Car No. 6

The Poznań-Koluszki train lazily made its way to its destination. The warm August weather battered the interiors of the bucket-seat carriages and the people inside them with unbearable heat. Tired from the rigors of everyday life, the passengers, sweating like church mice, more or less openly cursed the Polish State Railways (PKP), cursing their inherent stinginess, manifested by the lack of air conditioning. Among the throngs of people occupying the numerous compartments of the train, the "crew" of carriage number six deserved special mention. Pythagoreans considered six a perfect number, but not all the passengers in carriage number six were. Besides the strikingly beautiful mulatto woman with delicate Nubian features, who captured the vast majority of the male gaze in the compartment, causing her to sweat even more than usual in this weather, a short, red-haired woman also stood out, intently observing the interior of the carriage, constantly scribbling some vague notes. This woman was Kalina Schnitt, a sociology graduate and a career in advertising and public relations at a well-known Poznań agency. A woman of success with a capital A. A recipient of numerous prestigious awards and distinctions. She was a passenger in number six for a specific reason. She was gathering materials for a new project she was working on. To this end, she sought out interesting people, personalities who could help her achieve further professional success. In the compartment, neither the two elderly vendors, deliciously munching on tomatoes, nor the handsome clerk energetically typing some undoubtedly important information into his laptop caught her attention. For a moment, like the others, she gazed at the mulatto with unconcealed fascination, not at all morbid, before focusing on the man, who completely captivated her. The object of her attention was a funny old man with tousled hair, whose venerable face was constantly adorned with increasingly strange grimaces. The man was dressed in a long black, sable coat, and, perhaps for contrast, in red, post-state farm rubber boots. Furthermore, the older man's face was adorned with mustard glasses, stripping him of the last vestiges of dignity he had earned with age. "A fascinating eccentric," Kalina thought for a moment with unconcealed amusement, observing the man. As if sensing her gaze, he smiled at her, revealing a row of impeccably white, seemingly slightly filed teeth, and then winked at her. At first, this caused her a little consternation, but she quickly regained her composure and smiled back. She also noticed that the old man was holding a book with a scythe-shaped bookmark protruding from the back pages, indicating that the undoubtedly compelling read was drawing to a close. The old man kept his eyes on her, simultaneously making a gesture with his hand, beckoning her to him. Slightly embarrassed,She walked towards him with a fake smile on her face and said, "Good morning! Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" She knew she was talking nonsense, but she had to start a conversation somehow.

"Oh, beautiful, beautiful, just ripe for dying," said the funny gentleman.

"But sir, you look very healthy, you still have many years of life ahead of you," Kalina replied

, still smiling. "And who told you I was going to die?" the old man twisted his lips in a mischievous grimace, narrowing his eyes as if in anger.

"A little faux pas" flashed through Kalina's mind. After a moment of unbearable silence, wanting to change the subject and get out of the embarrassing situation, she instinctively asked, or rather exclaimed, "What are you reading, if I may ask?"

"Mmm, well, it's a biography," the distinguished gentleman muttered, looking at her askance. "

A biography?" "Whose biography, if I may ask," Kalina asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. "

See for yourself, I read a lot of interesting things in it," said the owner of the mustard shop, smiling a bit lecherously, as he handed the book to the girl.

"The Life Story of Kalina Schnitt"—the title of the beautifully bound book stunned her. "The Life Story of Kalina Schnitt," she whispered again in horror, author P.Ś. What strange initials, she thought. Who the hell is P.Ś.? Her heart began to beat frantically, as if it might somehow answer her question.

"This is some kind of joke, right?" the girl replied after a moment, now seriously flustered, then added, "Where are the cameras? Someone's playing a prank on me, right? It must be Wojtek from HR! Yes, he's capable of such stunts!" she exclaimed.

After a moment, clearly disappointed, she realized that this probably wasn't her friend's prank after all. Paralyzed with fear, she didn't even have the strength to ask her interlocutor who she was and what dark jokes she was playing.

At some point, the old man stood up. Standing tall, he no longer seemed funny, let alone amusing, despite the fact that he was still smiling. He took the book from her hands and said, "Every life has its purpose, its destination, yours has just arrived, my child. Time to get off," and then closed the book with a loud bang.

At that moment, Kalina's body slumped limply to the floor. The vendors let out a loud, guttural cry of terror. The more cool-headed clerk with the laptop abandoned his work and, shouting, "Help! Someone call a doctor!", rushed to help. Suddenly, an incredible commotion erupted in the previously sleepy atmosphere of the train car. The group of people gathered around Kalina's body began resuscitation. They had no way of knowing that there was nothing they could do to help her. Taking advantage of the confusion, the smiling old man walked away with a dignified gait. In his hands was no longer a book, but a beautifully ornate silver scythe, the tip of which shimmered with the light of a freshly gathered soul.

For you must know that death is, in truth, a trickster.