whatever

Now everyone imagines the place. A rather special place, for it houses a large gray apartment building with windows on one side and balconies on the other. The building is old, in critical condition, girdled with thousands of cables, flowing out of the window and into the walls or shutters below, with balconies rusted with age and crumbling plaster, and two relatively large fans on the roof. In front of the building, on the neurological, clay ground, crooked ladders, also corroded by rust, are placed side by side. One is a muddy sandbox with metal benches around it. A little further on, several damaged benches, unfit for sitting, but inside, one, despite its condition, is fully functional. In front of the playground, a forest whose origins are unknown, but damaged due to a lack of nutrients in the soil, with only a few trees still bearing leaves. Opposite the building, a little to the right of the windows, was a high slope—a cliff, you might say. Otherwise, nothing. Not in the sense of anything distinctive or noteworthy, just nothing stretched out on the cracked ground to the horizon. A building in the middle of nowhere, as everyone has already imagined.

What's probably harder to imagine is that the building is inhabited. In fact, every floor above the basement is overcrowded, admittedly mostly with old people who don't venture beyond their own corner with the television, but children and teenagers also live there. Even more incredible, several people have moved in recently, or rather...

now.

The newcomer glanced out the window of her new room. As far as she could see, she couldn't really see anything—hardly surprising, since there was nothing there either. She glanced once more at the golden walls and the ceiling, stained with brown drops. Smiling to herself, she left the doorless room and headed toward the next rooms. The first room she encountered—across from the one she'd just exited—was the largest in the entire apartment. A balcony led off it, and she hurried there as well. Looking out, she noticed that there was significantly more nothing on that side than on the windows. Hearing a rustle behind her, she turned and walked back into the apartment.

"Well, it's a blast for me, Dad," she announced immediately after crossing the balcony threshold. Her father—a gaunt man in his fifties—merely shook his head as he unpacked his suitcase into a cupboard, which he had just moved to the window. He never talked much. I mean, he probably did—but she couldn't remember any of it. To further flesh out the girl's psychological profile, I must reveal that her mother had been dead for 20 minutes, 23 minutes to be exact, giving birth to her (shit happens), and her father had uttered his last words with her death. Therefore, she treated him more like a pet than a parent or role model. "I'm going to look around outside," she announced after a moment, leaving the apartment and closing the door behind her. She carefully descended the rusty metal stairs, carefully examining every hallway she encountered.

"New?" "She heard from one of them.

"New," she confirmed.

"Strange..." She was offered a cigarette, which she took and lit with a deft movement, tucking the lighter into her pants.

A veteran of these parts had offered it to her. She couldn't have known that, of course. She only saw a vaguely defined boy with a hood pulled over his face and fingerless gloves, who handed her a cigarette. When the boy emerged from the cage, she hurried after him.

They walked briskly toward the playground. Here, the boy stopped for a moment, lit another cigarette, and offered one to the girl as well. It seemed he would sit down on the edge of the sandbox, but instead, the boy abruptly jumped up, as if awake, ran to the only working bench, and spat on the person sitting there. The girl glanced in their direction and, drawing breath, waited for the boy to return. She immediately followed him toward the grove. She glanced back at the person sitting on the bench and noticed only that he was shaking his head in disapproval and looking up at the block.

A group of unidentified people waited by the grove. Seeing their companions walking toward them, they all turned and waited in silence.

"Hmm," the hooded boy greeted.

"Hmm," the group replied in chorus.

"New," he briefly introduced the girl, nodding.

"Hmm," Chorek was quite good at that.

The girl assessed the situation: the boy offering her cigarettes, two guys with stupid grins on their gray faces, a girl with blue eyes, a boy with raven-black hair and pale skin, and a pair of almost identical gray individuals—she with glasses and short gray hair, he with a very short haircut and a scar near his nose. The pale-black boy nodded toward the bench and made a questioning face.

"Yeah... sitting there, unchanged," the hooded boy replied curtly.

"Son of a bitch .

" They almost shouted over each other, smiling stupidly.

"Hmm," the pair replied curtly.

"So what's today?" the bespectacled girl asked after a brief moment of silence.

"Maybe we should show the newcomer around?" the blue-eyed one quietly cut off.

"It's a blast for me," the aforementioned one said, throwing away the cigarette and stomping on it with her boot.

The entire group then turned at a snail's pace towards the escarpment and began walking towards her at the same pace. Only the pale black one veered off the path and headed towards the playground, where he kicked the only working bench and, sticking his hands in his pockets, returned to the group.

"That's the escarpment," the hooded man said, pointing to the cliff. The newcomer nodded in understanding. "My brother fell off it," he finished, lighting another cigarette.

"He's still there." "The blue-eyed one added, leaning slightly over the edge. The newcomer approached the edge, belayed by the smiling fools, and peered into the abyss. Indeed, on the rocky ledge below, lying in an unnatural pose, was the worn-out body of a 7- or 8-year-old.

"Hmm," the hooded one began after a moment, "that's why parents don't leave the house anymore." These words were followed by a rather long silence.

"We've already figured out how to get down a bit, but after that, it's a piece of cake." The pale-black one interrupted. As proof, he grabbed the edge and slowly began to descend the rocks. Landing on the first flat piece of ground, he waved to the people gathered at the top.

"Want to try?" the bespectacled one suddenly asked.

"Not really..." the newcomer replied.

"Maybe another time, then." "—concluded the scarred man.

"Okay, come back!" the hooded man shouted downward, and the order echoed. "We have to feed the rats again today."

The pale black man quickly moved up. The procession moved toward the entrance to the block, and each of those who had gathered earlier under the grove spat profusely at the feet of the person sitting on the bench. The newcomer did the same.

The basement door was in surprisingly good condition, compared to the rest of the building; a remarkably wide gap of about a foot separated it from the floor. The blue-eyed woman inserted a large key into the lock and turned it. There was a loud grinding sound, which made the bespectacled woman and the pale-black man clutch their ears, and thus they entered the basement. Someone behind them turned on a light, revealing vast basement corridors, some of which were ankle-deep in water. Dead rats lay here or there, unsmoked pipes were dying here and there, and squealing could be heard in the distance. The hooded man entered the corridor on the left and brought out a jar containing an unidentified substance, brownish-gray in color. The newcomer walked quickly behind the blue-eyed woman, as it clearly led to her destination in the underground. At the end of the corridor, against the wall, a door to a room that everyone except the newcomer knew intimately, crumbled for years. The blue-eyed woman pushed it aside, and the newcomer's eyes were met with swarms of rats. Small, not yet hairless, enormous ones the size of a cat, and medium-sized ones, running around and shrieking in terror at the light emerging from behind the open door. The hooded man tossed a jar inside, which, shattering on the head of one of the larger ones, shattered in half, and the emerging liquid was immediately covered in a thick layer of climbing rats. The same jar was broken in the same way by the Pale-Black man, and just as many rats swarmed to its contents. And another—the bespectacled woman, and another—a man with a stupid grin. Then the blue-eyed woman closed the door. They stood there for a moment, facing them, until the squeals died down. Then the two smiling fools left, followed a moment later by a pair of scarred-and-bespectacled men, and after them the Pale-Black man, uttering an even more distinct "HM." The blue-eyed woman waited until she was offered a cigarette, then left as before. The hooded man turned to the newcomer, clearing his throat, and also left.

Closing the door behind her, the new woman looked out into the now dark yard. The person on the bench was still sitting, observing the building. Without paying much attention, she headed towards her new apartment, unpacked her suitcase, and lay down on the mattress, which was probably the least worn-out thing in the entire building.

It would be a lie to say that she was woken by the sun streaming through the window. It was more like a gray and overcast day. In any case, something woke her the next day. The new girl got up, stretched, and casually glanced at the playground, where the same person sat on a bench, still in the same position. She quickly dressed and went to the kitchen, where her father sat by the rickety refrigerator, staring blankly at the darkening faucet.

"How did you sleep?" Her father nodded absently. The girl opened the refrigerator door and took out some food, which she immediately shared with her father, then announced she'd be back later and left. Outside the apartment door, she heard footsteps on the stairs somewhere upstairs. A moment later, the bespectacled woman appeared before her.

"Hmm," she said, seeing Nowa.

"Hmm," the bespectacled woman replied, and immediately followed the woman as she descended. They stopped on the lower floor, where a scarred and pale-black man joined them. A hooded man was already standing by the exit, exhaling another cloud of smoke, and two men were smiling stupidly. The blue-eyed woman had just finished scolding the person on the bench and immediately joined them.

"So what's today?" the bespectacled woman asked immediately.

"Do you want to try climbing down the slope?" the hooded man asked the newcomer, not even turning his head in her direction. Without waiting for an answer, the entire group headed for the slope, and the pale-black man grabbed some mud from the sandbox, rolled it into a ball, and threw it at the person on the bench. Soon they reached the slope. The blue-

eyed woman deftly jumped down a short distance and began to descend step by step. The pale-black man did the same. The newcomer watched in admiration as the smiling foolish men almost reached the ledge with the hooded man's brother. "Come on. Your turn," the scarred man urged.

"So-so," he said, emphasizing the expectations. After a while, everyone stood at the top again and began to walk towards the forest. There, the newcomer noticed movement among the trees, and a moment later, a shaggy gray-brown mutt jumped out, wagging its tail joyfully. Spotting the group, he nearly had a heart attack and, yapping rapidly, ran to the side of the benches where he lay flat, observing the group from a distance. The hooded man smiled.

"It'll be time to feed the rats soon."

The basement door opened again, and a dog somewhere higher up was chanting with jars. Then everyone went home. The newcomer couldn't sleep for a long time that evening, and suddenly, when she wasn't sure if she was awake, she thought she heard a terrible rustling sound from behind the apartment door. She got up to check it out. She went to the door and, without thinking, opened it. At the end of a corridor, distant, seemingly as far as the horizon itself, she hears squeals and a piercing moan. She heads for the source of the noise. Halfway there, the moaning subsides, and she spots two people. Actually, one person... but in two forms. Standing before her are two twin girls with long, raven-black hair, and at their feet, lined up in a row, are slokas with an unidentifiable brownish-gray substance. The newcomer quickly lists off seven jars.

"Oh... new?" they ask in unison

. "New." The aforementioned girl confirms.

"Strange," they both roll their heads in surprise. A small head peeks out shyly from behind one of the twins' legs. The cat rubs each of the twins' knees in turn, purring loudly. "We're sorry, but I think you have to go now," they break the silence. "Someone's calling you," the twins squeal in unison after a moment. The newcomer turns on her heel and sees her father in the doorway of her apartment, staring expectantly at her. The girl turns to say goodbye to the twins, but at her feet stands only a row of jars. Eight jars.

Another morning shrouded in grayness and clouds. The same breakfast and the same scene in the hallway, until they meet at the apartment building. Again the ritual of humiliating the person on the bench, and another trip to the escarpment.

"Why the hell is he even sitting there..." a question suddenly arises... no, not a question. A statement from the pale black man.

The hooded man shrugs. "Fuck him, that's all, he's still there.

" "He's more attached to this place than..." the bespectacled woman interrupts mid-sentence, biting her tongue as if in fear. Then there's a long silence, broken only by squealing coming from the basement and the barking of a dog wallowing in the sandbox mud. The person being discussed sits sprawled on a bench, gazing at the brightest point in the sky. Then the whole group descends to the basement, where they throw eight jars into the room and wait for the squealing to die down.

"Only eight today," one of the smiling fools interjects after a moment's thought. "There were only eight... already." "The hooded man lights a cigarette with a shrug. After a moment of silence, everyone disperses. The newcomer greets her father, enters the room, and looks out the window. Despite the late hour, the person so often mentioned by the others is still sitting on the bench. Somewhere on the playground, a dog is also dozing.

It's much earlier today. At least, that's what the newcomer thinks, but she can't confirm her suspicions because of the lack of a watch in any of the familiar places. She looks out the window; the bench remains unchanged, only the dog is now running around, content with life. She dresses and hurries out of the house, not even going near the refrigerator. Today she doesn't hear the whores coming down. So, alone, she heads down the hall, glancing at the place where the twins stood; today, there are no jars there. She heads for the front of the building. She looks around uncertainly, finding neither the hooded man, nor the ones with the stupid grin, nor the parka with the glasses and scar, nor the pale black of the black-haired man, nor the bluish eyes. She only sees the person on the bench, staring at her. She decides to approach.

"Hmm," she greets the man briefly.

"Hmm? What do you mean? Hello," he replies, smiling slightly and making room for her on the bench.

"Why the hell are you still sitting here?" she says, not taking the Newcomer's seat.

"I always sit here," the interlocutor declares after a moment's consideration.

"Don't you have a home like the rest?

" "What about the rest?" questioning eyes. After a moment, "Everyone has a home," I think.

"So why do you sit here? Don't you go to the slope... to the basement?

" "To feed the rats so they don't eat the block's population?" He interrupts her as if halfway through her question. The girl doesn't answer. "And his brother's still breathing," the interlocutor adds after a moment, concluding with a genuine smile. "Rats don't come out here; they're afraid of the light.

" At that moment, the newcomer hears movement in the cage and, as if instinctively—like a dog seeing a group—the exact moment the first hooded arrival from the block catches her eye—spits copiously at the feet of the people on the bench, adding quite a bouquet to the mix. The dog barks and runs away behind the bench. The newcomer approaches the group. After a while, they go to the slope, where, observing the actions of the pale-black man and the blue-eyed woman, she carefully descends. Reaching a slightly lower ledge, she listens, but she has to get lower. The blue-eyes and the pale-black man tell her not to go any lower because no one has ever been lower, but the newcomer persistently climbs down the crumbling rock face and soon finds herself a meter... maybe a meter and a half lower. She hears the hooded brother's rasping breathing and sees the child's eyes following her, as if distracted. After a moment, she climbs up.

"Pity the boy," the hooded man remarks, lighting a cigarette. Then, not letting anyone get to her senses, she heads towards the basement. The blue-eyes woman opens the door as usual. Then they all head on, but stop halfway, hearing the Hooded Man hold his breath, then hear the embers landing in the water, so he lets go of his cigarette.

"No...there are no jars," he manages after a moment. Then his calm returns and he heads for the basement exit. The others do the same hurriedly. They go out to the front of the building for a moment and, glaring with hatred at the person on the bench, hastily light their cigarettes. After burning them off, they go home without a word. As the newcomer enters her floor, she notices two figures at the end of the corridor out of the corner of her eye. Today, however, they're not giggling; they're sitting huddled in corners opposite each other. She approaches them hurriedly.

"Come back later," they reply in chorus. She decides to do just that. She goes to her apartment and enters her room, greeting her father early. He casually glances out the window, seeing the bench still unchanged. So he runs as fast as he can to the front of the building and reaches the person.

"Hello," he says, catching his breath.

"Hello," the other person replies, making room again.

"How did you know?"

"About what?

" "About the kid from the escarpment."

"Is she still breathing?" Seeing the expectant look on the girl's face, the interlocutor continues. "Just look at the slope... it's not a rumor there's a ladder there." The girl seems surprised. She looks towards the slope and indeed... she sees two poles a meter... no... half a meter... from where she herself was climbing down.

"And the jars... the twins...

" "The twins? They moved out a long time ago...

" "I've seen them, for fuck's sake." The interlocutor shrugs and looks ahead.

"They always liked to reminisce."

The newcomer spits copiously on the shoe of the person on the bench and then runs towards the building, passing all the silent corridors. When she stops to catch her breath, a yapping mutt overtakes her, wagging its tail with glee. A moment later, a few floors up, a quiet giggle is heard. The girl, reaching for her jet, finds a single jar at the end of the corridor. She takes it in her hand, heads to the basement, and, like everyone else before, throws it to the rats. After spilling the ointment, a huge crowd gathers on top of each other... but the slime isn't enough for everyone; they begin to eat themselves on the spot, until new waves arrive in seemingly distant corners in the darkness. The girl quickly exits the basement, closes the door behind her, and walks out to the front of the stairwell, preparing a cigarette in her pants.

"Last jar?" she hears from the distance. She turns toward the bench and sees the person holding out a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes. She helps herself to one and lets him light it, sitting down next to her.

"Last one," she confirms. The person on the bench slowly inhales. Then silence falls.

"Well, nothing then..." she adds after a moment. "Get up, new one. Are we going back?

" "Where?

" "To the block... how long can you sit on a bench?"