protesting the considerable weight of the obese Marek, but they didn't collapse as he suspected. He descended very carefully. There was no railing, so he leaned against the wall. He took slow, cautious steps. He didn't want to look down, but he was afraid he'd trip and fall. After five minutes, he'd moved far enough away from the single light bulb at the very top that he couldn't see anything anymore. He didn't know how far he still had to go to the bottom. He had no idea what he might find there, but it was the only path left. Suddenly, he noticed something on the wall. Nearby, there was a message scrawled on the wall with red spray paint. It was barely visible in the darkness. Marek descended. He stopped at the message, squinted. He pulled a match from his pocket, lit one, and shined it. "TOWARD DESTINY"—it was written on the wall.

What did it mean? He wondered. He noticed that below the message was something else. A downward arrow, clumsily scrawled with the same red spray paint. He frowned. A metallic smell hung in the air. He recognized it from somewhere. It reminded him of something

unpleasant, but he didn't know what.

He put his face close to the wall. Then, in a flash, two hands emerged and shoved Marek in the chest. They were hard and heavy, and as black as the wall they emerged from. Marek lost his balance and began to lurch into the dark abyss. For a moment, he thought he saw a vicious, grinning face above the stone hands. But it only flashed before his eyes, as he screamed and plummeted into the abyss. As he fell, he lost consciousness.

When he awoke, he continued falling. But darkness no longer surrounded him. He saw a familiar sight. He was falling along the building where he lived. The apartment windows flashed before his eyes like slots from a one-armed bandit. The sidewalk approached at breakneck speed. Before he could even start screaming again, he fell headfirst onto the sidewalk. It hit with a dull thud. His head burst like a watermelon and spilled around him. At the last moment before impact, he regretted not having gone to sleep.