Clutching anger in her hands, she ran toward rebellion. Her pitch-black hair fluttered in the subtle breeze. Her complexion, pure and milky white, made her seem to glow in the darkness. The rain silently mingled with her tears, her own. She ignored the mud that spattered on her black corduroys and combat boots. The beauty of her blue eyes shamed the stars. Winter, as if afraid of damaging her delicate body, gently enveloped her in its cold. Snowflakes were in her hair, hatred in her eyes, and in her heart... in her heart, despite everything, love hid. Yet the girl kept it tightly hidden beneath layers of cold and distrust. Raised by her mother as a feminist materialist, by her father as a sensitive, romantic woman, she had lost her way. Now she screamed for freedom, for a hint of freedom. Yet everyone seemed deaf and blind, confronted with the girl's suffering. Deep in her mental loneliness, she feared every tomorrow. She slept because then the fear vanished, leaving her in a sweet chalice of bliss. Upon waking, however, she put on the mask of a happy person. Instead of tears, they saw a row of beautiful, healthy teeth, instead of sadness, joy. She stopped, stifling her rapid breathing and frantic heartbeat. She couldn't stay longer, because everyone knew her, everyone loved her—for her sparkling eyes, as they said, not knowing how much suffering there was. They wondered why her life was filled with only darkness. "Because I like it," she replied, giggling. It wasn't true, just as it wasn't true that I was crying because of a friend talking about her life, justifying herself to her father. Lies, like the law of the jungle, permeated her life. Or rather, lies were her entire life. She loved walking the streets and seeing happy people, feeling even a little bit of that warmth, a little bit of happiness. She was often absent, living in dreams, but more often, broken, she cried in the corner of her mind. She ran again toward Kujańska Street, turned left a short distance after the bridge, and found herself among a hundred allotments. She sat down by the fence of one of them and curled up into a ball. She wanted to disappear, not think, not feel, just go away. She was cold, she felt terrible, but she was strong; she had no intention of returning to that hello. To her parents who didn't even have time to say hello when returning from business trips, to her friends in pink outfits, to her hypocritical life. "Do I want so much? Don't I deserve love?" she thought, shedding more crystal tears. She lay down on the ground. She wanted to freeze, fall asleep, and never rise again, never see her reflection in the mirror again. She fell asleep.
***
She lifted her eyelids, yet she saw absolutely nothing, only darkness that throbbed with darkness. She began to shake her head nervously. Right, left, right, left. She turned around. A tall man with black hair, a swarthy complexion, and coal-black eyes stood and stared at her. After a moment, she saw wings too, the blackest and darkest of the entire scene. Her heartbeat quickened.
"Let's end this show, Nadine.
" "Who are you? Where are we, and how the hell do you know my name?!
" "In the underworld, the darkest world. You belong there; the Lord has decided to assign you here. Now you bear the responsibility of the demon of death." She stood up, looked at her surroundings again, and said, not hiding her irony:
"Oh, the afterlife?
" "Does that make you laugh?
" "Like everything else." She looked into his eyes. She wasn't afraid at all; she left her fear and suffering on the ground. She watched with joy as he lowered his gaze. Whether he was embarrassed or not, the important thing was that she won.
"The Lord knew where to assign you...now come on." He grabbed her hand, and they dissolved into nothingness.
I'm running along the edge of my imagination;
Throwing stones at reality;
With my own crayons, I painted the world;
My world;
Enjoying butterflies, I escape from the sheet of paper;
From the sheet of paper in my notebook;
I became myself again;
I ran to the mirror, shouting,
"You're back!"
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