White ball

His eyelids felt too heavy to hold open with his tiny muscles. He forced himself to watch the television, which played quietly. He sat in the common room, knowing he wasn't allowed to, so he remained constantly vigilant. The late night made his body demand sleep. A faulty fluorescent light hummed above his head. After a while, the sound became unbearable; it seemed to gnaw at his mind, permeating his entire being. Suddenly, the stairwell door opened. He jumped up from his chair. He felt a surge of adrenaline in his body, like a bucket of water poured over his face. Exhaustion gave way to emotion.

He walked briskly into the corridor, where an officer stood just by the door.

"Like a training session," he thought, "like a training session." He saluted.

"Captain," he paused briefly, "the battalion's security officer on duty, Private Nowak," he paused again, this time to take a deep breath. "The battalion reports during a briefing," paused. "Nothing important happened while I was on duty.

" "Everything alright?" The officer glanced around the corridor. "Is everyone asleep?"

Nowak nodded. The captain glanced at the common room.

"Are there any Poles fighting?

" "No... none!" he replied, though he wasn't sure, as his fatigue prevented him from concentrating on the boxing match being broadcast on television.

"Do you have a flashlight?

" "Yes, I do." Nowak reached for the flashlight hanging from a screw halfway into the wall and handed it to the senior officer. The captain moved toward the first weapons locker, the one just a few meters from the officer's desk. He walked to the massive door and checked the latch.

"All right," the captain said, seemingly to himself, but loud enough for the private to hear. He moved toward the other end of the corridor. Nowak watched the superior officer's silhouette recede, disappearing into the darkness. After a few seconds, a flashlight illuminated the end of the corridor and then extinguished it. The private heard the sound of the officer's footsteps turning toward him. The captain emerged from the darkness, walked to the stairwell door, opened it, and left the corridor without a word. Nowak, clearly relieved, sank into the chair next to the duty officer's desk. "Sucker, there's nothing to do!" he summed up the officer's visit.

The nervousness subsided, and fatigue began to set in again. Chaotic thoughts swirled through his mind, unable to grasp any of them and focus on them. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. In twenty minutes, his friend would relieve him, and his body would finally receive the much-needed rest. For the next four hours, he wouldn't have to do anything. Just sleep. And from morning on, it would be back to the grindstone. He wasn't about to worry about that, though. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He went into the restroom, lit a match, and touched it to the tobacco wrapped in thin paper. He inhaled. He felt a scratch in his throat. His body was too tired to absorb the poisonous smoke. He smoked slowly. Wild, untamed thoughts tormented his youthful mind. He finished his cigarette. He dropped the cigarette into the toilet and flushed it. He left the restroom and slumped in the chair. "Ten more minutes. Nine and a half..." He didn't even realize when his gaze locked on a single point. He couldn't tell what he was seeing. He was too tired. He had no strength left. That thing was right in front of him. "Sleep... Now... Now..." He could still see it. "What are you...?" He had no control over himself anymore. He was going somewhere. He was floating. He was floating. He was spinning. He was falling. "

A sphere..." he whispered, "a white... sphere. "