immutability

I

woke up with a severe headache. From the speakers I'd once placed in the corners of the room, metallic music blared, old-fashioned for my taste. In places, it sounded more like sawing through a metal pipe than music; what I listen to now sounds completely different. My friends associated this kind of thing with the late 20th century. Rock, metal, and all that. Everyone probably listened to it back then, I thought. I heaved myself out of bed and threw my slipper at the radio panel. The blue light on the display dimmed in obedience, the music stopped.

"I don't need this today," I said to myself.

I stood up and staggered toward the bathroom. I took off my gray T-shirt and underwear and turned on the hot water in the shower. The bath didn't last long, but it was pleasant. After that night, my back ached, and the warm water provided a pleasant feeling of relief. I dressed in fresh clothes straight from the laundry room. I still had to eat something quickly and run even faster to the subway. Luckily, I didn't live far from the station. I just checked if the automatic locking mechanism worked and ran toward the exit.

The station was bustling with people. They were rushing to work, to school, and some were going somewhere. A few people in tattered rags sat on the benches, their eyes dull and sleep-deprived, staring at the floor. I wasn't particularly bothered by their appearance. I remember they'd always been there as long as I'd lived in this district.

I boarded the metro. I sat on a hard seat in the corner so no one would disturb me. The bright yellow upholstery irritated me. I looked up at the ceiling. A holographic projector was projecting the news. Watching was one of two ways to escape the interior's color scheme. The other was to close my eyes, but I didn't want to sleep through my station.

The news was hosted by a newscaster with long, black hair styled upwards. She had delicate features, small, smiling eyes, and blue-laced eyelashes. She wore a blouse that revealed a generous amount of cleavage.

"She's got some breathing room!" the guy who was just sitting next to me said to me.

I looked at him, snapped out of my trance . "

Yeah, pretty good," I replied, just so he wouldn't think I was some kind of gay.

I really wasn't much of a conversationalist today. I looked up again. The beautiful presenter was gone, but the footage was playing.

"...The perpetrator's details are unknown. The police only have a film reel recording the killer in a black suit. However, the investigator in this case, Kazimierz Burkowski, doesn't confirm that he couldn't be identified. Seven people died at Thursday's party, and six were injured. This is the fifth attack by this sadist. It's an inhuman, cruel massacre that..."

I stopped watching; I had to get off. I got up and walked to the exit, followed by a few other people. Mostly men in suits rushing to work, a few women in jackets and skirts or trousers. Younger ones in sexy high heels, older ones...it depended. The doors slid open. I headed towards the exit. I was already reaching the stairs leading to the surface. I noticed that the sun had already emerged from behind the clouds. I didn't actually see the sun, but its rays were reflecting off the station floor. I was overjoyed; finally, after a week of rain and clouds, I could see something that always delighted me.

I quickly ran up the stairs, and the wide, yet crowded streets of Poznań appeared before my eyes. I continued walking calmly, glancing at my watch and realizing I still had a few minutes to spare before getting to work. I reached a pedestrian crossing. There were so many people; once such crowds were only seen in cities like Tokyo or New York, they had now become a daily occurrence in every major metropolitan area. People stood staring at each other. One side of the street stared at the other, like two armies preparing for an attack. I stood there lost in thought, and suddenly, nothing! I didn't know where I was going! Who I was, as if every memory had slipped from my mind, only to be replaced a moment later by another, new one.

That's when I felt a searing pain, first piercing my temple, then my torso, then my legs. I fell to my knees. People were running away from me; it reminded me of a mini-Hiroshima in the city center. I was a bomb, and people were like the force of my explosion. At first, I wanted to laugh. Collapsing to the sidewalk, I realized what had happened. I was dying, and nothing could save me. I no longer noticed the beauty of the sun, nor the green of the trees, nor the beautiful women in tight dresses. In fact, everything I saw was red, disgustingly red. I no longer had the strength to move; even blinking was impossible. I could only stare at the colors. Red, then black, and then brightness.

II

The broad smile of the sniper hidden on the roof of the office building was blurred and then shredded like a cabbage. Nothing remained of his face but a wet stain on the concrete. He died happy, knowing he had done his job well. No one would know now why, what for. The police robots had already flown away, searching for more offenses. Soon the security services would arrive, and no trace of his body would remain. The sun disappeared behind the clouds, and rain began to fall. As if the city itself wanted to erase its traces.