Evening was approaching. The sandbox on the dilapidated playground was slowly emptying. A black-haired girl, accompanied by teenagers in tracksuits, was swinging on a creaking swing. Suddenly, the boys ran to a nearby bench and began swinging her. Finally, they managed to wrestle a comfortable seat. An elderly man reacted to the youths' rowdy behavior. He ran up to them shouting, brandishing an umbrella. He accidentally hit it against a carpet beater, and it bent into a bow. Grandpa froze. He stared at the ruined object in horror, and a spasm shook him. He sobbed, unsure whether he cried over the ruined umbrella or over his own helplessness. Who knew it was a gift from his wife, who had long since died and left him alone in this vale of misery?
A group of youngsters, with a bench raised above their heads, ran to the park, which was a haven for drunks and a doghouse, its grassy tongue splayed in front of the apartment building where the erotic revue company, popularly known as "SeksMońki," was based. The apartment building residents brought the bench to the neighborhood's famous balcony. Finally, they chose a suitable spot, drove it into the ground, and sat down. The only girl in the group struggled against the persistence of a long-haired boy who was furiously groping her breasts. Finally, she slapped his hand and stood up, irritated. She noticed someone standing behind her. The man was dressed in sportswear, as if jogging. The tracksuit-wearing woman pointed a finger at the intruder. The gang's friends took an interest in the guy and wordlessly approached them. Of course, there was no getting around the vulgar taunts; they'd been through this before, wanting, as usual, to snatch a few zlotys for a beer. Tyka, a guy towering over the others with a perpetually mocking smile plastered on his face, started the conversation, and the others joined in.
"Got a ticket, you limerick?
" "Get out of your money!
" "You're counting on a crooked guy?
" "Exactly," added the brawny, broad-shouldered guy with a dull expression, whom they called Brus.
The girl adjusted her spiky hair, which accentuated her predatory appearance. She smiled, and it was clear why they called her Orca; she flashed two rows of pointed teeth. She added her usual line, which usually surprised the guys she teased, and they would, without complaining, extract a few zlotys for peace of mind.
"I'll pamper you in a minute. Fucking self-indulgence.
" "It's going to hurt!" "The oldest, long-haired boy announced. Judging by his high head and proud expression, he enjoyed the greatest authority in the group.
"He deserves a beer, and one apiece!" declared the shortest, anemic boy, nicknamed Ogon, menacingly.
"If we screw him over, he'll be more generous," threatened the girl, irritated to see the man hesitate to pull out his wallet.
"How about a little ripping?" Tyka suggested, pulling the switchblade he affectionately called his sister from his pocket.
"You're done for with your beret.
" "Call the tailor!
" "Call," the stocky boy shouted.
Bursa stepped closer to the man and thought, as usual, he'd give the guy a punch in the gut—nobody was strong enough for that, then a few clogs in the kidneys, and then he could easily take the money from the rich and give it to the poor. The brutish-looking boy approached the man within arm's reach and was about to headbutt him, but the man took a step back and held out a bill. He whispered in a trembling voice,
"I don't have any change..."
The gypsy eagerly accepted the high-denomination bill, and the Blokers returned to their bench as if nothing had happened, jostling each other behind him as they sat down. A girl appeared at the balcony window and began to undulate her half-naked body along a specially installed pipe. In this way, the owner of the erotic revue accustomed his employees to the audience, which was growing daily.
"Look!" remarked Orka.
"What an ass," the bruiser said, looking around at his friends for approval for what he considered an original statement.
A slim, short boy called Ogon eagerly confirmed Brus's statement and patted his muscular shoulders. His broad-shouldered friend was his opposite, and the anemic boy, envious of his muscular appearance, nodded.
"Well, that's a nice ass indeed.
" "I'd like her tight ass, she looks fresh and rarely touched," Tyka praised, licking his lips lusciously.
"She's a real hottie, working her ass off on that pole. Just a bit too young and too skinny, no.
" "No!" Brus said with distaste.
"The veal is full of crap, it's still got milk under its nose," Ogon sneered, shaking its head disapprovingly.
The orca, furious with her friends for the quips, which were more lewd than offensive, whispered angrily under her breath.
"She was in diapers not long ago, and now she's pretending to be an adult...
" "She's doing a great job," the Gypsy admitted, and glanced apprehensively at the girl sitting next to her, who didn't hesitate to give him a peck on the forehead and added, in defiance. "Oh, she's giving, the little brat... Oh, she's giving. Don't you guys?
" "Yeah! She could dance on my baguette too," the tall, thin man offered eagerly.
The Gypsy, always on the lookout for a snipe, caught the attention and began mocking his friend, or rather, his manhood.
"What are you doing, Tyka?... You mean that skinny stick of yours. Only Ogon would have room to show off. No!?"
Everyone confirmed this by nodding their heads, except Tyka, of course, who attacked Cygan and, just for fun, they chased each other around the bench until they were tired, amid laughter and cheering.
"She thinks she'll make a fortune off that skinny ass," the tracksuit girl added. She couldn't resist another sneer, but despite her friends' interest in the dancer's voluptuous body, she didn't envy the girl.
Orka looked spry, moved with a spring in her step, and beat more than one of the guys senseless. She'd grown up in this neighborhood, by the carpet rack, between apartment buildings, in the backstreets where only a select few had free entry and didn't have to hand over tokens to get through without emptying their pockets and being beaten to remind them who was in charge. She preferred the company of men, and most importantly, she had respect among the guys. Well-deserved, by the way. She'd worked hard to earn it. Sometimes she had to be more cruel than her friends.
The gypsy turned to the bruiser and said emphatically,
"Brus, grab a beer, our guys are getting hot.
" "And if you see any marijuana, grab a joint or two..." Tyka called after him.
Another evening had arrived, and the brightness of the setting sun was stubbornly piercing the hazy horizon. A low cloud cover, shaped like jagged fractus, hung low, portending foul weather. The Blokers, leaning against the wall, stood and watched the passersby. They spotted an old woman smiling as she emerged from the post office. They followed her, and when no one was around, they attacked her from behind. One of them knocked her down. Another tripped her umbrella, knocking her off balance. Another pretended to keep her from falling. In the confusion, Orka cleverly snatched a bag from the ground, and everyone fled, patting each other. They laughed for a long time at the disoriented old woman, who, unaware of the danger, waved after them in thanks for her selfless help.
The old woman was unaware she had been robbed. She silently thanked God she hadn't fallen and began searching around for her purse. When she realized what had happened, she fainted. Her umbrella stopped her from falling. The old woman moaned hollowly and painfully; not a single tear fell from her eyes, as if she had already cried them all. She had endured many difficult years, pressing her hunched back almost to the ground. The pensioner, who had lost her entire paycheck in an instant, was gripped by panic. Teary, bloodshot eyes peered from behind her glasses, magnified by the lenses, staring with terror at the world around her. Into a terrible future, without a shred of hope for a better tomorrow.
Her mind became like a noisy train station filled with loud conversations that entered her consciousness like an overloaded train, full of calls, shouts, and above all, unanswered questions: how would she survive the month ahead? How would she buy food and medicine? She had to pay the rent! They'd cut off the electricity and gas! She'd sit in an empty, dark apartment, hungry and alone. She had to ask her children for help, yet they were waiting for the promised cash. They wanted to buy a new washing machine because the old one was worn out from diapers; she'd advised them not to buy those paper contraptions that caused allergies in children. And her grandchildren? They were waiting for toys and sweets. They'd be offended by me, stop visiting, maybe I'd die without the last rites. And what would I put on the collection plate, what would I order mass for my husband? I dreamed he was hungry, needed prayers, the poor thing suffering in purgatory...
The old woman felt a pang in her chest. At first, it felt like a punch, but then suddenly a different kind of pain shot through her, more specific and pinpoint, like a thin blade stabbing her to the heart. The tip of the umbrella slammed into the tiles, the top snapping. The old woman's body slumped to the sidewalk. The young couple suddenly perked up and disappeared around the corner.
The blokes, satisfied with their easy prey, had bought a sufficient amount of beer and were heading towards the famous balcony; at that hour, the famous talent scout was honing the girls' erotic dance moves. Even from a distance, it was obvious that the comfortable spot was occupied, and as the youngsters approached, they discovered that a few slobs had brazenly lounged on their bench. The men, their faces distorted by alcohol addiction, were drinking "Wino" wine. From a GTW, of course, passing the sizable bottle to each other, fairly and under careful, mutual supervision. A thug with a crew cut pointed a finger at them and shouted in a loud voice.
"Oh, bums!
" "Purple faces away!" echoed the boy, slim and tall as a stick.
"What the fuck?! Deaf!" Ogon shouted, then approached the drunken men and added emphatically, feigning a kick. "You want to kick that blue nose with your butt? You wet face!"
The girl stopped the boy at the last moment, saying,
"Ogon, chill out! Why are you getting your boots dirty over this shit?"
The stocky boy, seeing the drunks about to argue and mutter something incoherently, became furious. He forcibly pulled one of the bums away from the bench, and at that moment a lightning bolt ripped through the sky; one of the branches cracked like a whip at Burrich's head, sparks shooting from his ears. Everyone was convinced he was about to collapse, but he lifted the drunk onto his head and threw him like a sack of potatoes, screaming,
"I'll speed up the pace, you filthy bastards!"
The drunkards seemed to be infused with new life at the sight, suddenly sobering up. They fled, leaving behind a half-finished bottle of wine. Only when they were quite a distance away did they shout something indistinctly, waving their arms. Burs carried a one-liter bottle made of thick, green glass. He examined it; it was corked and half-empty. Seeing his friends' faces twisted with disgust, he threw it at the group of alcoholics. One of them ran up with outstretched arms and clumsily caught it. The heavy bottle slipped from his hand and hit him in the forehead, causing the drunkard to sit down, stunned. His friends ran over with applause and joyfully finished their drinking spree. The hero of the day, who had saved the wine, stood up and began walking forward, his bottle swinging horribly from side to side, constantly falling. His friends called after him.
"Kazek!
" "Kazio...
" "Where are you going?"
"Where did he get so worked up?"
The man walked forward. He didn't respond to his name and didn't even know it was his, didn't remember where he lived, or even his name. He probably would have cried for his homeless man, his fate, and himself if he'd known that no one would be looking for him, and that on the contrary, his entire family would breathe a sigh of relief and consider him missing. Besides, as it turned out later, he wasn't an exception; his new family at the station was full of people like him.
The blokers, seeing that Brus was unharmed, immediately forgot about the lightning incident and sat down on a bench. Someone had turned up the volume on the radio, and they were unconsciously listening to music while drinking beer, occasionally glancing at Jończyk's balcony. The words of the song flew into space, and no one considered their meaning.
I threw a stone, just like you.
Are you thinking about yourself? I'm angry!
I have one like that. Oh, that sin isn't thin,
and the other is just as fat.
The third, hammered down over the years, like a shadow
that lies, grows, grows as the day slips away.
One more suffering, another.
Ooooo! And that third, so long...
Another punishment, another.
Ooooo! And that third...
Long, like a train that hurts and burns, involuntarily.
You gave it back on the cheek, and I know it from here.
Because I do the same! Tooth for a tooth!
I have one like that, oh so severe. Severe, this punishment,
and the second is just as dear.
The third is the cross you gave me,
which, carried, grows, grows, until it finally falls.
One more suffering, another.
Ooooo! And that third, so long...
Another punishment, another.
Ooooo! And that third...
Long, like a train that hurts and burns, involuntarily.
The seated youth perked up. The blinds in the apartment under surveillance went up. The balcony window was thrown wide open. A shapely girl began to dance hesitantly in her swimsuit, and upon seeing the audience outside, she slowed her movements. She was visibly embarrassed; she looked like a beginner.
"Give her a thinner tube, she's shy!" Burrus shouted.
"Show me more, I'll be harder!" Ogon shouted, shamelessly grabbing his crotch.
"Hey, little one, you want it in the ass," Tyka added, his vulgar line, which he repeated often at the sight of the sulking teenagers.
Another young girl joined the dancing girl, and from her almost shameless, vulgar movements, one could conclude she was a professional.
"Fucking hustlers," Orka interjected sarcastically, pushing the long-haired boy away from her, whispering, "Gypsy, give yourself a break!" Where are you sticking those twigs! What are you doing? The bruiser quickly picked up on
the timbre of her excited voice and began clumsily faking an orgasm. Soon the others joined in, showing off their lewd sounds. " Come
on! Oh yes!
More ... Ay
... Soon, other hands grabbed her. The boys, excited by the sight of the girls undulating along the towering tube, began to playfully make out with her. They forced their hands under her shirt and grabbed her thighs. Orka screamed with joy. "No! Nooo. Help! Perverts!!! Get out of here with those hands! They're raping! Help! Come on! Bruce, where are you sticking that tongue of yours?"
An even uglier day than the previous ones arrived. A dark atmospheric front line enveloped the neighborhood, seemingly waiting for a bath and a wash of the grayness of the ubiquitous apartment buildings. Between the apartment buildings, a young couple fled the rain. Large drops drummed against an umbrella. The lovers, huddled together, dreamed of a warm shelter and the moment of alone time they were about to spend. The boy hoped his parents wouldn't be home; he had long-term plans for this girl. Suddenly, a gang of tracksuit-wearing men unexpectedly accosted them. The tall boy, egged on by his friends, began playfully making advances on the surprised girl. He pretended to rape her from behind. The humiliated victim crouched down and began sobbing. Her boyfriend broke free from the thug's grip, then, like a madman, rushed to the girl's aid. A small, anemic youth tripped him, and the hero fell face-first into a puddle amidst jeers and applause. Brus approached and angrily kicked the young man as he struggled to his feet, correcting his lower back. He fell into the mud with each blow of the hard boots. An orca, standing to the side, pulled the fiery thug away from his victim and warned his friend.
"Brus, what's wrong with you?! You want to get sore.
" "Get some weight!" Ogon said.
"Easy! Easy! I was just training. Something's been really bubbling in my blood lately, something's been going on inside me...
" "That's true, you're not yourself, and your talk seems more appropriate," said Gypsy, the oldest of the boys, who had been watching the whole thing impassively. The others joined in with their own comments.
"Save your strength!
" "We still have a fight over the bench," the anemic boy reminded, spitting contemptuously at the cowering girl, then added. "You're lucky we don't have time, little one. I'd love to show you why they call me Tail.
" "She'd probably fall in love at first sight," added Brus, and everyone responded with a chorus of laughter.
The girl in a dress approached the boy writhing in pain. At the sight of her, the young man struggled to his knees and reached out for help. She slapped him across the face. She intended to correct the other side, but the long-haired boy grabbed her hand and pulled her along. Orka and Gypsy resumed their run. The other blockers followed, laughing loudly.
The beaten man struggled to his feet. The girl was crying, her stomach aching. She looked reproachfully at the guardian who was supposed to care for her, especially now that she was in such a different state. The boy lowered his head, overcome with shame at being such a weakling, unable to protect his beloved from the hooligans' attack. He swallowed the growing bitterness. The girl couldn't bear the humiliation she'd experienced, but the mental pain proved less severe than the physical; she suddenly realized that it was spreading from her stomach to her lower back. She put her trembling hands under her skirt and immediately pulled them out as if she'd been burned. The boy looked over her shoulder and saw her bloody hands, her consciousness still resisting the obvious for a moment. Finally, when he realized he was no longer a father, he lunged forward with a bestial roar. He wanted to catch up with the blockers and kill them, bite them... At least one of them... Maybe he would have been relieved, but he didn't know where they had run. He stood helpless, fell to his knees, and shook his fists at the sky as if cursing someone. His dream plans of family happiness and a son were gone. He realized that nothing would ever be the same again. He curled into a fetal position and moaned for a long time...
The playground was deserted. The rain was falling in earnest. The black umbrella remained in the mud. The wind tormented him, snatching him up, and finally hurling him against the wall. He sank into the mud, where he remained, dirty and broken, like the skeleton of a giant bat that had starved to death, its wing membranes torn by the storm, unable to fly silently and silently into the dark night to hunt.
The apartment building where the famous "SeksMońki" company was headquartered was drowning in a downpour. The walls steamed from the heat of the day, creating a glow like a bright aura around the heads of religious figures in icons, but it was far from holy. The owner of "seksMońki" and the erotic business he ran particularly damaged his reputation. The apartment seemed abandoned; the balcony door, always open this time of year, was closed this time. It looked like the usual training session wasn't taking place, for eager girls hoping to make it as models.
A group of skinheads waited in front of the bench. One of them almost announced gruffly,
"7 p.m.! They should be here by now."
"Oh, they're coming," announced a powerful, built colossus who towered over the others, pointing a finger at the running figures.
The familiar gang arrived on time and, at the designated spot, took up position in the square.
The young, shaven-headed men began preparing for battle. They wanted to seize a bench to spy on the dancers and, in addition to visual pleasures, reap a certain financial reward in the form of tickets to an erotic session. They stripped to the waist and laid out their belongings next to each other: knives, brass knuckles, batons, chains, they whispered.
"Only honorably. We're from the same neighborhood!"
"Remember, Kosa, the deal is bare-knuckle... And leave that umbrella, what do you need it for?
" "Fine! Relax, it's raining.
" "You can kick people who are down, only if they're moving.
" "We'll sort this out ourselves, among ourselves. This bench is a goldmine!
" "There's something to fight for! "
On a muddy, grassless square, where kids were playing matches on a fine day, a familiar gang of blockers began to undress. Orka was collecting clothes and various weapons. She said, directing her gaze towards the stocky thug, who seemed to be losing control lately.
"Brus, just remember, one on one, it has to be honorable.
" "Don't worry, Orka, I can handle it," the stocky boy said confidently, stretching. Impressive muscles bulged on his powerful torso. He was bursting with joy, and it was clear he was looking forward to the fight. He added unexpectedly, "Line up so it's even."
"Brus! I'm the boss here, remember?" "Gypsy reminded irritably, he was the most experienced in this type of fight.
"You're still here, but not for long." Everyone was surprised by the words of the thug, who kept to himself and wasn't exactly intelligent, but had surprisingly changed beyond recognition lately...
"There'll be smoke in a moment, let him talk, we'll see..." Ogon nodded.
"Okay, so how should we line up?" the girl asked hurriedly, as time was pressing; the skinheads were approaching.
Burrus briefly assessed the group, which was slowly approaching the square where they were standing, then decided who would fight whom.
"I'll take the tall guy! You, Ogon, the skinny one. Gypsy, take the fat one. And you, Tyka, take the one with the monkey paws. Just remember, keep him at a distance; you have long legs.
" "Let's kick their asses!" "Ogon shouted, to bolster the group's spirits and bolster his spirits. He was starting to get nervous about the fight ahead. His opponent looked no worse for wear; up close, he was more wiry than thin.
"If anyone pretends to be unconscious, I'll kill you," the long-haired boy joined in the briefing, saying menacingly, causing everyone to look at each other with apprehension; they knew that cold and ruthless tone well. "I can't stand cowards."
"If anyone falls, they won't get their fill," the girl declared, fear etched on her face, and she began to tremble.
The gypsy glared at the tracksuit girl, but said nothing, seeing that the girl's words had rallied the group. The bruiser's eyes lit up, and he resembled a furious rodewolf whose owner was trying to keep it on a spiked collar. Tyka smacked his lips loudly and kicked a few times with his long legs. Tail adjusted his ample crotch and winked at Orca.
The rain fell harder. The ground stopped absorbing the water, and puddles formed. The neighborhood gangs stood facing each other. Bare torsos glowed palely. Faulty lamps loomed over the future battlefield, their twisted necks bent into various shapes, eerily visible with stumps and strands of wire. Only the lights from the apartment building cast a hazy glow, heightening the eerie atmosphere of the place.
The young men glared at each other, their contemptuous faces expressing increasing rage. For a moment, they frightened and goaded each other in a strange, delirious dance, full of sudden movements and simulated blows. Burrich lost his nerve and moved first. He exploited his advantage: he was shorter than his opponent and attacked from the bull's-eye. He struck the torso with a running start, and even his arm guard didn't help, he forced his way to the soft spot. The force of the impact was immense. The powerful boy curled into a bow, just as the cunning bruiser had been waiting for, delivering a knee-kick to the center of the face. The giant groaned and clutched his nose; he was too large and heavy to fall on his back. The tall fellow crouched and crouched. Blood trickled through his covered hands. The victorious Burrich howled in triumph and kicked the defeated man in the spine with the entire surface of his boot. When he fell forward, he jumped on his back. He danced the familiar Kazachok dance, only coming down when the defeated man stopped moving and reacting to the hard boots. He looked around consciously, hoping to help his friends. The victory energized him; he felt strength and a growing rage. Despite the darkness that had descended due to the overcast, he saw everything in a red glow, as if living bodies were radiating heat. He quickly recognized the situation. Tyka, effectively kicking, and kept his opponent, who was swinging his long arms like a monkey, at bay. Gypsy was boxing and winning on points, showing off his evasive moves. His opponent was slow, and his swollen face looked like a bruised fruit. Ogon was struggling; he had just been kicked between the legs. He choked with pain. He leaned forward, and of course, the attacker seized the moment, striking with a sickle, blood gushing from his mouth like a fountain. Brus rushed to Ogon's aid. He grabbed a boy from the opposing gang by the belt, spun him around, and yanked him into the air, slamming his raised body into the skinhead with monkey hands. Tyka's opponent lost his balance, just what the tall, lanky man was waiting for, and unleashed a scissors kick. He raised his leg high and slammed his heel down, striking the side of the head and stopping on the shoulder. His collarbone couldn't withstand the force of the blow, cracking unpleasantly, and his opponent's arm hung limply, which must have been excruciating. Finally, defeated, he fell to his knees. Brus released his belt, and the stunned boy fell headlong into the mud, splashing it everywhere. He got up, but he couldn't keep his balance; he was an easy target, and the powerful thug exploited this effectively, striking with a hook from both sides. When the boy tried to fall to his knees, he was kicked so hard that he was ripped into the air, sending his shoes flying. Brusa howled in triumph, bursting with pride, having ripped the guy out of his shoes for the first time. The fat man fighting the Gypsy, bleeding and bruised, took stock of the situation, realized they had no chance of victory, and blew a long whistle, signaling a surrender. The bruiser's opponent fell near the oblong object, its sharp tip glinting.The blade penetrated deep and lodged in Burrich's belly. A deafening silence fell. Suddenly, the battlefield was empty. Blood leaking from the twitching body stained the fabric of the umbrella and dominated the puddle that had formed in the hole dug by the dying man.
"I'd like to file a complaint!
" "Yes! But please... Are you dissatisfied with our services?
" "I was sucked out of this body too late, I felt a terrible pain in the abdomen.
" "We're offering something stronger as compensation."
"Oh! Thank you." Truth be told, I've vented my aggression, but I still feel a sense of dissatisfaction, a certain irritability...
" "Exactly, we'll tune the antenna in a moment... Preferably for murderous intent; it will take a while. Please relax, spread your wings, after this experience you won't even hurt a fly.
" "Oh, that would be good, because sometimes my claws actually quiver."
The antenna mounted on the moon, resembling an inverted umbrella, had just slowed down, and its hand had tuned in to brain waves. It was tracking a humanoid creature on the third planet from the sun. The man had just lost his job...
THE END
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