PROTEST

"There's nothing on TV again," Maciej declared, and committed suicide. It must be said openly: this was the first event in Maciej's life worthy of human memory. Before, yes, he had had moments of madness, but nothing extraordinary: once, on New Year's Eve, he'd worn a funny yellow hat; before that, on Easter, he'd tickled his mother-in-law's ribs, overjoyed by the anniversary of the resurrection; and another time, after becoming an uncle, he traded his axe for a stick.

Maciej lived his life "in secret," never bothering anyone with his existence. Only his death brought a fundamental change in this regard: the dead Maciej had become Somebody.

His last words, conveyed to the world through one of his glossy diaries, inspired the masses to action. Residents of cities, towns, and villages devoured Maciej's perfectly average biography and found in it a reflection of their own mundane existences. And every now and then, a need for action arose in one of the millions of anonymous minds, every now and then, feverish discussions erupted in one of the countless households. Rallies and demonstrations broke into the daily routine, and the gray leaders of the gray crowd shouted: "Maciej didn't die a week ago! He was dead a long time ago! Just as we are dead! We want Real Life! Long live Real Life!" "Long live! Long live!!!" Euphoric, desperate cries shook every town.

Soon, news of the social unrest reached the capital. The president and prime minister became concerned, and the ministers became concerned, because nothing was more important to them than the happiness of their fellow citizens. (After much effort, I dare say it's impossible to phrase this sentence without sounding ironic – author's note.) They began to analyze and advise, but quickly, oh so quickly, they realized the complexity of the problem. What kind of budget could pull people out of the collective void of existence? How much would it cost taxpayers to create an—effective!—Ministry for Finding the Meaning of Existence? The following days brought no answers to these questions, as more and more people chanted in the streets in praise of True Life. Finally, the day came: the leaders of the Greys declared a mass strike. A strike of all people disillusioned with their lives. And so, overnight, supermarkets, mines, and schools closed; steelworks and shipyards fell silent; trains and hairdressers stopped running. The idea was seized upon by provincial actors, and with them, by headline stars complaining about having to work part-time. So did musicians and painters, moonlighting as regular members of construction crews; and they were joined by suit-clad successful individuals rebelling against totalitarian corporations. Athletes and writers, clergy and policemen. Everyone.

The leaders of the Grey Party announced a march on the capital. An impenetrable crowd surrounded the government buildings, and the Most Important Grey Party read out the people's demands:

"We want Real Life! A life full of extraordinary events, adventures, lofty feelings, and ideals! An end to grayness! Away with routine, everyday life, eight-hour shifts, and the fascination with the romances of pop stars. Long live Real Life! Power-Holding Group! We demand Real Life!"

He paused and, along with the crowd, waited for an answer. It didn't come for a long time, until the parliament doors finally swung open, and from there began pouring out ministers, their deputies, and finally the Prime Minister and the President himself.

"We are with you. Our life is truly syphilis," the President muttered quietly, melting into the crowd. An awkward silence fell. The Most Important Grey Party, somewhat confused, spoke again.

"My Grey Party. My frustrated ones." The entire nation must have gathered for our demonstration. But to be sure... let's count. One.

- Two.

- Three...

After eighteen days of counting, silence fell. The last number uttered was "38 million 180 thousand 999." The country's chief statistician fell into thought.

"Someone's missing. Exactly one person..."

The first Gray spoke.

"Listen. Our data shows that we've all come here, from all over the country. Only one person is missing. We must find him. He will tell us what True Life is. Let's spread out across the country and find this man. He will tell us his secret. The motto is: "Don't cry, girl, everything will be alright." The response: "I'm not crying, I'm just sad." If you find someone who doesn't know the response... You know what to do."

And they all dispersed to their towns and villages in search of the Only One Who Knew. With the belief that True Life does exist, that it is possible; That someone, perhaps just like them, understands and LIVES.

One of the groups was returning home through an unnamed village when they suddenly heard a wistful song:

Hey, my stomach

is churning! Hey, I'd like to eat a pork knuckle !

Hey, everything's alright! I caught a ladybug. The returning Szary family looked at each other and in the twinkling of an eye, they swarmed towards the sound. They stopped, panting, before Janek, who looked thirty years old, sitting on the porch. At the sight of the strangers, he fell silent. The most determined Szary family initiated a dialogue. "Don't cry, little girl, everything will be alright." Janek was surprised. He had never heard of such a song. "Don't cry, little girl, everything will be alright..." Szary repeated emphatically.

Janek felt the tension growing. He sensed that these strange people were very interested in his singing, and that not knowing the song about the girl might cost him dearly. So he opened his mouth and sang the first thing that came to mind:

"Hey, don't cry, little girl!

Hey, it'll be alright!

Hey, wet eyelid !

It wasn't a funeral.

That was it!" Janek saw the Grays rejoicing, surrounding him in a tight circle, wiping tears of emotion from their eyes... He waited impatiently for what would happen next.

"It's you!" one of the Grays said in a trembling voice. A woman kissed Janek's hand. "Tell us your secret. What is True Life?"

Janek smiled broadly at them. Strange. But they seem to like it...

" "Hey, true life !

Hey, true life

!"

Janek stopped, his thoughts failing him. He was afraid these strangers would get offended and leave.

"And what next?" "Oh, no, not at all." Janek smiled, grateful for his second chance.

"Hey, what's next ?

Hey, I think it's a kestrel .

Hey, four dwarves

. Hey, the shelf fell off.

" This couplet wasn't met with joy this time. Janek looked a little sad.

"But what's the point?

" "Hey, what's the point?

Hey, maybe a dens?"

Janek suggested with a shy smile. The smile wasn't returned.

"TELL THE SECRET!

" "Hey, tell the secret ."

The hole was digging a secret.

Janek looked wide-eyed at the people around him and felt that they were liking his songs less and less. One sign of this was the hand of the most active Gray, which suddenly grabbed Janek by the neck.

"Tell us! Tell us, or I'll strangle you..."

Janek realized that a lot depended on this song. He actually liked this game, but he wasn't entirely sure he'd learned its rules. But he strained his mind and reached the heights of his creative potential:

"Hey, if I strangle you,

hey, it won't be nice

, hey, I have to strangle you,

hey..."

Here again, he ran out of ideas and knew it wasn't good at all. Indeed, Gray's hand lifted Janek high into the air, Janek hung above the ground, and suddenly he was slammed against a wall. And Janek? Janek, defying all laws of physics, bounced off the wall, flew a few meters, and soared into the sky. He flew high, straight towards the sun, looking down at the sad land where absolutely no one had any idea where to go or why they were going anywhere.