Destruction

On the outskirts of one of Poland's largest cities stood a small house. This house was a house like many others on the same street, seemingly differing significantly in detail from the other residential buildings, but in reality, it was built just like them, according to the same standard plan. It had an entrance from the street, a basement, a ground floor, a first floor, a brick garage to the side, and a few dozen meters of green garden at the back, where one could have a barbecue, invite friends for beer and sausages, gossip, discuss politics, moralize—in short, talk about anything that came to mind, often heavy with too much alcohol. During an outdoor conversation, one could drift from one topic to another, jumping from one to the next, only to finally fall asleep and wake up the next day with a massive headache and a hangover, not just physical. The Łysoń family, who lived in the house in question, were a model of the smallest modern social unit, which can be described quickly but succinctly: 2+1. Two parents, plus one child, just like in the People's Republic of China. Mr. Łysoń, the head of the family, was named Andrzej. And as if his head deliberately, even maliciously, wanted to match his surname, he was already losing hair, even though he was several years over thirty. With masochistic persistence, he would look in the mirror every morning, moving his head side to side, up and down, his gaze directed towards the ever-sparsing circle on top of his head. He would then sigh deeply, brush his snow-white teeth, shave with an electric razor, take a quick shower, naturally dispose of last night's dinner, and then, without breakfast, set off for work in his large, brand-new, and unnaturally shiny car, which was ineffective in city traffic but perfectly emphasized its owner's social status by subtly flattering his vanity. Apparently, you can recognize a man by the car he drives. Mr. Andrzej could afford a car costing as much as the average construction worker would earn in ten years – he worked in the financial industry, handling daily sums that would make many a person dizzy. This, of course, entailed enormous responsibility, as Mr. Łysoń handled money belonging to companies and individuals, but it was his element, and – it must be admitted – he excelled in it. You could say that numbers, currencies, stocks, and securities were his life – he often spent nights poring over his laptop, calculating, computing, calculating, checking prices and values, reading news from global stock exchanges, economic and business information. He slept only a few hours, but even as he lay in bed in the arms of Morpheus, he dreamed of numbers, charts, and balance sheets, solving out loud imaginary calculations, profits, and losses. Mr. Łysoń's wife, Agata, was several years younger than him and, unfortunately, several times less intelligent. Typical lazy woman, flirting left and right,A woman who, smelling the money invested in Mr. Andrzej's elegant perfume, seeing his expensive suits and impeccable appearance, decided to ensnare him in order to create a trouble-free life full of happiness and money. And since, in her mind, the latter served to create the former, it's no wonder she chased Mr. Andrzej everywhere and at all hours. He himself began to tire and simply irritate, but what was the poor man supposed to do when she announced one day that she was carrying his child? For one, single occasion, during which Mr. Andrzej forgot himself and rather casually engaged in procreation with Mrs. Agata, he had to make a specific decision, one that would determine the fate of his entire future life. He chose marriage, even though he didn't see himself as a husband and father, even though there was no room in his life for someone like a wife and child. But the opinions of his family, colleagues, and clients were very important to him, as was the fear of alimony payments, which would eat away a large portion of his earnings like locusts. Besides, it would be a good idea to start a family someday anyway... And so they both got what they wanted – Mrs. Agata a wealthy husband, and Mr. Andrzej peace and quiet. Their intimate life was rather sparse – now and then, they indulged in marital duties, but they did so without any significant pleasure. After a while, it even began to resemble blowing their nose into a handkerchief – a necessity dictated by the law of nature. They didn't talk much; they had absolutely no common topics, interests, or views. At most, they'd occasionally attend a banquet together, but Mr. Andrzej would chat in one corner with people who, like him, were engaged in cash handling, while Mrs. Agata, proud as a peacock of her dress, chatted with other women as vain as she. A marriage of convenience that is rather a substitute for a real relationship, a stiff mannequin dressed in a beautiful outfit.which would devour a large portion of his earnings like locusts. Besides, they would have to start a family someday anyway... And so they both got what they wanted – Mrs. Agata a wealthy husband, and Mr. Andrzej peace and quiet. Their intimate life was rather meager – now and then, they allowed themselves to fulfill their marital obligations, but they did so without any significant pleasure. After a while, it even began to resemble blowing their nose into a handkerchief – a necessity dictated by the law of nature. They didn't talk much to each other; they had absolutely no common topics, interests, or views. At most, they'd go to a banquet together from time to time, but Mr. Andrzej would chat in one corner with people who, like him, were engaged in cash transactions, while Mrs. Agata, proud as a peacock of her dress, chatted with other women as vain as she. A marriage of convenience, more of a substitute for a real relationship, a stiff mannequin dressed in a beautiful outfit.which would devour a large portion of his earnings like locusts. Besides, they would have to start a family someday anyway... And so they both got what they wanted – Mrs. Agata a wealthy husband, and Mr. Andrzej peace and quiet. Their intimate life was rather meager – now and then, they allowed themselves to fulfill their marital obligations, but they did so without any significant pleasure. After a while, it even began to resemble blowing their nose into a handkerchief – a necessity dictated by the law of nature. They didn't talk much to each other; they had absolutely no common topics, interests, or views. At most, they'd go to a banquet together from time to time, but Mr. Andrzej would chat in one corner with people who, like him, were engaged in cash transactions, while Mrs. Agata, proud as a peacock of her dress, chatted with other women as vain as she. A marriage of convenience, more of a substitute for a real relationship, a stiff mannequin dressed in a beautiful outfit.

The Łysonia family had an eight-year-old son, Jacek. He was an ordinary child, no different from any other child his age. He was petite, slim, with freckles and slightly protruding ears. His parents didn't spend much time with him—his father was always at work, his mother was always busy watching South American TV series, doing crossword puzzles, or reading cheap love stories. Alternatively, she spent all day in jewelry and clothing stores. The child was supposed to either study or play computer games, as long as he stayed quiet and didn't disturb his mother. And yes, he did sit quietly with books, sometimes watching a nature channel (he had a TV in his room, which was also intended to silence him and distract him from his parents), but his favorite pastime was... playing with his chinchilla. A chinchilla is a strange animal—it has the tail of a squirrel, the head of a hamster, and the build of a guinea pig. He likes to run, keeps himself clean, and when he's in his cage, his thoughts seem to wander. He's often apathetic and scowling. He can sit for hours with his eyes half-closed, but when he's out of the cage, he simply comes alive – jumping, running, frolicking… The chinchilla was named Peanut, or rather, Jacek. If you asked him why, he probably wouldn't be able to answer such a seemingly simple question – it just happened that way. Jacek often took his pet out to the garden, spreading a blanket on the grass and playing with it, letting it walk all over him, passing it from hand to hand, feeding it peanuts with his fingers, and watching as the chinchilla playfully grabbed it and slowly devoured it. At such moments, you could always see a radiant smile of joy on Jacek's face – in fact, that's the only time he smiled. Peanut was his best friend, even though he neither said anything nor offered any signs of friendship. The boy, however, was convinced that the chinchilla loved him more than anything else in the world, if only because he had no contact with any other member of his species, nor with other humans. Often, as he fell asleep, Jacek would turn toward his cage and confide in his friend his problems, telling him about what was happening at school, who beat whom, who got an F, who said what... It may sound ridiculous, but the chinchilla replaced the boy's father and mother, becoming his closest and most beloved being. One day, however, the chinchilla vanished into thin air...

Jacek, woken by his mother, slowly opened his eyes. He rubbed them and looked toward the cage, wanting to greet Peanut. He wasn't surprised to see the cage empty—sometimes the chinchilla somehow managed to pry the flap open and escape. He always found himself either under the bed or behind the closet. Jacek explained this to himself as Peanut setting off on a treasure hunt. Of course, he might have thought that, like Pinky and Brain, he was setting off to conquer the world, but his pet was neither as evil as Brain nor as stupid as his companion. The boy repeatedly explained to his friend that there were no treasures in the room and that he didn't need to escape. Even if there were treasure under the bed or elsewhere, the boy would gladly share it. He closed the door to the room, which his mother had opened when she came in to wake him, and began to ransack the room. His anxiety grew with each passing minute, with each unsuccessful search, with each repeated search of the same places as a dozen or so minutes earlier. Seeing that her son hadn't left the room, Mrs. Agata appeared in the room. She found him lying on the floor, sobbing loudly, repeating the name "chinchilla." She approached Jacek, hugged him, and, having extracted the reason for his crying, partly for peace of mind and partly because of the motherly feelings smoldering deep within her, she decided to help search for Peanut. Since he wasn't in the room, it became obvious that he must be somewhere in the house. Comforting and reassuring her son, she encouraged him to search more extensively. The work began. They locked every door in the house, the doors to every room, and the search began. Mrs. Agata looked around the kitchen, while Jacek searched in the bathroom, then moved on to his parents' bedroom. As he peered into every nook and cranny, he occasionally shouted to his mother, "Did you find it?" Of course, he was always met with a negative response, which pierced his heart like a tiny needle. After an hour, it became clear that the chinchilla was either not home or had cleverly hidden somewhere. Jacek didn't go to school, continued searching for several hours, and then, exhausted, retired to his room and fell asleep. Mrs. Agata, meanwhile, was reading a romance novel about a lost pet, thinking only once: "It will be found." Finally, Mr. Andrzej arrived. His son, awake from his nap, ran up to him and informed him with a sad face that Peanut had gotten lost. He expected some advice, some sympathy, some help, or at least a kind word from his father. All he heard from him was that the rodent (as he called it) would be found someday, and even if not, at most he would buy him a new pet. He also expressed concern that it would be bad if Peanut chewed through the wires of the refrigerator, washing machine, or some other electrical appliance... Jacek ran away crying to his room,He couldn't fathom his father's lack of understanding, his cold heart, and his utterly materialistic approach to life, to all things, and even to living beings. He lay on the bed, his eyes wet with tears, staring dispassionately at the ceiling, hoping that Peanut would return at any moment. Minutes passed, but he didn't. An hour later, the boy was sound asleep, which allowed him to temporarily forget about the loss of his friend.

The sun began to peek through the window, its light eager to wake the sleeping Jacek. And indeed, the young man awoke on his own, an hour before his mother's wake-up call. Still blearily, he glanced at the cage—remembering the events of the previous day and the mysterious disappearance of his friend. He got out of bed, took a few steps, and felt something soft beneath his foot. He froze, his heart pounding. He didn't want to look down, didn't want to lift his foot from what he'd stepped on. But he couldn't stand there forever, and finally he looked down. Peanut lay crushed on the ground, his eyes bulging, his entrails hanging from his mouth. His right paw quivered for a few seconds, then fell motionless. The boy fainted.

After this, Jacek changed beyond recognition—he became the weakest student in the class, becoming even more withdrawn. From a resolute, promising child, he transformed into an anemic, apathetic young man, and quite foolish, to boot. He no longer watched nature channels or read books; instead, he sat in front of a computer, transported to a virtual world where, instead of thinking, only reflexes were required... To think, because of one small, inconspicuous animal, the promising boy became simply... an idiot...