END

"There were those who were born,

there were those who died

, and there were those for whom that wasn't enough

(...)

who gave you a sharp weapon, you ordinary madwoman!"

*excerpt from the poem "Anathema na Śmierci" by Edward Stachura

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and took one last look at my house. At the perfectly laid red paving stones, the flower beds watered every few days by several gardeners, the pristine white exterior, and my father, in a beige suit, smoking a cigarette on the porch. I closed my eyes to immortalize this sight like a Polaroid photo. Then I turned toward the exit gate.

"Adam! Where are you going?" I heard my father shout. I turned back one last time.

"To Marek!" I shouted back decisively. He nodded and took another drag.

I had no intention of going to Marek.

Or to any of my friends.

I was heading towards death.

A straight, paved road to death...

***

I nervously tapped my fingernails on the wooden table. The sound echoed hollowly in the nearly empty room. I alternated between frowning and running my hand through my hair. Out of nervousness. My eyes darted nervously between the four walls, stopping each time on the couch where Ania was sleeping. She was only four years old. She was still sucking her thumb.

I walked up to her and began stroking her face with my index finger. She liked it because the gesture reminded her of her mother. I waited for her to wake up. First, she removed her drooling finger from her mouth, and only then looked at me with unfocused eyes.

"Maja?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Sunshine... you have sandwiches made in the kitchen. Today, before Daddy comes, Aunt Grażyna will pick you up, okay?" I explained. She nodded. I didn't know if it was with understanding or just to be safe. "I love you."

I kissed her small, burning cheek.

"Me too!" she cried.

This time I stroked her head. I whispered softly, "Sleep," until her black eyes closed again. When she fell asleep, I carefully got up and grabbed my backpack from the kitchen. I put on my old leather jacket and left the house, casting a farewell glance at the sleeping Ania. She looked like a little angel fallen from heaven.

I slowly walked away. With due solemnity, I said goodbye to the walls in which I had lived for so many years. So many years of pain, humiliation, and suffering. "Per aspera ad astra..." I said in farewell .

To myself as a farewell, and to Ania as a consolation. I didn't want her to live her life the way I had. I sincerely hoped she wouldn't befall the evil I encountered at every turn.

For centuries, a barn had stood on the side of the E-40 main road. It had once been a haven for local drug addicts and prostitutes, but now even they were disinterested in this dilapidated shack. The air was filled with a repulsive musty smell of old hay, which hadn't carried the delicate, characteristic scent of the countryside for several years. It was also unknown who owned the building. Whether intentionally or through inadvertence, it was unclear, but no one had bothered to do so.

The sun was gently setting, gently caressing the soundproof screens reminiscent of the Auschwitz walls with its rays. Supposedly, they were meant to absorb noise. A long stretch of this expressway was blocked by them.

Two kilometers along the road from the barn, there was an inn. The parking lot was always full of cars. The reason was obvious to those in the know.

A bottle-green Opel pulled up to the inn's walls. He stopped between two poplars that dotted the parking lot. The trees effectively isolated one car from the other. The driver played the radio quietly. The sounds of a recently popular song drifted from the interior through the half-open passenger window.

A few dozen minutes later, the girl emerged from the car.

She buttoned the last buttons of her rather skimpy blouse and pulled down her skirt. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and, with an expression of utter disgust, leaned over the driver.

"Money," she said dryly, glancing into the car through the open door. The petite brunette avoided the man's gaze as he reluctantly dug into the glove compartment for his wallet. A disgusting grin still lingered on his face, making her feel nauseous. Today she had absolutely no desire to meet men. She consoled herself with the fact that this was her last time.

"What would you say if I told you I wouldn't pay you? That I wasn't satisfied with the service?"

She didn't answer.

The man smiled, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth. He pressed his tie to his neck and looked at her expectantly. She still didn't look at him. She was more intimidated than ever. She realized her life depended solely on the whims of well-heeled men. She was like a doll—at her clients' every beck and call. The man finally stopped teasing her and pulled a thick leather wallet from the glove compartment.

"Are you new to this business?"

She shook her head.

"Aha," he sighed. "Here!" he said with exaggerated politeness, winking at her, and handed her a bill. Perhaps it was better that her gaze was focused on the uneven concrete slabs that lined the parking lot, because she couldn't see that repulsive Persian eye. "

It's worth more. For a special service..."

"Special, you say... if you weren't so young, so fresh, and so delicate, I wouldn't have noticed this special service. But here..."

He handed her a second bill.

"Call if anything happens," he winked again. She turned on her heel and, without a word, began walking toward the building. No one heard her sigh of relief. Her high heels clacked loudly against the concrete slabs. When she reached the stairs, she saw familiar faces. Girls with no hopes for anything in life, caring only about the near future. Beneath the tons of powder, eye shadow, and mascara were ordinary teenagers and the most ordinary, down-to-earth emotions. She was like that too. Life had turned out this way, but as she fell asleep, she always prayed for her life to change for the better. God, though good—for He had given her solace in Ania—didn't answer those prayers. She quickly slipped past the girls leaning against the inn's steps, not even sparing them a glance.

"Hi, Majka!" shouted the tallest of the girls leaning against the rough wall. She turned her face away, but didn't even stop. She waved her hand, claiming that it would be enough for today.

"Not today, please," she said mournfully, and disappeared through the doorway, leaving all the girls with puzzled expressions on their faces. They glanced at each other every now and then and shrugged. They couldn't figure out why their friend was acting so strangely.

Maja entered hesitantly. She rarely visited the local hotel, or even the restaurant. Without greeting the receptionist, she rushed to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face to remove any traces of life. Seeing her reflection in the mirror, she wanted to punch it in the face. She hated herself so much.

Once she had washed, freshened up, and somewhat tidied up, she walked toward the guest tables at the bar. She sat down on a wooden chair upholstered in purple fabric. Her feet, clad in light, high-heeled shoes, were propped on the table and began searching for something in her backpack.

"You're leaving!" she heard a firm voice above her, prompting her to raise her voice. In front of her, she saw the stern face of the waiter, pointing at the door, an empty tray tucked under his arm. "You know you can't be inside!"

She had a strong urge to retort, but she bit her tongue just in time, managing only a pleading look. Hostility radiated from every word, every syllable the waiter uttered. Today, every insult and every negative emotion hurt doubly, because it proved that the world simply didn't need someone like her. Not only was she filled with self-hatred, but everyone around her was proving to her that she was trash. That they could toss her around however they pleased. First the man in the car, now the waiter...

"I just wanted to send a letter," she said, carefully removing a white, stamped envelope from her backpack. The waiter, silent, walked over to the other table to take their order.

In her crooked handwriting, she scribbled her well-known address. Then she put the banknotes the man had given her into the envelope. She licked the edge, then patted it down again – just to be sure. She didn't need the money anymore. Neither did Aunt Grażyna. She gently slipped the envelope into the guest mailbox hanging in front of the door and then walked toward the girls.

"I have a favor to ask you. Just remember it carefully..."

"I don't understand..." one said, frowning. "Well, okay. As you wish. What's the matter?"

"Tell Marcin I don't want to know him."

"What are you talking about? You...

" "No," she interrupted firmly. She didn't want to hear it. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. "Tell him there'll never be anything between us again."

"What are you talking about? He was the only good thing that ever happened to you!"

"Tell him, okay?"

She nodded. Maja said goodbye to the girls and then headed home. However, as she crossed the intersection, she didn't turn onto the road leading to her town. She continued on—on the expressway, right next to the cars. Many drivers honked at her, not because she was driving illegally. They honked, flashed their lights, waved. One even stopped, but the girl shook her head and quickened her pace. After three hours, she saw an inconspicuous shed behind the screens.

"This is it!" she thought.

She turned right and slipped through the passage between the screens. A moment later, she reached the deserted shed. She kept quiet, though there was no apparent need to. When she approached the gate, she saw it was open. She ran her fingertips over the rough wood. She rested her forehead against the board. She bit her lip. No tears welled in her eyes, though she was currently experiencing an internal war. Should I go in? Should I not go in? For her, deciding to spend the night in this shed was a no-brainer. Breathing heavily, she pushed open the large door. It was very dark inside. The only light came from the uneven cracks between the boards the shed was made of. She was afraid of this place. It was unfamiliar, unfriendly, and besides, it was supposed to be her last. Everything happened as if in slow motion, but it didn't allow her to think about what had happened.

She looked around the new place and tossed her backpack into a corner.

Her eyes had already adjusted to the darkness.

Suddenly, something moved in the corner. She screamed in terror and immediately clung to the cinderblock wall, which was covered in a thick layer of cobwebs. Her heart wanted to jump out of her chest. It only calmed down when a black-and-white cat jumped out of the corner and scurried toward the exit. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"What happened!?" she heard another sound. Not a sound—a voice! She screamed again and began to back away. She reached the door and once again glanced around the interior of the shed.

"Why were you screaming?" the same voice spoke to her again. It had a strange, calm tone that unsettled her even more. She could have fled at any moment, but she made it a point of honor to find the source of the voice. She didn't have to wait long. A boy, a few years older than her, emerged from the darkness and stood before her with a strange expression.

For a moment, she couldn't speak. Her heart continued to flutter in her chest like a frightened bird. But she wasn't frightened. She was terrified!

"Who are you? The owner?" she answered the question with a question.

"No," the boy laughed. "But that's funny... I wanted to ask you the same thing."

She wasn't laughing at all.

They were silent for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say.

"What are you doing here?" the boy broke the silence first.

She didn't know what to say. She didn't want to appear polite, truthful, or good. She never had. But what good was lying when there was a knife in her pocket? She had nothing left to lose, so she could bring herself to be honest with him and with herself.

"I wanted to commit suicide," she said after a moment of thought. The boy's eyebrows furrowed in response. "But don't try to talk me out of it... I'm sure my decision was right, and nothing will change that.

" "So why are you telling me not to try to talk you out of it?"

"Because I know it won't work. And why did you come here? You don't live here, do you?" She glanced at his jeans and snow-white Adidas T-shirt. "You don't look poor... That shed looked abandoned...

" "Because it is," he replied firmly. "I'm not a beggar, I didn't run away from home, I'm not looking for meaning in life, and I didn't meet a girl here to spend a lovely night in the hay. I came here for something else. It's funny, but I only came here to kill myself..."

To make his words more credible, he pulled a knife from his pocket.

She snorted, disbelieving not him, but the entire situation. It was impossible... "

Perhaps you'll come in? I've made myself comfortable here a bit...

" "Perhaps you'll come in?" "Perhaps you'll stay the night?" "Perhaps there's a chance for something more?" – these were phrases she heard often. Too often. Now, numb by the situation, she couldn't say anything. The words stuck in her throat as if afraid to spill out. In the moment of death, she wanted to be alone and alone. She didn't need any man for that... especially a man with problems.

"I'm sorry, I'm very surprised by the situation," she said, forestalling the question. "Well... why aren't you saying anything?" He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes made it clear.

"It doesn't matter. If you don't want to, don't come in. The barn is big, there's plenty of room," he laughed gently, yet reassuringly. He was so different from any man she'd ever encountered. Confident, yet gentle. He knew what he wanted and knew how to get out of a sticky situation. After all, it wasn't every day you encountered a suicide.

She walked deeper into the barn, following the boy. A blanket was spread out in the corner. Beside it were several unopened bottles of beer, some clothes, a backpack, and on the blanket lay a portable music player.

She whistled at the sight.

"Although the conditions are a bit spartan, you've settled in quite nicely..."

"Adam," he extended his hand. She shook it, murmuring his name. Now, for the first time, they truly looked into each other's eyes. He saw sunken eyeballs covered by delicate lids, lashes caressed with mascara. She saw the happy face of a handsome boy from a good family. She'd only seen such things in youth magazines.

Adam looked at Maja without repulsion. Men like him despised such women. Always penniless, poorly made up, dressed provocatively, without an ounce of taste, often with cigarettes in their mouths, and even more often drug addicts. To boys from good families, they were nothing. Nothing, or something to play with. Prostitutes with problems – oh! "

If you want, you can spread out on the blanket with me. You're not going to lie on the ground... and I doubt you have a blanket in your backpack."

He sat down on the blanket. He removed the stereo and tossed it somewhere on the haystack to his left. He patted the spot where she was supposed to sit.

She hesitated for a moment, then went to get her backpack and sat down next to the boy.

"I know you don't want to talk," he said bluntly. "Me neither. In moments like these, you want to think about yourself. Be a damned selfish person for a moment. Consider your choice... so I took the blanket. I had to think.

She nodded, amazed that such an eloquent man would want to kill himself. He even wanted to talk...

"If you want, we can listen to music," he suggested. She agreed, and soon they were listening to a popular rock band through headphones. Their heads were resting squarely on the blanket, their gazes directed toward the roof. They didn't look at each other. Adam pondered over himself and Marta. Every single thought hurt. It even hurt that a girl so strikingly similar lay next to him. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but it would be completely pointless. Because he didn't love the girl who had probably fled from under the streetlight, but Marta. A good, decent girl with eyes like emeralds and a voice that was more beautiful than any music.

"Why?" Maja asked at one point, as if that single word could replace millions of questions. Receiving no answer, she elaborated. "Why do you want to kill yourself?"

He fell into thought.

He wanted to say it nicely, define it nicely, illustrate it nicely. "

Have you ever had this feeling where you open your eyes, but the automatic thought is to close them and never open them again?"

"I have.

" "Imagine that you've had this feeling for two years. You're young, you don't know life yet... but when you're older, you'll see how evil this world is..."

She became indignant. She turned her head towards him and began to hurl accusations.

"And how old are you to say that?"

"Twenty-one.

" "Then you're not that much older than me. Two years.

" "Irrelevant. At that age, girls become preoccupied with life and death. A guy will dump them, kiss them the wrong way, want to have sex, or not... look hungrily at another girl, get drunk and forget what he did the night before... and the girl will take it personally and want to kill herself. I've had a few girlfriends and made a lot of mistakes... it's not worth it. It's not worth it because of guys." And the little brats are no better anyway. They think it's the end of the world. I tell you: if not this one, then another!

Finishing his monologue, he looked at her. Her cheeks were wet with tears. "Apparently, I've got it," he thought triumphantly. "

Don't cry. "

"Oh, don't cry..."

Only the increasingly loud sobs answered him. Maja couldn't help herself. She felt something inside her burst. The cup of pain had overflowed, and now it was overflowing with tears. She remembered everything. Her father staring at the vodka bottle, his nightly visits and the words, "Want to play? It won't hurt...", the first glimpse of her eyes, the hatred of her classmates, the first year she wasted, her mother's death, the first time her father's fist landed on her cheek. Then the daily fights and worry about Ania. Nighttime escapes to Aunt Grażyna's house with the baby in her arms. Then her first night with a complete stranger. The first banknote. Her first thought was, "I'm trash."

"You don't know life," he said quietly, wiping her dripping tears with his finger. She didn't have the strength to tell him to back off. She didn't have the strength to jump him and snarl at him so hard that by the end he wouldn't know her name. She just closed her eyes, which refused to let go of the images from her life.

"Are you saying I don't know life?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"No."

"You just said that. So maybe since you know life so well, tell me what drove you to suicidal thoughts."

He looked at her, still seeing Marta's eyes before him. They were almost identical...

"My girl died," he said in a firm voice. Maja laughed bitterly, finally finding an outlet for her negative emotions. "Why are you laughing?"

"Is that all?

" "Isn't that enough?

"

"I'm sorry," she said after an hour of silence. "We shouldn't be competing over who has experienced more misfortune. " "

We shouldn't.

" "But you don't know anything about me. You shouldn't say I haven't experienced anything.

" "So? Maybe you'll tell me?"

"I don't want to. Not now. But I'll tell you one thing... it's not worth ruining your life over the death of someone you loved. She would want you to be happy.

" "But it's impossible without her."

"My mother died. I couldn't break down because I had to worry about my sister and my father, who didn't give a damn about us. My father, who was trash and ruined my life. I know my mother would hate me if I left my sister alone. You're the one who knows nothing about life! You never worried about having money for breakfast for your sister tomorrow. You think the world is ending because she died! It's not true! You live on! You can live especially for her!" "

Why are you being a jerk?" he asked, ignoring her moralizing.

"I don't have any money, you know that."

"An honest person will always find a job. They don't have to sell their young body to some thugs who escaped from the family nest for a few minutes after work for a quickie.

" "You believe that!?" she asked with resentment in her voice. "That's what people say who have jobs and don't give a damn about people like us. They don't know how hard it is to survive... for you, it's a complete abstraction!"

A moment of silence.

It was already dark outside.

The cat had returned from its nightly hunt.

***

Adam lit a candle and brushed away all the things that could catch fire. "

She loved staring at the fire," he said dreamily, watching the dancing flame. He remembered Marta's laughter when he had made her explain for the hundredth time what was so appealing about fire.

"Life," she always replied. "The flame is alive, live too!" And then she kissed him sweetly.

The kitten approached Maja. She stroked his back. Gently at first, so he wouldn't startle. Then he settled himself into her lap. He fell asleep.

"Marta liked animals too."

"Don't compare me to her! It irritates me."

"You have eyes almost identical to hers."

They looked at each other shyly.

Adam stroked Maja's hand and kissed her bare shoulder.

She didn't want any leftovers.

Even though he kissed her neck, she pulled away, offended.

They talked for a while longer, then Maja fell asleep.

She opened her eyes while it was still dark. She groped for Adam's arm. He wasn't there.

She fell asleep, thinking he'd probably gone for a walk.

When the darkness cleared, she could calmly get up.

She approached the bed she'd made for the kitten – he wasn't there either. He'd probably gone hunting. The shed was too quiet. She began to look around the interior. She saw nothing unusual except a thin red line stretching across the packed earth that served as the floor. The mysterious line later turned out to be blood. She ran after it quickly and reached the haystack behind which lay Adam's limp body. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes.

He lay in a pool of blood.

His knife lay nearby.

There was also a note.

She picked up the slip of paper and read the few words written on it.

She smiled faintly and returned to the blanket. She lit a candle, then burned the "suicide note."

She took out the knife and began tracing it along the purple veins. She felt a pleasant tingling sensation. As a result, she didn't break his skin.

She walked over to Adam and sat down beside him. She brushed his hair back from his face and stroked his cheeks. She smiled shyly and knew the boy had achieved what he wanted. She didn't feel disgusted with him; she just tried not to look at his wrists.

"Thank you," she said quietly, and threw the knife away. She threw it somewhere in the haystack. She didn't want to look for it anymore. She had no reason to...

"... -There's no such thing as suicide. Do you really think a person has the right to choose whether to live or not? We don't even know how to live our own lives well. Do you think God would allow us to make decisions about death? It's like expecting a final exam on the first day of the school year!

-So what about suicides?

-The same as with kids who are called out of class to go to the principal: they think they know what the matter is, but they're wrong..."

*excerpt from "Dog Museum" by J. Carrol

THE END