Vana Imago

Be careful who you screw,

because they might screw you.

If you see a black person, don't wait,

just get the hell out of there.

Hepe

(Michał L.)

The computer deducted the correct amount, and the ATM spat out a withdrawal slip. Rafał took it and put it in his wallet along with the money. He got in his car and headed to Beata's. She agreed to go out with him for the third time in a row. She must have liked him. It was time for something more. He'd ask her out. He didn't want to do that anymore, but he liked her so much that he'd try again. If she rejected him, that was it. No more women. He'd just focus on work, and the opposite sex would cease to exist for him. Work was a good way to forget. He'd always been lucky with money. At his age, he already had a very good job. He knew how to negotiate and fight for what he wanted, which always pleased employers. He already had a decent amount of money in his account and was wondering what to do with it. If he got rejected, he might consider starting his own business or renting an apartment. Currently, he was still living with a friend. Dawid had an apartment he couldn't pay for on his own, so Rafał had moved out of his family home and moved here some time ago. This always gave him more freedom to do what he wanted. He didn't know how long that would last, though, because Dawid would probably soon be moving in with a girl.

He, on the other hand, had a problem with women, bad luck, just plain bad luck. He might not be the most handsome, but he wasn't ugly either. It was unclear why women only wanted to be friends with him. He couldn't explain it. He only knew that it had gotten worse over time, as constant failures had constantly altered his personality. He had become cold and unyielding, just a little short of being ruthless. Well, that's life. Boorish, that's all. He parked in front of Beata's house. He had a feeling he was about to write her off.

The woman's eyes turned white. The body fell to the floor of the gray dimension. Kahhra crouched, touching the corpse's head with one finger. The body glowed with a brilliant light and vanished. A few centimeters above the ground, a white light remained floating. Kahhra took it in his hand and rose. He raised his free hand above himself. He made a few complex finger movements and uttered three words, the key to passage. Words in a language known only to his race. A portal silently opened in the air. It glowed with a hypnotizing blue light. Kahhra raised his hand with his soul toward it and loosened his grip. The light hovered in the air for a moment, as if undecided. Finally, it flew into the blue passageway. The portal closed as silently as it had opened. Kahhra pulled a scroll of paper from his coat pocket. The woman's name faded, and another took its place. The man from France. He died the same second as the one from Slovakia. He would deal with him later. First, he needed to get some sleep. He didn't need to rush. As a Quetarian, he wasn't forced to worry about time. With the ability to travel between dimensions, he could also travel back in time. If Quetarians couldn't do this, they would never be able to complete their assigned work. He thought of home. The plane spun. The interdimensional leap had no effect on him. He entered the house. He would rest, and then return to the earthly plane to retrieve the Frenchman's soul.

Solemnly, like every Quetarian, Kahhra came and took earthly lives, enabling the soul's further journey. This was his task, like that of every member of his race. They carried it out until a certain time had passed. His retirement was approaching soon. Then another would take his place, and he would depart, never knowing where. He didn't know what would happen next, nor what had come before. He only remembered the moment he had arrived in this dimension. He knew immediately what to do, how to open the gate, and all the secrets. He didn't even know who had given him his name, though he knew it. He created a home where he could rest and set about fulfilling his mission. His territory encompassed most of Europe. Others took care of the rest. Sometimes they met, but it was rare. Quetarians are reclusive by nature. They had a mission to fulfill, and the rest didn't matter to them. People called them Death, Grim Reaper, or whatever. They couldn't see Quaterans except at the moment of death. There were occasional sightings of Quetarians seriously ill or suffering from a high fever. In those cases, people thought they had seen a devil or a demon; to them, they were fleeting spirits, visible only for a fleeting moment. No matter. He merely took them with him until he completed his mission and could continue his journey. He sat down in a chair. Before he dozed off, he had time to wonder: why do Quetarians bother, being born for only one purpose?

The perfect parking spot between two closely spaced cars lifted his spirits. He replied to a text from David and pocketed his phone. He got out of the car. The wind slammed a large batch of snowflakes into his face. Damn, not only was he still furious after receiving Beata's trash, but the weather was also supposed to turn nasty. Winter always sucked. He jumped over a mound of snow and headed across the street to the supermarket. Unfortunately, it was his turn to restock the fridge, and since you have to eat, you also have to shop.

Ah! Kahhra awoke with a new awareness. That day, he was supposed to collect his ten-millionth soul. Both World Wars had greatly aided him in this endeavor. For some reason, it had become a tradition for such a soul to have privileges. It could make a wish, which had to be granted. It couldn't wish for everything, so the Quetarians didn't inform them directly. They waited for the person to say something and guided them in such a way that the wish could be granted. I wonder what would come of it, he thought. He unfolded the parchment, checking who it would be. A young man. Okay, we'll see. But first, he still had twelve others to take.

His shopping bags were full. Among the essentials, he grabbed the usual: cheese, some cold cuts, and the like. He also bought a few bags of chips, which he'd developed a craving for. Laden, he stepped outside. The snow was still lashing down, limiting visibility. The street was busy. When there was a little space on the left, he stepped onto the road. He wanted to stop in the middle and let a car traveling at high speed to the right pass, but the ground was too slippery there. His right leg "went" in a completely different direction. He started swinging the nets and maneuvering his legs. He caught his balance at the last moment, standing firmly. At that moment, he heard the horn blaring. He only noticed the hood of a car a meter ahead. The speeding car hit his legs. He doubled over, crashing onto the hood. When the car stopped, he fell off the hood, hitting his head on the ice. He didn't feel it much anymore. In fact, he felt nothing at all.

Before he opened his eyes, he had the impression that the cold had disappeared. He opened his eyes. The landscape around him had darkened and taken on a gray hue, as if the colors had faded. Rafał found himself back on the street. He looked down and noticed something that chilled his blood. He was standing over his own body. People were rushing to him, trying to revive him. He spoke to them, but they didn't notice him at all. It was as if he had found himself in another reality. Suddenly, he felt a strange presence behind him. He turned, only to come face to face with a dark creature.

Death stood two steps ahead of him in absolute silence. His hands tucked into the sleeves of his cloak, his head covered in a hood. Only the pale green orbs of the skull were visible in the darkness beneath the hood.

The boy scoffed for a moment, but calm quickly settled over him. He wasn't afraid. Like everyone else at that moment, he knew who the figure before him was.

"So I..." he couldn't say the word. Instead, he gestured to himself lying among the people.

"Yes," he heard the answer. Not through hearing, as usual, but directly in his own head.

Receiving the answer surprised him. He hadn't really expected an explanation, but immediately he heard the rest of the story in his head.

"Everyone's time comes, but don't worry, it's just a stage before the journey continues." Death approached.

"No! Wait!" he wanted to protest. "But I can't die yet.

" "Most people say that.

" "But I'm too young, I'm only 20.

Kahhra had heard it hundreds of times.

" "And what do children who die in accidents or shortly after birth have to say?" he replied. "Besides, you've wanted to die more than once."

Indeed, death hit the nail on the head; after all, she probably knew everything about him. He'd wanted to die more than once. After each failed ending with a girl, he stopped caring whether he lived to see the next week. He didn't commit suicide only because he lacked the courage and had friends who helped him return to Earth. Another factor that kept him somewhat grounded in his will to live was having money, which allowed him to afford life's comforts. Thanks to this, he could somehow survive. So now, face to face with fate, he reacted instinctively and opposed leaving this world.

"But I..." He searched for arguments to defend himself, but seeing the impassivity of death, he abandoned his rebellious stance. "I haven't even been with a girl yet." He finally blurted out the most important thing that came to mind: "Never that."

Normally, the dark being wouldn't pay attention to the mortal's arguments, but she was in a good mood, and this was her anniversary client, after all.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, because I haven't... you know, I've been with a girl, you know what I mean. And I haven't experienced love."

"Love, love, the cheap nonsense of some mortals. There's no love in this world," Kahhra concluded.

Hearing these words, Rafał mentally supported Death, as he already had the same opinion on the matter, but he didn't let on. Death was still talking to him, so this wasn't the end of the negotiations. The Grim Reaper looked at him.

"Call it what it is, you just want to, as you say, get laid.

" "Not only that, I want to have someone and..." the creature's gaze pierced him, causing him to lose the thread, "...and besides, call it whatever you want. Maybe it really does come down to just that. I think you know better what people think, being... well, what you are.

" "Exactly," Death agreed.

"Yes, so I'd like to get laid while I'm still alive, or does it make a difference?" He stared into the green eyes, barely holding that strange gaze.

"Maybe," the dark being said. "So, would you like to be kept from taking you until you get a girlfriend?"

Rafał wondered what they were talking about. It wasn't really what he had in mind, but maybe it was worth accepting the rules Death had imposed.

"Well, that's all I care about," he said.

Death muttered something under his breath.

"Let's think about it," she replied, and retreated into the shadows around him.

The man was left alone in the empty space. He began to wonder what was actually happening. He was talking to Death and deciding he didn't want to die yet, and instead of taking him, the reaper was engaging in a discussion with him. What's more, he seemed to be considering his request. Maybe death was more foolish than he thought, because when he thought about it, it was the perfect solution. If she agreed to this request, he could live as long as he wanted. He simply would never have fucked the girl. He would certainly feel lonely and suffer without a life partner, but with money, you can cure anything. He smiled to himself; he could live forever. Eternal life, he thought, but quickly put an end to these speculations. Damn it. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner? He looked around. Dark. He scolded himself. Death could have been reading his mind all along. Damn. Hoping that wasn't the case, he began to think only about the desire for life and love.

A few dimensions away, Kahhra was lost in his own thoughts. He didn't stoop to reading people. He had an unusual case before him. People always asked not to be taken away yet, whether because of sick children, orphans, or many other reasons. Often, the argument was "I've only just found love—or I'm happy—and I'm already dying." It wasn't often that someone wanted to live until they had sex with a girl. Especially if it wasn't just about that, but about finding this so-called love. Usually, lonely people, unlucky in these matters, wanted to die and simply accepted it, or committed suicide. This one, on the other hand, often wanted to die, even though he didn't really want to. Sometimes he did, sometimes he did. The boy wasn't stupid, like most of this Earthling race. Perhaps partially unconsciously, but a well-formulated request could violate the laws of nature. Moreover, a Quetarian had to agree to it. However, he couldn't give someone his entire life as a gift. Some extension of life, yes, but something greater wouldn't do. He couldn't let him wait for what he truly desired—true love. He had to find a solution; he was only a mortal, after all. Without dwelling on the problem for too long, he already knew what to do. He found a solution that would satisfy both parties. After all, who could be the wiser? He stepped out of the shadows and stood before the man. He waited calmly for an answer.

"Fine," he told him. "You may think it's your lucky day. You don't need to know why, but I will grant your request."

Rafał couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Nevertheless..." Death continued, "your conditions give you a lot of room to maneuver, so I have another proposition. The condition is this: you have until your 24th birthday, which is a little over three Earthly years, to be with a girl. If you don't succeed by then, then I will take you. However, if you get a girl by then"—Rafał grimaced at the term—"then I will allow you to live to a peaceful old age. Do you understand?"

"I need to think for a second." He quickly skimmed over the proposal. Death was either so good or so stupid. All he had to do was sleep with a woman within five years and he was guaranteed old age.

"I can sleep with any girl, does it have to be my love?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter. So, do you agree or not, because I need your consent, and time flies?

" "Yes, sure, why not. I agree.

" "Are you sure?

" "Yes.

" "Good. Then you have it." Death didn't move, and yet Rafał felt a burning sensation on his forearm. He raised his hand to check what was happening. A tattoo appeared just before the bend of his elbow.

"From now on, you have four years to fulfill your condition. The tattoo is a sign that you belong to me. It will indicate the passage of time, fading until it disappears completely after the deadline. Then I will take you, or not—it's up to you. Do you understand everything?

" "I think so," he replied, and looked up from the tattoo. Death was gone.

The blows gradually woke him from his unconsciousness. Someone was patting his cheek. He opened his eyes. He was lying on the sidewalk, in the middle of the crowd. The woman patting him, seeing his reaction, stopped.

Rafał sat up. The woman started telling him she was a nurse and that he shouldn't get up because something might be broken, or worse. He didn't listen. He wasn't in any pain, he just felt a little dazed. He stood up and began to push through the gathered crowd. Someone tried to stop him, but he pulled away. He pushed his way through and escaped the crowd. He broke into a jog. A moment later, he was running again. He stopped only after a while in a dark doorway. He needed to rest and process what had just happened. He didn't know what to do. He rolled up his sleeve. The ominous tattoo was where death had left him.

"Fuck," he commented on the discovery. So it was true. How could it be? He didn't believe in such things. Nevertheless, the proof was right in front of him. Besides, he'd just been hit by a car, and yet he probably hadn't suffered any damage. He felt himself all over. Nothing. He left the doorway, thinking hard. That meant he had three years to find a girl and would be assured of a happy old age. It wasn't so bad, even if he didn't find a girl, which he assumed he would, he'd hire a prostitute and be done with it. This death, after all, was stupid. Death. Damn, it was impossible, what had happened; it had to be a hallucination caused by the accident. Then again, that tattoo. He hadn't had it before.

"Shit the hedgehog's ass," he cursed under his breath. "If this is all true, I want proof," he thought, then shouted into the air. "I don't believe it!"

He hadn't even closed his mouth after the last word when something landed with a loud thud right in front of him. He looked around; the street was empty. He slowly looked down at his feet. Right in front of him lay a dead pigeon. Its head had almost been severed from the rest of its body. As if it had been cut with a knife, or... or a scythe. That was the only thing he could think of.

"Okay, that's enough for me," he muttered to himself and, dodging the pigeon, headed home. He didn't have far, so he'd walk and come back for his car later.

At home, he'd cleaned himself up enough to look presentable. Despite everything, he still managed to get scratches on his body, including his face. He hoped to explain it away somehow. The tattoo would be worse, but he could always say he really liked it. He mostly did what he liked, so at most, Dawid would grumble that he hadn't brought it with him. The food was worse. After all, all those groceries were lying scattered in the middle of the street. He smiled to himself at the sight. He'd done a pretty good job. Full shopping bags were smashed, everything was lying around. Let people take theirs. No point, he'd have to go to the store again on the way to get his car. It would be good if none of the gawkers saw it was his, or the situation would only get more complicated.

The afterlife, or eternal life. For the next few days, that was all he could think about. He could congratulate himself on his long life. If he didn't get a girlfriend in these three years, he'd use the services. Death couldn't do anything anymore; a deal was a deal, and it would be as promised.

Over time, he thought less and less about this incredible experience. He busied himself with work and partying, and gave up on girls. They were a waste of time.

One day, Dawid showed up with news of his cousin Iza's return. Apparently, she had lived in the Netherlands for several years and was now returning to Poland to settle permanently. She was two years younger than Rafał and, until she found a place to live, she was staying with Dawid's parents. Paweł met her when she came to visit his cousin. She was a chatty teenager. She seemed nice, but because he didn't feel like it, he didn't exchange further words with her. She dropped in on Dawid every now and then. Finally, she showed up at the party they had planned. A dozen or so people went to a nearby pub first. It was interesting, although Rafał didn't feel like dancing. He sat down at a table and finished another beer. Lacking a girlfriend, who was away for two weeks, Dawid also sat at the bar, minding his own business. Just as he was about to get up and join Rafał, Iza sat down.

"That friend of yours is a bit taciturn," she began.

"That's his nature, anyway, what are you telling me? You know him, go tell him."

"No, I came to ask you. So, what's wrong with him?"

He sighed, saying if she didn't answer, she wouldn't leave him alone.

"He's probably sitting there thinking about unrequited love," he informed.

"Love? What, is he some kind of romantic?

" "He was. Maybe a while ago, as long as he had a heart and a conscience. Now he's become a bit calloused and stopped messing around with people. It's a matter of course, if he doesn't like something, he'll write you off, and you'd have to work really hard to get back into his good graces.

" "Rude."

Dawid shrugged.

"What exactly happened?"

"That he became like this?" she agreed. "Too many heartbreaks. Even by my standards, he's been through a lot, and he's still holding up pretty well. I might try to end it.

" "And him?

" "Because I know. He's gone around saying he wants to die more than once, but that's probably just talk. I don't believe he'd go that far; he's too cunning and enjoys life too much. Although I think if it came to that, he wouldn't mind.

" "Such indifference?

" "Well, that's a bummer. He doesn't care about anything, including whether he dies. The last time he was driving me, I almost had a heart attack. It was like he was playing with death.

" "And you're saying that. Something has to be done about it.

" "What do you mean? It's his life, let him do what he wants. Besides, interfering with his attitude to life isn't the best idea." Dawid took a sip, finishing his mug of beer. "Goddamn, I've had enough of this conversation. I'm going to have fun, not talk about sadness." If you want to know something, talk to him, not me. He's not going to eat you..." He stood up from the table. "...I guess. Damn, I'm going for a piss.

" "Wait," she grabbed his sleeve. "Am I his type?"

Dawid stopped and looked back. Before moving again, he gave her a reply. "You are."

Iza fell into a reverie. She didn't know why; she even liked Rafał. Something drew her to him. She'd been here for over three weeks, and she'd only exchanged a few words with him. She decided to change that.

"Hi," she sat down next to him. "How was the party?

" "Not bad," he replied, though his gaze was fixed on the mug in front of him. He was already quite tipsy. He was thinking about his brush with death when Iza started interrupting him.

"So, why are you sitting here all alone?" she asked.

"Because I feel like it. What can't you do?" Not wanting to talk to her, he tried to brush the intruder off.

Apparently, she didn't want to give up, because she continued carelessly.

"How about you dance?"

He answered her as briefly as possible, but without being rude. After all, it wasn't her fault he was in such a foul mood. She asked about all sorts of things, normal things, like what she did, what she liked, and so on. After a while, he got drawn into the conversation and started asking questions himself. He noticed that the girl was actually quite nice, and he could waste his time talking to her. Everything fell apart when the topic of his relationships with girls finally came up.

He didn't try to beat around the bush, a fact greatly aided by the alcohol.

"For me, there's no love in this world. Everyone has their own half except me, and that's how it's always going to be. I don't even have passion anymore; the only thing I need now is a teenager who can be there anytime, anywhere. Feelings suck, that's all," he blurted out in a solid monologue.

"But I'm sure she will..." she tried to offer comfort.

"Will it be? Nothing will be. I've been on a losing streak for two years. It's impossible. Two fucking years. That's how it is and it probably will stay that way." Then he looked at Iza and finished. "I don't feel like talking about it. Game over, game over. Maybe we'll talk again sometime." He finished, stood up, and walked towards the bar. He sat down and started talking to Dawid, who had already returned from the bathroom.

Iza didn't know what to do with herself. No one had ever done anything like that to her. There was no point in asking for more conversation. If he wanted to, she could ignore him too. She cursed him silently and moved on to talk to someone else.

The couch wasn't very comfortable. He woke up fully dressed on it. He remembered that the party from the pub had moved to the apartment, where they'd finished drinking. He got up and headed towards the kitchen. He arrived, avoiding piles of empty beer cans. He found a bottle of mineral water, which he drank, his throat drying. After drinking, he didn't get headaches, just dryness, which made life much easier. He glanced at the clock. It was approaching noon. He didn't have to worry about work. He always took the day off after a party. With water in hand, he went to Dawid's room. He'd obviously dragged himself home if he wasn't anywhere else. Dawid's girlfriend wasn't there, so the field was clear. He entered his room without inhibition, shouting loudly that the sun was already shining, directed towards his friend's bed.

"Fuck off!" came something from under the table.

Now Rafał noticed that the owner wasn't in bed. The table right next to the bed obstructed his view too much to notice at first glance. He leaned over to ask.

"What about you? Golum, damn it?"

Dawid, covered with a thin blanket, began to get up.

"I don't know. I was warm, and I think the floor felt colder.

" "You're a redneck and a jerk," Rafał concluded, handing him the water.

"You're a real mess yourself." He took a sip and asked. "Are there any survivors left?

" "I didn't see any. Everyone's gone home.

" "So why are we getting up?"

"I don't know." He looked around the room. "Your place is the same mess as mine, but we can clean it up later. I saw a few more beers in the fridge, so we could finish this.

" "You're asking. Bring them here."

For the next hour and a half, they sipped the last of everything drinkable. Sitting there, they analyzed the previous evening. Rafał recalled his conversation with Iza. For a moment, he wondered if he'd done something wrong... no, it was just a fleeting feeling. He didn't regret it; the fool had asked for it and gotten it. Ignore her. He was more concerned about what he'd actually said. For the first time in his life, he'd revealed what he was really thinking, and out loud, at that. Yes. Well, it happened, maybe it was for the best. At least he'd learned that he could deliver some good speeches when he was drunk. After that, his thoughts turned to death. It had been almost a year since his encounter with her. He had to finally take this prostitute and get it over with. He'd be done with it. Dawid, who had gone to the bathroom, returned and glanced at his friend.

"Hey, get up, time to tidy up a bit," he announced, standing over Rafał.

"What?" He snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, okay."

"Something's gone wrong."

"No, I was just lost in thought. I guess it's possible, right?

" "Supposedly. And what was it, something cool, I want to know too.

" "Uh, no, nothing, I just figured it was time to screw over a certain bitch. I'm going to clean up my place first," and he left.

Dawid didn't know what he was talking about, but he didn't care. He shrugged and started collecting trash into a bag.

Later that same day, Iza showed up. This didn't really surprise Rafał. After all, she often dropped in on Dawid here as her cousin. But to his surprise, she sat down next to him and started talking.

"So how are we feeling today?" she asked instead of being offended. "

Maybe she forgot," he thought and replied.

"Normally.

" "Are you sure? Because yesterday wasn't like that. You weren't very nice.

Oh, she didn't forget." Despite everything, he wasn't going to apologize.

"Listen. It's the truth, and that's it. I don't know why any women would want to take you all and throw you in a sack. In a sack and into the sea."

"That's rude."

Ignoring her comment, he continued.

"And it would be best to put a hedgehog, or, oh, a porcupine, in that bag, so you

can keep on uhhing." He illustrated this by pressing his fist into his open palm as if crushing something. "Okay, okay, stop," she interrupted. "I see where we stand, so let's change the subject, okay?"

He agreed. Since she was already sitting here and not taking offense, he could talk to her. As long as she didn't stray into topics he didn't want to discuss, it was quite pleasant. She had some clever ideas and could keep the listener interested.

He decided to at least befriend her.

They began to entertain Iza more and more frequently. She usually dropped by every two or three days, mostly to see her cousin, but over time she also began to visit Rafał as a friend. She was so pleasant and engaging that after two months, Rafał began to see her differently. He also forgot about hiring prostitutes.

Iza was certainly very persistent. She put up with all his moods and kept coming back. When he got angry with her, which he could do for anything, and they argued, she came to try to make peace. Several times, he deliberately didn't come with a compromise, just to see if she cared enough to make such an offer. He had to admit, she had passed all the tests he put her through. So he knew she cared for him, at least as a close friend. One day, he decided he'd prefer something more. With several failures behind him and not wanting to get involved in another relationship, possibly one with no future, he started acting before he felt anything more for her. He had no problem finding an informant, since Dawid was right there. He didn't need to know much, he just wanted to have a glimmer of hope that this time he wouldn't get thrown in the face. He entered the room with one simple question.

"Do you think it's true or not with Iza?"

Dawid knew what he was talking about. He already knew the question inside and out. Still, he made sure.

"Are you talking about this one?

" "What do you mean?

" "True. So..." he took a deep breath. Rafał had expected a "no," even though Dawid had advised him more than once, "try, at worst he'll say no," but now he knew the time for jokes was over and he'd tell the truth.

"I think so," came the final answer.

"Are you sure?

" "Ugh." He nodded.

"You know that if everything goes wrong, I'll kill you. " "

Okay

, then start praying." He wagged his finger and left.

Damn, he'd rather have a negative answer. He'd just cross out this stupid idea and get it over with, but now he was facing another serious conversation. He wasn't sure of anything. His friend's opinion wasn't entirely certain, and he had a feeling he was asking for another hole-in-one. He'd had so many under his belt, one more wouldn't hurt.

A day of trial. He still had a strange feeling in his stomach. He took Iza, as usual, to a nearby pub. After two beers, the question immediately "popped up." The tension grew. The girl turned to face him.

"You know what, I really like you...

" "...but I just wanted a friend." He finished in his mind, about to interrupt her, but she finished first.

"...and I thought you wouldn't ask. David said you probably never would, and I wanted to do it myself." She looked straight at him. "Yes," she finished succinctly.

He digested her words for a moment, as they were taking a while to arrive. He couldn't believe it. He looked into her pupils. The sight of her smiling, sparkling eyes certainly confirmed her words. She hugged him without question. He returned the hug with a new, deeply hidden ardor.

He was definitely happy. Finally, truly happy. They dated like any normal couple. Smiles, fondling, a little licking in public. For three weeks, nothing more happened. Rafał didn't insist; that was enough for him. Finally, Iza came up with an interesting proposition. She was currently living at Dawid's parents' house. She was an adult, and they didn't ask her to explain anything, but she usually warned them if she wasn't going to show up for the night. Now she leaned over to Rafał with the information.

"I told the guardians we had a party tonight and I wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

" "Party?" he asked, surprised. "So why don't I know anything? Ugh!!!" "He yelled at David's room with such force that Iza jumped.

"What?!" the question came back from behind the wall.

Rafał was about to yell in response, but Iza covered his mouth and yelled back.

"Nothing!! He's just yelling out of stupidity!

" "Aha!" The conversation ended there.

"What?" Rafał turned to her with a snarl. "Only me, or he can throw parties here, and I don't know anything about them."

"God. You're a moose." She rose from the couch and climbed on top of him, straddling him. "I know there's no party, but I already said there is, so I'll have to spend the night away." She leaned in, whispering directly into his ear. "I was thinking maybe we could spend it here." She began to brush her lips against his neck.

This area had always been his sensitive spot. Through a pleasant sensation, neither tickling nor arousal, he asked.

"Are you thinking the same thing I'm thinking?"

"I think so," she laughed softly.

Then he kissed her back. They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying each other.

"I don't know why," Iza broke the silence first, "but it seems to me that your tattoo is paler than when I arrived here.

" "I think so, or maybe they gave me some crappy dye that fades," he dismissed the question, not revealing the truth. After over a year, the tattoo had truly faded, inexorably indicating the passage of time.

That afternoon, they went into town. Rafał planned to buy champagne for the evening. After all, it could be elegant for such an occasion. They walked, browsing shop windows. There was some construction going on near one of the buildings, and dividing tape had been put up around it. They had to walk a short distance down the street until they passed the building. Meanwhile, Rafał's thoughts returned to one thing: He'd screwed over death. He was practically guaranteed old age. He didn't know how death would protect him from, say, an accident, but he didn't care. She had to keep her promise, no matter how. It was over and done with; she was willing to fulfill his wishes, and it would work out in his favor. "Awesome," he repeated to himself as he walked.

They had almost passed the building under renovation when something fell at his feet. His heart skipped a beat.

"Bleee," Iza commented.

He glanced down. A pigeon, a fat pigeon with its head almost severed. He froze, and instinctively, he took a step back. His foot struck a piece of rubble, causing him to misplace his foot and almost fall. To regain his balance, he took two more steps, pushing against the dividing tape. At that moment, a loud "Attention!" sounded from above, followed by a thud. Something struck his head, and darkness descended. He fell into blackness.

His intense attempts to escape the blackness seemed in vain. At times, he heard people talking around him, and for a moment, he thought he saw people standing above him. Finally, he tried to open his eyes. For a split second, he saw a bright ceiling, but then he slid back into emptiness. He tried again. The image was blurry, but at least this time it didn't fade. He blinked several times. The contours became sharper. He felt a terrible drying sensation. He slowly looked around. He was lying on a bed, presumably in some hospital. At that moment, the door opened, and Iza entered the room. Carrying a glass of water, she closed the door behind her. She glanced at the bed, stopping mid-motion. The glass fell from her hands with a loud tinkle of shattering glass.

"Watch what you're doing, girl," he rasped.

"Jesus. You're awake." She flung herself onto the bed. "I knew you had to wake up."

"Sure, what do you mean? I won't sleep, because I can't," he blurted out. He'd forgotten that no one knew about his arrangement.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Nothing, I don't know. I feel like a pack of snakes has been through me.

" "No wonder after how long you've been here.

" "How long? And what happened anyway?

" "Yeah, you know. When we were passing by that building, you got hit in the head by a falling brick and you kind of... sort of... fell into a little coma."

"Coma, damn." He couldn't fully communicate yet, so this fact didn't impress him. His beard, however, itched painfully. He raised his hand to scratch it. It was difficult, but he managed. He ran his hand over his chin and felt... stubble. He moved his hand to the side. His beard was trimmed close. That was impossible. He had a goatee on top, but on the sides, he had at most three sprouting hairs in a crisscross pattern.

"Nice, right? I trimmed it like that," the girl informed him.

"What's wrong?" he asked himself.

The answer hit him like another blow to the head.

"Oh, fuck. How long have I been asleep!" he blurted out to Iza.

"You know, like...

" "Damn, how long have I been in a coma!

" "Two years," she replied, terrified.

"Oh, fuck." He raised his hand, carefully examining his forearm. Clean. No trace of a tattoo. Just to be on the safe side, he checked his other arm as well. Nothing.

"What's going on?" Confused, she didn't know what to do.

Rafał looked at her with fear in his eyes.

"Damn, that creep found a way out to... Listen, we have to hurry..." He didn't finish. He noticed how dark the corner by the entrance had become. A shadow spread across the entire surface of the door, and then Death emerged from it. Iza glanced in that direction, but she couldn't see anything. The Reaper stood in front of him. He looked with green eyes and moved.

"No, wait!" Rafał held out his hand to stop the Reaper. She didn't react. The black shaft of a scythe appeared in her hand. Death shook him slightly upwards. A metal blade emerged from the shaft, snapping like a switchblade.

"Nooooo!" the man screamed, but at the same time, Kahhra took a swing and brought the scythe down. Without mercy, without a moment's hesitation, it was time for him to complete his task. The whistling of the blade ruthlessly slicing through the air reached the man's ears.

"Existence"—that's what David was thinking about on this spring morning. The candles danced wildly. He hugged Iza as the wind picked up. She still had tears in her eyes. He didn't blame her.

"It's impossible to die of a heart attack at such an age," she whispered.

"I know. There are things in this world that are impossible to understand."

He hugged her tighter, whispering.

"Life is an unfair cunt."