Passenger

Dusk fell. A suburban train, rushing through endless wheat fields, cast shadows on the swaying grain fields. Marek stood in the vestibule, between the compartments. He held part of the door open with his foot, preventing it from closing. Cool air fanned his face. The cigarette in his mouth glowed intensely. He took it between his fingers and lifted it from his mouth. He exhaled the smoke, but the wind blew it back into his face. The vestibule was filling with thick fog. Marek looked at his handiwork: gray smoke billowing inside, illuminated by the red light of the setting sun. On the opposite side of the gas-and-luminous curtain stood a girl. She wasn't tall, but she was quite well-built, at least she looked that way in her black woolen sweater. She had been there before he boarded the train at the station near the hypermarket where he worked. The entire journey, until he lit his cigarette, she had been staring out the window. She turned away as soon as she smelled smoke. He offered her a cigarette. She declined.

"Thank you. You're not allowed to smoke here," she said.

"You are," Marek replied. "Not in the compartment, but we're between compartments." He gestured to the glass door.

"There's a sticker above that door...

" "Which means you're not allowed to smoke in the compartment," he interrupted her mid-sentence. "If the smoke bothers you, please get in, the train is empty." Then he returned to contemplating the view, basking in his small victory.

For the first time today, he had the upper hand. It was also his last triumph ever. He turned around, full of satisfaction, and grinned. The girl shot him a look of hatred, adding a touch of contempt to the mix, which only made him happier. The girl moved from her corner and went into the restroom. Marek smoked his cigarette and fired the butt at the stones they were speeding past, separating the tracks from the wheat fields. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a red and white pack of cigarettes. "SMOKING CAUSES

CANCER, " read the inscription covering a third of the package. He pulled out the carcinogen. He studied it for a moment, turning it over in his fingers, which were covered with yellow nicotine stains. Then he stuck it in his mouth and lit it with a metal lighter engraved with the initials KG and the dedication, "May you not lose your passion for creation." Marek had found it in a supermarket. A small perk of being a cleaner. He stood there, thinking about dinner with his wife and playing with his daughter, feeding his pet and examining the stones, when another shadow appeared next to his...

On her twenty-sixth birthday, Anita was on her way home. She stood by the door of the "canary," watching the sun set over a vast sea of ​​wheat. She wondered what her family and friends would react to. She had been gone for four years. Although she wouldn't return for another six, someone decided to change that. Over the past four years, she had changed. At first, she couldn't connect with her companions in misery. Over time, she broke through certain barriers. She began to live as intensely as her circumstances permitted. She went to the gym to maintain her figure, but her dedication to exercise resulted in a significant increase in muscle mass. She might not have looked like a bodybuilder, standing in a baggy black sweater and cargo pants that covered her shoes, but gym friends, seeing her in her "corporate" attire, often joked that she could marry Schwarzenegger. Her hair also grew in volume, transforming from a close-cropped bob into lush, shoulder-length blonde curls. Would her old friends like her new look? Would they still want to be with her? The smell of cigarette smoke, or rather a voice in her head, tore her from her thoughts.

" Breathe deeply, I'm hungry.

" "Die," Anita thought.

She turned and looked at the young man standing by the open door. He held a lit cigarette in his hand. A wave of anger and disgust washed over her. The man offered her a cigarette. "He's one of those polite ones," she thought, "maybe it'll work out." She politely declined, pointing out that this was a non-smoking train. The young man began to argue, unwilling to tear himself away from his pacifier. The wave of anger began to intensify, flooding almost her entire consciousness. She tried to control herself, but the boy gave her a triumphant smile. She was sure he didn't often grin like that. She almost seethed as she stared at the smoker's yellowed teeth. In her mind's eye, she pictured them shattered among the stones lying beside the tracks. She moved forward, locking herself in the toilet.

She was now standing in a cramped room filled with the sour stench of urine. She opened the window. The fresh air diluted the odor that had already settled in the toilet. Anita breathed deeply, the air flowing in through the window. She sensed His presence again. He was making himself known to her. He was provoking her. He wanted to take control of her. She remembered the first time he'd given her a sign. They'd been visiting her uncle in the hospital. It was their last visit with him. They were crowded around his bed when the sweet, carrion-like smell reached her. She felt sick. She glanced at the others, but saw no reaction. They simply stood over the emaciated man, hooked up to a life-sustaining machine. They said nothing; her uncle, doped up on painkillers, didn't even recognize them. That same night, her relatives vanished, but millions in zlotys added. The entire estate was left to the artist's favorite niece, who spent many hours with an eccentric relative. Anita enjoyed her uncle's company, even though he drank heavily and smoked heavily. She always reproached him for this, though she never caught him with a cigarette or a shot of vodka. Only his reek of alcohol and his clothes smelling of smoke stood against him. He told her stories from his eventful life. Then came the cancer. It attacked his lungs. Doctors tried to fight it, but after a third operation, they were successful. A malignant tumor, that was the diagnosis. They couldn't remove any more, the doctors said. Lord rest his soul, the priest prayed. Why? Anita asked... Now she knew. Thanks to her uncle's death, she had enough money to hire a good lawyer.

That lawyer turned out to be Samanta Brol. She was a woman in her forties. Her black hair, streaked with gray, was styled in a bun. She dressed masculine in black trousers and a jacket. She wasn't married, nor was she in any lasting relationship. She didn't have time for that, which she devoted entirely to work. A typical spinster.

She entered the room and walked confidently to the table where Anita was sitting. She extended her hand in greeting. Anita rose slightly, squeezing the cold, dry, nicotine-stained right hand of her attorney. She could still smell the sweetish scent of rotting flesh, but she had grown accustomed to the scent that surrounded her almost daily since that fateful visit to the hospital.

"My name is Samanta Brol, and I will be your attorney in the murder case...

" " My name is Kanser. I will take care of you for the rest of my life, which will be when I no longer need you... " a voice appeared in her head, confusing her.

"...Will you allow me to smoke?" Samanta asked, and without waiting for an answer, she took out a cigarette.

"What?" Anita snapped out of her reverie. "Smoking is not allowed here." She said automatically, seeing the cigarette in the lawyer's hand.

She was still wondering what voice had spoken to her. "I'm going crazy," she thought. "I killed a man and I'm going mad." As if to contradict her thoughts, Kanser took over her mind again.

" You've heard me before. My presence is familiar to you. You've always sensed me. You irritated me. You fought me. You tried to limit my expansion. I couldn't control you. I had to work hard to bring you here, my dear. Even though I have a whole army of slaves working for me. An army of the possessed. Now I can take care of you. I sacrificed my soldier, but don't be happy, child, that faggot wasn't very useful. You will take his place. You will join the army of the infected. I will take control of you; you will be my best puppet."

"Your version seems reasonable," Samanta's face twisted into a demonic grimace, a contender for the title of "Most Hideous Smile of the Year." "But then you'll get life in prison for premeditated murder, illegal possession of a weapon... and we'll throw in the persecution of sexual minorities." She looked at Anita with a triumphant expression on her face. "That's not what you're talking about, is it? "

"No," Anita whispered, wondering how Samanta knew all this.

"You haven't told anyone yet?

" "No.

" "Okay, we can implement my version of events. First, remember: you used the weapon in self-defense, it was his weapon, the man threatened you, tried to rape you, you managed to distract him and take the weapon, he lunged at you, so you fired blindly. The bullet hit him in the head. He died instantly."

Anita looked at Samanta for a moment, processing her words. Kanser must have told her. There was no other explanation.

"How do you know my version?"

"How come you just explained everything to me. You were talking like you were in a trance.

" "It probably was," Anita whispered to herself.

"What?

" "Wasn't he gay?

" "Who?

" "Kanser," Anita thought, but then she said, "That boy, you said he was gay.

" "Don't worry about that, he was an average boy who discovered a desire for different kinds of sex, but his first date didn't go so well. It made him more mysterious and... strange. The perfect psychopath, pervert, rapist, pedophile, or whatever you want to portray him as. He doesn't care, he's dead. You can accuse him of anything you want. His parents don't know anything. They'll be devastated, but it's still better for them than having a gay son.

" "Didn't he have a lover or something, you know?

" "He dated online. Always under a fake name and always with people from big cities. He was always the one who went to see them." When you found him," Samantha looked pointedly at her client, "he was on just such a journey. The only person who could have caused trouble is his sister, Karolina, but her silence was bought.

"How do you know all this?" The question, which had already been brewing in Anita's mind, burst from her lips.

The woman's face transformed again, from the face of an average middle-aged woman to the most malicious and cunning of middle-aged women.

"I have my methods, that's why I'm a good lawyer.

" " I know every carrier in my army .

" Another wave of stench stung Anita's nostrils. She remembered exactly what she'd discovered back then, in that little room. Talking to Samantha, she'd found the solution to the stinking riddle. She discovered that the smell of carrion usually wafted around when someone was smoking. However, she didn't know why she was the only one who could detect the stench.

" You're not alone," said the voice she would have many more conversations with. "There are many people like you, but none of them wants to be seen. Besides, few of them know what the real deal is with that smell. I help them get rid of the stinking problem. All they have to do is light up."

"Why do I smell it?" Anita, unsure of why, resumed the conversation in her mind.

" Because you hate me. You're fighting me. You're trying to make people aware of the risks they face when they reach for the cane of peace."

The courtroom was packed. They all had cancer. Few knew it. Some didn't even imagine something like this could happen to them. "That only happens to heavy smokers, and I only smoke when I'm at a bar with my friends." Or "Why would I have cancer? I don't smoke and I forbade my husband from smoking in my apartment. He has to go out on the balcony." Kanser was extremely pleased with the army he had managed to assemble in the courtroom. No one would ask unnecessary questions. Everyone would mill around, waiting for a break so they could smoke. Their companions would complain that they couldn't go without a cigarette. No one would remember the sentence or what she was convicted of. Even Anita's family wouldn't make any trouble. Six years for involuntary manslaughter, with the possibility of early release. Anita is a good girl, after all. She's studying medicine, wants to become a doctor. They'll definitely release her early. They'll definitely...

" Your family believes in you, I believe in you too," Kanser began to implement the final steps of his carefully laid plan. "You're the only one without a pet, but that will change. " "He was sure of it, and when it happens, then she'll belong to him. The final step in the plan will be accomplished. She'll return home with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, and then he might let her finish her studies. A smoking doctor would have a soothing effect on his soldiers; he wouldn't preach about the dangers of smoking. However, for her to join his army as a devoted servant, he had to break her.

Anita stood while the judge announced the sentence. Six years. Surprised, she looked around the courtroom. Everyone had pleasant smiles on their faces.

" Why didn't you ask him not to smoke?

" "What?" she asked in shock, unable to fathom what he meant.

" You didn't ask him not to smoke. Remember."

Her mind drifted back to that moment. It was shortly after her uncle's death. As her bank balance grew significantly, so did her circle of friends. One of the "new" ones was Diablo. A man who could acquire anything and guaranteed complete discretion. It was to him that Anita turned, asking him to get her a gun. The smallest gun in the world. A miniature revolver, but one that looked like a lighter. She had decided on this purchase after receiving a slap in the face from the guy she was lighting a cigarette for...

...She was returning from her dorm on the afternoon train. She was leaning against the sliding door when a man joined her. He was about thirty-five. He stood opposite her, in the only empty corner, and after a quick search of her pockets, pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes.

"Smoking's not allowed here," she uttered her standard line quietly, not expecting much. The smell of carrion was exceptionally intense.

"Who's going to stop me?" the man said loudly, glancing at the students standing by the other door.

As if on cue, they both looked away, admiring the magnificent slope of the excavation. The cigarette found its place in the smoker's mouth, and he resumed his ritual groping.

"Hey, mister, can I light you?" Anita asked, flirting with the man.

"Sure, babe." He leaned over the lighter in his small hand.

The girl hesitated slightly. She'd bought a water-powered lighter to spite her friends. Now she held it pointed at some redneck's face. "One goat kills," she thought, and pulled the trigger.

The man straightened abruptly, wiping his face with his hand. A soggy cigarette hung comically from his lips.

"You slob!" he yelled, slapping her across the face.

The students pressed themselves even closer to the door, and the face of the passenger opposite hid behind his newspaper. The smoker threw away the wet nail and replaced it with a new one. Gray smoke curled into the air. Anita stood in a corner, frightened, rubbing her stinging cheek. She wondered where the malicious chuckle was coming from...

"We'll see what we can do," Diablo said, and two weeks later, in her pants pocket, Anita felt a metal weight bump against her thigh with every step.

She was boarding the train now. It was the last train of this route. 11:45 PM. "In fifteen minutes it's witching hour, and in half an hour I'll be home," flashed through her mind. But that didn't happen, and the reason was a certain young man. He boarded the train with Anita, but as usual, she stood by the door, while he went to sit in an empty compartment. She wasn't interested in him. In fact, she was glad he wasn't bothering her. Around midnight, however, he entered the vestibule, exuding a terribly sweet smell of rotting meat, carrying a pack of Super Light cigarettes—as the sign below proclaimed, the brand of poisoners. He offered her a cigarette. She took it. He took one himself and reached for a lighter. Anita forestalled him by pulling out her toy, with a Zippo engraved on the barrel.

"I'll give you a light," she said indifferently.

"Thanks."

He leaned trustingly toward the black hole at the end of the barrel. "Nice girl," he thought, "too bad she's not a man." It was his last thought. Anita closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. A terrifying roar was intertwined with the monotonous clatter of the train wheels. The bullet struck the eye and lodged inside the skull. The body fell limply onto Anita, who pushed it as far away as possible, then crouched in a corner, falling into a stupor. This was the position the railwayman inspecting the train found her in when it reached its final destination.

"I'd had enough of it all. I didn't want to choke on that sweetish smell anymore. It made my stomach churn." "

Do n't worry, soon you won't be able to smell anything. Only one thing will matter to you: smoking. I'll release you from the cage as soon as I manage to influence you so much that you can't start your day without feeding me."

"I will never smoke, never."

" Now you're saying that, and if you stay here for a while, you'll change your mind. If you were a man, I'd send you to the army, but unfortunately, women don't have compulsory military service. That's why prison will be the best place for you.

" "I WILL NOT SMOKE."

" Yes, yes. Of course.

" Leaving the prison, she felt a strange pull. She walked uncertainly down the street toward the train station, carefully observing the people. She had the impression that everyone was looking at her. She turned her gaze to the shop windows.

"CIGARETTES"

"CHEAP CIGARETTES"

Almost every window had this or similar notice. Only then did she realize that she hadn't smelled carrion in at least two and a half years, even though everyone around her was smoking. She felt the pull again, this time with redoubled force. Beside her, someone lit a cigarette. The smoke filled her nostrils.

" Take a drag, and then quickly run and buy some cigarettes." I want to eat.She stood for a moment, frightened and disoriented, when her gaze fell on a small window display a dozen or so meters away. She smiled to herself.

"No way. There will be no dinner," she replied to her parasite.

She sat in the outhouse for a long moment, pondering the right course of action. She begged him not to smoke. He disobeyed. He was completely submissive to Kanser. He spread the plague among the healthy. He fed his master while he performed for the unsubordinated. That was precisely what he was trying to do. How did she know? Well, she carried a part of the great Kanser within her. She was infected, but she had managed to deceive her master. She had outsmarted him. He hadn't anticipated such a solution. Now it was too late. Anita made her decision. She spat out a Nicorette gum out the window and quietly exited the toilet. She began to creep toward the man. She spotted her shadow just in time. She lunged forward, striking the man with all her strength. He didn't have time to react. He fell out of the compartment and onto the stones. He was left behind. Anita was alone again. The unblocked doors closed.

The train stopped at the next station. Anita calmed down. She looked at the open door. A young boy stood there. He wasn't a smoker. She could quickly tell thanks to Kanser. But something was wrong. He was looking at her strangely. Especially at her breasts. "It's probably just some horny teenager staring at my breasts." She wasn't used to these kinds of looks. Locked away for four years with women, she had forgotten her curves. Now she would have to get used to these kinds of looks again, but not today. She thought and turned to the window.

Piotrek entered the train. He stood by the door. The interior reeked of carrion. He glanced at the carrier of the odor. It turned out to be a well-built blonde. He studied her for a moment, just to be sure. There was a faint whiff of cigarette smoke in the air. It's definitely her. The girl turned around. "Very well, little one." Piotrek pulled a knife from his pocket. He slowly approached his enemy. Cancer had taken his father, his mother was in the hospital. "Stand still, it'll all be over soon..."

The Birth of Mars

A secret military base on Mars, a protectorate of the United Nations of Earth. It's March 25th, Earth time. A man sits in the control room in front of a massive monitor. He stares lazily at the monitor, occasionally smoothing his long hair.

He thinks to himself as he flips through printed reports. Suddenly, Commander Markov's face appears on the large screen. The man in the room stands up and walks over to the screen.

"Have you received the reports?" Markov asked.

"Yes," the man replied.

"What do you think of them?

" "It's strange that, despite all our efforts, we still haven't managed to raise the average oxygen content." The man threw the papers aside. "None of our scientists even have a clue where the problem is.

" "Everyone on Earth is working on it too. And how is Project Renaissance doing?

" "It's doing well. In a few minutes, the first generation will be entering its final phase, so if you don't mind, I'd like to be there.

" "Very well, General Orlicz. We eagerly await your report."

The screen went blank. The man looked around, and when he noticed there was no one around, he issued a voice command.

"Computer, request a view from camera fifteen, activation code is alpha charlie gamma three five, General Krzysztof Orlicz.

" The monitor displayed a panorama of the red planet. On one side of the screen were red, dead rocks, and on the other, green, genetically modified algae stealing territory from the red desert.

"Why is Mars so... Dead?" he asked in a low voice.

He stared at the image of two clashing powers for a moment.

"Computer, turn off the image."

He tensed his neck muscles and headed for the exit. The doors hummed politely as he passed through. He passed the officers' quarters and reached a small train. He entered the first carriage and inserted his electronic card into the slot.

"Eden." The train began to move, almost inaudible.

He drove for several minutes, passing through tunnels carved in ancient times, even before the "Space Ice" experiment.

Who would have thought that comets could be tamed so quickly, even in the twenty-fourth century? But that was a long time ago. Now it's almost the twenty-eighth century, and we have to think in different terms. Moon bases are no longer fit for purpose. And interstellar travel is still in its infancy. If not for this unfortunate event, one virus, and such damage. I wonder if it will ever happen again?

As he finished his thoughts, the train began to slow down. A gentle beep signaled the disembarkation. A man in a white coat was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to the carriage.

"Hello, Dr. Teng."

"It's a pleasure to meet you again, General Orlicz." "Although on Earth scientists didn't exactly get along with the military, on Mars it was a bit different." The gentlemen shook hands and set off down a long corridor.

"How did the specimens react to the Martian mixture?

" "Good. Our calculations proved correct. The pituitary glands could handle this oxygen content.

" "Excellent, Doctor. And what about the educational program?

" "Well, that's where the unexpected obstacles arose." They entered a room where figures floated in massive glass containers. From the outside, they looked human, but everyone knew these figures had little in common. Genetic engineering had done quite a bit of digging into their bottoms.

A woman with hints of Asian beauty approached them.

"This is Dr. Asuka Hiroshi." He introduced the woman to Dr. Teng.

"Pleased to meet you," the general replied.

"Dr. Hiroshi will explain the problem.

" "Thank you, Dr. Teng. This way, please, General." They approached one of the many monitors. The woman sat down at the keyboard, and a moment later, a DNA chain flickered on the screen. "By introducing a random element in these places, we wanted to introduce significant differences in appearance and minor differences in behavior. Unfortunately, it turned out that this caused changes in the areas responsible for knowledge acquisition. Although elementary knowledge is absorbed automatically, high-level knowledge is not. Please see." A series of graphs appeared on the screen.

"Hmm... So Professor Hernih's theory was correct?" the general asked.

"Unfortunately, yes." The woman turned away from the monitor.

"Thank you," the general said, and continued on with Teng.

"You understand the essence of our problem, General." The doctor smiled.

"I see you've made your point after all.

" "Yes," Teng replied curtly.

"I told you what I thought about a universal society.

" "You know, General, that the ZNZ won't like it.

" "We're on Mars, not Earth. The ZNZ can't do anything to us." The general let the doctor go ahead.

"And the clause on forced aggression?

" "Now? During the fuel crisis?" After passing through the clearing corridor, they entered a vast chamber, sections of which were a reproduction of external conditions. "Even if they reach us, they won't be able to conduct any operations here, and since the catamenial tunnel would be blocked, their invasion would only capture equipment and people. Laws on Mars are somewhat less restrictive than on Earth." Almost all employees on Mars knew this. General Orlicz had an unbridled lust for power. He was limited only by the lack of oxygen in the atmosphere; otherwise, Mars would be a greater power than Earth.

"The release of the anchors will occur in two minutes," the computer announced.

"We're on time, General. We're about to see a miracle."

Chairs were set up in front of the main tank, some already occupied. Teng and the General sat at the very front. When the computer announced the opening of the first gate, some of the people couldn't bear it any longer and rose from their seats. When figures appeared behind the third, and final, glass door, the General was the last to rise. A hissing sound signaled the pressure had equalized. Individuals hesitantly stepped through the open gate.

"Welcome to this world," the General said pathetically. The individuals stopped. "You know who I am, and you know who you are. Today is your birthday. Before we allow you freedom, we need to run a few tests. Don't worry, it will only take a moment." "Individuals." The people stared at him in surprise at first, but a moment later they understood what he was talking about. Obediently, they began to disperse from the individual stations where the personnel were already standing

. The General turned to Teng.

"When you're finished with them and dressed, send them to the office one by one. I'll be waiting in my office."

A few hours later, the general sat in his office. Behind him hung two flags. One was blue and green, the symbol of the ZNZ, and the other was the red flag of a free Mars. Mere possession of one could land you in prison on Earth.

The first to enter was Dr. Teng.

"Hello again, doctor.

" "All tests came back positive. We're ready.

" "Excellent. Please send one of each to me." Before the first Martian entered, he ordered the guards not to let in any humans except Dr. Teng until further notice.

They approached him one by one. He spoke to each of them about the future of Mars, the desire for freedom, and the goal of creating a Martian race. At one point, no one else entered. The general stood up, and as he was about to leave, a woman bumped into him. He managed to back away and catch her as she fell. When she got up, he looked into her eyes. All Martians could be recognized by their eyes; they looked slightly different from those of humans.

"There weren't supposed to be any humans," the general said, somewhat irritated. "But since you're here, tell me what you want." The woman had a somewhat enigmatic expression on her face. The general began to study her. It was the first time he'd seen her, and he couldn't deny that he liked her, very much so.

"I...

" "Go ahead. If you're here, it means you want something," the general insisted firmly, though something about the situation was starting to feel wrong to him.

"The General told me to come here," she said timidly. "Just like all my brothers and sisters." The General thought for a moment. He closed his eyes and concentrated deeply. "Wait here. I'll be back soon." The woman obediently sat down in one of the armchairs. The General ran out of the room. He turned to the guards. "If anyone tries to come in, they'll shoot you on the spot!" he shouted and ran on. He caught up with Teng in the mess hall, standing with a group of Martians. He grabbed him and wordlessly dragged him back to his office.

"What's the matter?" Teng asked as soon as he caught his breath.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!?" he shouted, pointing at the woman's eyes.

Teng stared for a moment and only then noticed.

"What's your number, my child?" he asked the woman.

"Seventy-two." Teng opened the console on the wall and began tapping rapidly.

"I can't believe we missed something like this." Photos loaded onto the screen. "To the Red Desert...

" "What's the matter, Doctor?" the General asked.

"Look." "The same woman was in the photo, but with the eyes of a Martian.

" "What does that mean, Doctor?

" "That's impossible..." Teng sat up, stunned. "Their adaptability wasn't supposed to be that great. We need to examine the rest of the specimens!"

The base was in an uproar. Some were running wildly throughout the complex.

After several days of intense research, Teng, the Alpha, a Martian who had been elected leader by his brothers, and the General himself, stood in the General's office.

"In the face of the new data, I've decided to put the integration plan into action." After a moment, Alpha smiled, and the Doctor's face fell.

"You don't want to release them, General?

" "I can and I want to, Teng. Research shows that they differ from humans only in a few abilities. They deserve freedom.

" "I disagree! We don't know their capabilities. We can't...

" "That decision isn't up to you." The General turned to Alpha. "As of today, I declare Mars a free planet, and all current Martians and those yet to be born free people.

" "That's your mistake, General.

" "History will judge me supreme. Tell me, Alpha, how does it feel to be a free man?

" "Good. Thank you, General."

Thus began a new chapter in the history of Mars.

INSTINCT

 A passing tram added to the slowly dying street noise. Empty, red seats moved against the backdrop of a dark park. Here and there, they were occupied by figures glued to the windows, trying to kill the boredom of their daily journey by watching colorful advertisements. One seat was occupied by a young couple indecently making out. Their eyes, slightly closed, opened occasionally only to see the scandalized expression on the face of the young nun sitting next to them. They were soaring in ecstasy, relishing the physical intimacy.

"There's nothing like finding common ground," the boy said with a gentle smile, briefly breaking their amorous embrace.

The nun, clearly irritated by the entire situation, stood up and walked the entire carriage toward the last door, waiting for the next stop. The girl glanced in her direction and gave her a mischievous smile. The tram slowly began to slow. Seeing the end of his love journey, the young man stood and kissed his girlfriend for the last time that evening. Her lips, irritated by her stubble, clamped down on her lover's, refusing to let go. The tram stopped. The doors opened, and a moment later, only the girl remained on the tram.

It was already a late November evening. The sun had long since been replaced by the neighborhood streetlights and car headlights. Tomek, for that was the boy's name, said as he passed the nun,

"Praised be he. "

The nun, despite the mocking tone of her greeting, dryly replied,

"Forever and ever."

After this interesting conversation, everyone went their separate ways. The boy, feeling the chill, pulled up his hood and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. Remembering that evening, he headed home. He entered a dark, cobblestone street surrounded by pre-war tenement houses. Angered only by the cold air, he planned the next day. While he was planning his afternoon, five young men dressed in sportswear emerged from a side street. Seeing Tomek, they began running towards him, and Tomek immediately began to flee. A sense of greatness was evident on the faces of his attackers. Steam billowed from their mouths, accompanied by curses. Their strength was magnified by the helplessness and weakness of their prey. The entire pack was now spurting with intravenous testosterone. Their faces, increasingly red from exertion and rage, slowly began to drench with sweat. Still sensing the possibility of a successful hunt, they pushed their oversized bodies to the limit.

Tomek passed through the streets. He felt the breath of his tormentors on his back. However, it was becoming less and less noticeable, and the tension in his face diminished. Instinct, however, still prevented him from thinking about anything other than escape. Running to the other side of the street, he accidentally tripped over a curb. For a moment, time stopped for him; behind him, he could still see four muscular men approaching him. The attackers, a dozen meters behind him, had had enough, and received a sudden boost of strength. The sight of their victim lying on the ground gave him an even greater sense of power and advantage. This sight didn't last long, however. The boy quickly rose to his feet and began to flee at an even faster pace. He ran into a dark, small park. However, he was slowly weakening, his legs growing heavier and slower. Fortunately for him, his attackers were also beginning to weaken in this race. The distance had widened to about 30 meters. Tomek veered onto a different path, heading towards the old church. By the time he reached it, he was completely drained of strength, which had suddenly drained from his body. He hoped that perhaps the young men running after him would respect the sanctity of the place and he would manage to escape unscathed. He grabbed the doorknob. Unfortunately, the door was locked. He turned and noticed that the attackers were no longer in sight. He hadn't even noticed when he'd lost them. He was slowly beginning to enjoy the feeling of safety. While trying to catch his breath, he heard a distant cry:

"Where the fuck is he!!!

" "Go check with Widelec near the church, we'll look for him there," said a thug named Arni.

Hearing this, Tomek's breathing quickened again. His hands wrapped around the doorknob again and began tugging hard. To the boy's surprise, the door proved to be open, and a moment later he found himself inside the church. Passing by the holy water, Tomek instinctively dipped his right hand in it and crossed himself. For a moment, he felt safe again. Across from him, at the end of the church, stood an illuminated cross, taking up an entire wall. He aroused a strange feeling in the boy. He forgot the entire situation. He hadn't been to church in a long time, and this visit began to evoke completely different emotions in him than before. The shelter he found within the temple made him dependent on it. He saw that without it, he wouldn't be able to do much. However, the feeling of being at its mercy seemed even pleasant. He felt a strength that gave him a sense of security and that his life would not end.

His state was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Tomek's breathing quickened once again. He ran toward the door and grabbed a nearby chair.

The doorknob began to fall. The chair trembled in the boy's hands, hidden in the shadows, waiting for his attackers. Escape was now hopeless, so he gripped the chair's cold steel legs tightly. The moment the door opened and a dark figure appeared inside, Tomek unleashed all the aggression he had pent up over the years. Seeing his prey for a moment, he transformed into a hunter, gaining strength and size. He took a swing and channeled his previous fear into a desire for revenge. The chair struck the figure with all Tomek's strength. His victim fell to the floor. The sight that greeted Tomek caused the chair to fall from his hands, reverberating throughout the church, carrying the message of a grave mistake. Blood slowly flooded the floor. Tomek, still terrified by his actions, stared at his victim, who turned out to be the nun he had met on the tram. She lay on her stomach, her habit adding to the irrationality of the whole scene. Blood seeped from her head, forming a small puddle next to her face. Her eyes were closed, and her arms were spread so that her entire figure formed the sign of the cross. In horror, Tomek knelt down and grabbed her in his arms, then began to scream. He looked toward the cross, his gaze fixed firmly on it, and knelt there, holding the blood-soaked nun in his arms.

When the sister opened her eyes, she saw a handsome young man crying above her. She had no strength to move. She felt his hands on her back, holding her tightly. The closeness of the young man's body aroused in her a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time—in fact, for the first time since joining the convent. Unsure whether it was the impact or the instincts that lay dormant within her, a woman awoke within her. She felt truly good; the daily experience of God's closeness was something completely different from the emotions that coursed through her body at that moment. She placed her head against the young man's chest.

Seeing movement among the person he had thought dead, the boy jumped in surprise. Rising, he released the nun from his arms so awkwardly that she hit her head on the floor, losing consciousness again. The boy wasn't sure if the nun had actually moved. He began to fear he was losing his mind. He clutched his forehead and began screaming again, giving the impression of being deranged. Then the door opened again, and Fork appeared. The sight of the bloodied nun lying there, and the boy screaming beside her, only managed to coax three words from him:

"Oh, fuck!"

Fork had no idea what to do next. The situation had surpassed his three years of vocational training. He stood rooted to the spot, staring like an idiot. Seeing Fork, Tomek, fearing for his life, came to his senses and stopped screaming. He looked at Fork and asked, terrified,

"What did you do?

" "It wasn't me...!!! Oh God, you killed her!!!" he said, backing away.

- I saw you hit her. Why would I do that...? ...no one will believe you.

Tomek slowly began to gain confidence. His subconscious began to piece together a convenient narrative of events. The moment of impact was fading from his memory. He saw the fear in the eyes of the pale, shaven-headed thug standing across from him. His legs stopped trembling, the sweat from his hands evaporated, and his face regained its natural, healthy color. He looked at the nun. Her habit and face were stained with blood. Her closed eyes and slightly parted mouth made her look vulnerable. An incomprehensible power began to emerge in his hands. Completely out of control, he lunged at Fork. His hands wrapped around his neck. Terrified by this turn of events, the bandit began to squeal like a little girl. The last vestiges of color vanished from his already pale face. His lungs helplessly demanded oxygen, and his heart beat faster and faster. With the last of his strength, he inserted his finger into Tomek's eye. However, Tomek acted as if in a trance. The pain that should have paralyzed him had no effect on him. He tightened his grip on his opponent's throat. He took pleasure in the pain he inflicted, the advantage he possessed driving him to ecstasy. Aggression gleamed in his eyes, the only sight Fork could now see. The victim's squeal grew fainter. His outstretched hands, pathetically trying to harm Tomek, but in vain. The blood drained from his legs, and he owed his upright position solely to the strong arms of his killer. He had long since been unable to think of anything; the lack of oxygen had slowly turned panic into indifference. The strangler's clenched teeth and wild gaze reached him through an increasingly dense fog. His tongue lolled from his mouth, which tried in vain to draw air into his lungs. His eyes slowly closed. As he began to lose consciousness, a metallic sound reached his ears. His subconscious, dormant his entire life, told him these were the bells of doom. When the sound stopped, he no longer felt the hands gripping his oversized neck. He felt light, momentarily drifting somewhere beyond the world of the living. He took a deep breath, which had the same significance for him as his first breath after birth. Only when his lungs filled with air and his diaphragm contracted several times did an incredible sight unfold before his eyes. He could still see through the fog, the light gently reaching his eyes; he felt reborn. A cross, illuminated by divinity, loomed before him. Tears welled in his eyes. He fell to his knees and, with the last of his strength, raised his hands. Words in an incomprehensible language escaped his lips. The sound of bells reached his ears again, piercing every cell of his body. An unfamiliar feeling, one he felt immensely comfortable with, gripped his mind. Soft streams of tears streamed down his cheeks. The words turned to gibberish, which quickly turned into a hysterical scream.

Seeing this, Arnie, who had just arrived at the church, released the beaten and unconscious Tomek. His body collapsed onto the nun, who was still lying on her back.

"Fucking Fork... what's wrong with you? We're getting the fuck out..." His voice held more determination than surprise.

Fork, however, seemed as if the words hadn't reached him. His gaze remained fixed on one and the same point, which seemed to be somewhere beyond the church walls. His eyes were filled with emotion. His lips fell silent and formed a gentle smile. His face was still illuminated by the glow of the lightbulbs surrounding the cross. Even though the bells, striking 8 p.m. as they did every day, had stopped ringing, the strong, rhythmic, reassuring sound still echoed in his mind. His animalism had vanished. His heart now beat with a gentleness and kindness he hadn't realized at the time.

"Listen, you can just sit here if you want, I'm going to piss off," Arni said, then ran out of the church, leaving the sound of the door closing behind him.

The sound didn't reach Widelec. He remained in the same position. There was no trace of his bruised cheeks. The only sign of his fight with Tomek was the redness on his neck, which was fading with each passing moment. His face still radiated that unusual smile.

When Sergeant Czapelko entered the church with the priest, they saw something that would forever leave a lasting impression on them. A boy lay on the floor, a nun emerging from beneath him. Beside them was a pool of blood, reflecting the glow of the cross. But what made the greatest impression on them was the sight of an oversized bald man dressed in tracksuits, kneeling with his arms raised. Terrified by the sheer strangeness of what the priest had just seen, he approached Widelec and grabbed his arm. In his still unblinking eyes, he saw something he didn't quite understand, but he was certain of one thing: it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his long life.

Czapelko bent down and slid Tomek off the nun's body. He pulled out his radio and said,

"This is Czapelko... send an ambulance to the church in Śródmieście!

" "Tell me what happened," a male voice emerged from the screeching radio.

"You won't believe it anyway..." he said, and leaned down to the nun. He placed a finger against her neck to check if she was alive.

He felt a distinct pulse in his fingers. He decided to carry the nun out of the church so she could get some fresh air. When he took her in his arms, the nun's eyes opened and she looked innocently at the policeman. The nun didn't quite understand what was happening; a moment ago she had been in the arms of a young man, but now she was in the arms of a handsome, uniformed policeman. She felt good. The confusion from the fall still gripped her, which she tried to calm by bringing her head to the policeman's chest. Seeing this, the policeman gripped her even tighter and began carrying her outside, completely forgetting about Tomek lying on the floor. Looking into the nun's eyes, he didn't notice the unconscious Tomek and tripped over his legs. Fortunately, the reflexes honed at the school in Szczytno came in handy, and as he fell, the policeman didn't let go of the nun's arms. After this happily concluded incident, she simply smiled at the policeman. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a gleaming cross, which completely cleared her mind. She wrenched herself free from the policeman's grasp and stood. She saw the priest before her, staring steadily at the tracksuit-clad man with his back to her. The sight intrigued her. She felt something strange within herself. She grabbed the policeman's hand and began to approach Widelec. Czapelko also felt something unusual within himself. Instinct told him to follow the nun. Each step brought them closer to the priest, who couldn't tear his eyes away from what he had just seen. The sound of bells echoed in their ears from nowhere; both of them saw only the reflection of the priest's gaze, or rather, what he had seen. The nun released the policeman's hand and began to raise it. Czapelko began to do the same. With their hands raised, they approached Widelec's back. They felt a magnetic force emanating from him, urging them to move forward. They passed successive grates on the church floor. The bells continued to ring in their minds, but they seemed to ignore them. All that mattered now was that inexplicable force that brought their state to near ecstasy. Finally, they reached Fork and stood before him. All they saw were his eyes, which made it impossible to look away. Like the priest, the same gentle smile instantly spread across their faces. Tears began to flow down the nun's face, mingling with the blood and dripping onto the gray floor. The three of them stared into the boy's eyes, seeing something they couldn't explain.

The groan of the door opening brought Tomek to his senses. An orderly appeared in the doorway. What they were about to see would forever remain etched in their memories...

Great Wrath

This work is an attempt to answer a question that has plagued Zsunni scholars for many years. Many scholars have been working on it for over a decade, studying the ancient history of the four races.

The beginnings of the Great Wrath date back to 732, the year of the first Annais.

This year was a special one for the Dark Elves. The young heir to the throne of their then-small empire, Graonis, from the Sal'Dum family, took power. This young man was eager for the world, so he led the first great expedition beyond the known lands. It should be noted that the Dark Elves knew only the territories occupied by humans, namely the present-day border between Cerith and Nijag, and the lands of the Dwarves. At that time, Orc tribes ruled the Fort. Moreover, most of the forests were very primeval and wild.

Graonis formed an alliance with the Dwarves, and in exchange for farming technology, he received relatively modern, small machines to be used in the upcoming expedition. Within a dozen or so days, the finest Dark Elves from across the empire were gathered. The entire expedition consisted of one hundred and one people. Seventy warriors and ten each of mages, hunters, and scientists. Graonis was one hundred and first.

The expedition set off proudly through the wilderness. The entire route to Glymh, then the capital of the human state, was peaceful. The people welcomed their friends and allies warmly. The few spring months spent in Glymh served to strengthen their relations. Reports of the first cases of genetic crossbreeding between humans and Dark Elves date from this period, apparently a result of this prolonged holiday.

At the beginning of summer, the expedition, equipped with new maps, set out. The people reported a mysterious race of Elves inhabiting the eastern part of the continent. It is worth noting that the people often referred to the Elves as Wood Elves, as all contacts between the two races occurred in the forests. This was also evident from the appearance of border towns such as Orurun and Yuriirii.

The Dark Elf expedition quickly entered Elven territory.

They were initially greeted with reluctance, but then with growing trust. Although news of their arrival spread like wildfire, all the Elves they encountered harbored apprehension towards the newcomers. The Elves feared that these powerful newcomers would seek to conquer their kingdom. Equipped with strange machines and with a different skin color, they awakened the deepest fears of the savage.

Slowly, relations began to improve. This lasted until the great feast of the Lady of Order. The main festivities were held in the capital of the Elven territory. Representatives from all over the country arrived, and the Dark Elves were also invited.

This festival revolved around a single event. In the temple of Great Orax, the oldest priests prayed to the one who created the elven race to come and teach them the sacred laws of order. A grand spectacle was prepared for her glory, culminating in a ritual in which specially controlled falcons, symbols of Orax, tear apart the symbolic chaos. These falcons were controlled by the oldest, blind falconer, who saw through the eyes of birds.

The entire festival proceeded peacefully until the moment when the priests requested the Great Orax to come. Then something happened that surprised even Marsuk's great mentor. Instead of Great Orax, Great Deryx, Lady of Death, creator of the Dark Elves, arrived.

Desiring to explain the situation, the oldest priest approached the Lady of Death and welcomed her into the humble abode of the Elves. When he invited her to participate in the festival, she approached him and touched his forehead. The priest fell dead to the ground, and Great Deryx vanished.

Panic erupted in the temple. The commander-in-chief of the Elven army ordered an attack on the Dark Elves, viewing the death of his priest as a sign of war.

The first and greatest crime of the Great Wrath occurred during this very festival. As panic erupted, soldiers entered the temple. Several Dark Elves from the expedition were slaughtered instantly. The worst fate befell Graonis. The old falconer spotted him immediately and ordered the birds to attack. The young ruler was torn alive, his screams echoing in the air for a long time.

The Dark Elves formed into battle formation. Highly trained, they had little trouble escaping the capital. Unfortunately, the western road was closed; the only possible exit led north, through the territory of the Mountain Elves, later known as the High Elves.

What remained of the expedition split, and Graonis's younger brother, DuelSin, took command.

Few people know that in their early days, the Wood Elves and Mountain Elves looked almost identical. The differences in appearance were imperceptible, but the Mountain Elves' character was far more hostile and alienated, a trait that remains to this day.

The Dark Elves, in a vengeance, bloodily suppressed all resistance, but unfortunately, they failed to notice they had crossed the line.

The bloodbath that befell all enemies they encountered alerted the Mountain Elves' council, leading to the summoning of an army. Something identical happened in the Wood Elves' kingdom.

Both armies pursued the expedition, which was sure to lead to a confrontation.

When the three races first clashed, all suffered enormous losses. Only DuelSin and one of the mages survived the Dark Elves' expedition. All blamed each other for the devastating devastation wreaked at that time.

Nearly twenty years later, in the Tower of the Great Archon, all three races sat down at one table. Were it not for the Lord's power, the emissaries would have killed each other.

This situation persists to this day.

FRIEND, DO YOU WANT TO DIE?

The day had been overcast since morning, and there was no indication that the rest of the day would be more conducive to walking. But that didn't matter to him. He liked days like these when it rained, and the streets seemed deserted and deserted. He could walk freely then, without being subjected to the foolish comments of others. He laboriously pushed his cart, which held his entire life's possessions. This unusual piece of luggage squeaked softly with his uneven steps, the only pleasant sound he understood.

He didn't know where he would end up today or where he would end up today. It didn't really matter, though. He hoped he would finally find what he was looking for, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

It was deserted and quiet, despite the approaching noon. That was the way this neighborhood was when acid rain fell; no one wanted to risk their health unnecessarily. That feeling was gone now, and it didn't really matter whether he got sick or not. He also hoped he wouldn't collapse at some point. They would take him to the hospital and recondition him. And he didn't want that anymore. He didn't want to fight for a life that no longer mattered to him.

"Hey, friend, do you want to die?" a voice said above him.

He turned and saw a silver car. Two young officers were watching him intently. One of them held a microphone, waiting for his response.

"Not today," he replied quietly, but his voice reached them. They waved and continued on their way. He was alone again, and he could continue laboriously pushing his wheelchair. One word would be enough to end his suffering. The question of whether he wanted to die today mattered. If he agreed, they would take him to the hospital and grant him one more wish. They would spare him the last 24 hours of his life. He could ask for anything, as long as he signed a certain paper and wanted to die. Maybe he did, but not like this. A person's death should have some special ceremony, one he hadn't even imagined. But it should be something unique and special. It's ridiculous, he thought. To die in a special way, one that would speak volumes only to himself. It was probably true what they said about people like him. About death-seekers who wouldn't die until they found it. He was made of steel, immune to acid rain and accidents. He had once been hit by a bus full of cheerful company. The driver didn't even notice he'd hit something. He was thrown several meters, and his cart shattered into pieces. He was unharmed and picked himself up a moment later, as if he'd merely slipped on the wet sidewalk. The police weren't the only ones searching for people like him. There were others, more menacing, and they didn't wait long for an answer. Many made a living by finding people who wanted to die, which is why they didn't often appear on the streets. Because they summoned the searchers, and they aroused fear in the people.

So he continued walking, the rain falling more and more insistently. He just wanted to reach the end of the street, where, in a small bend, lay the entrance to the sewers. There he decided to spend the rest of the day.

"Friend, do you want to die?" he heard the question again. This time he was a little frightened. It definitely wasn't the police. He turned and saw a fat man in a long nylon coat and a wide black hat. He held a pistol in his hand and was aiming it at him. He didn't have many chances left, and not much time. Maybe a few seconds before the other man pulled the trigger. He looked like a hunter, a professional. They knew where to shoot so he wouldn't actually die, but would instead fall, paralyzed by the loss of impulses to his brain. He had the words on his lips when, somewhere to the side, someone spoke.

"Leave him alone, he won't die like that!"

He saw an old woman leaning against the wall of a building, a cigarette in her mouth. Despite the cold and rain, she wore only a long shirt. The man aimed the gun at her and asked.

"Friend, do you want to die?

" "Yes, do your duty," the woman replied.

Then he fired. The woman fell, or rather sat down, but her expression didn't change. A precise shot to the right nerve fibers rendered her a living corpse. Her brain was working, but none of her muscles or senses were. All was saved, standing rooted to the wet pavement, unable to move.

A moment later, out of nowhere, several thugs appeared and grabbed the woman. He didn't even look at her closely. Who was she that she had so surely given her life for him? And why shouldn't he die this way? If not this way, then how?

He stood there for a long moment, unable to move. No one had ever sacrificed their own life for him. Especially not in such a strange and incomprehensible way. He now resented himself for leaving the sewer and showing himself to people. Daylight wasn't a good advisor for such decisions. Perhaps he had already matured and truly wanted to die. Had his subconscious given him thoughts of the moment of his final end?

He now felt a great distaste in his heart, and he couldn't forgive himself for what had happened. He couldn't forgive himself because he was of such little value. He was a nobody, and for someone who was a nobody, surely you wouldn't sacrifice your life in such a way? Death-seekers, as he undoubtedly was, didn't do it that way. They either didn't stick their noses out of their holes, or they said without a murmur or a second thought that they wanted to die. Even to hunters who offered nothing for an ordinary, sometimes battered life. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He had already cried all his tears in his life, he felt it, even though he couldn't remember anything. He didn't know who he was or what he was doing in this world. Someone had once told him he was a death-seeker and that he would die because that was his destiny. But then, that was the destiny of every man, everyone who, like him, didn't want to live. Who was he, and why wasn't he allowed to say that saving word?

"Friend, do you want to die?" he heard the same words for the third time that day. In a narrow side street he hadn't noticed before, he saw another woman. She stood shrouded in a gray cloak, obscuring her appearance. This time, however, he didn't hesitate to say anything.

"Yes! I want to die!

" "Then come with me. You will die as you deserve," she said, turning and walking away down the street.

He left the cart and followed her. Wherever she led him, she was his Mistress. He belonged to her now—from the moment he had given his consent. And nothing could change that.

STIFFICULTY

The gray smoke from the last cigarette took on a lifeless appearance. It filled the empty space, devoid of joy and hope. He sped along his own path, an endless road free from obstacles. Unlimited by horizons, he reveled in the freedom granted him and grew in power, becoming the star guest of the cramped establishment. He slowly merged with his carcinogenic companions, issuing from nameless mouths, creating lasting bonds of nicotine addiction. After a while, however, the smoke from that last cigarette began to clearly dominate the rest, as if trying to maintain his uniqueness and independence. He was in the company of his brothers, but in reality, he was in a completely different dimension, one reserved only for himself. Yet the smell of the remaining cigarettes drew him in, and he desperately longed to be part of this stifling company. However, fear and shyness outweighed the fear of loneliness, and the cloud of smoke continued to wade through its own bitter world. Every so often, she would greet the doorway with transparent jugs filled with a bright yellow liquor. She found refuge there, but after a while, she would leave this place of fleeting, disastrous happiness, striving to find her own place in the world. She slowly lost hope for a happy ending to her wanderings, and the thought of limitless space gradually began to terrify her.

Bored with its own appearance and existence, the cloud of smoke began to take on a human shape. Slowly, hands formed. Initially skeletonized, the limbs quickly began to gain strength and a delicate beauty. The skin on her hands became increasingly smooth, and her nails gleamed in the glow of the yellow light, overwhelming the gray smoke swaying to the rhythm of the music. Shapely legs emerged just above the bar. Hips, full of femininity and strength, spun around the ashtray, occasionally brushing against its mother, the lighter. Dazzled by its emerging beauty, the lighter burst forth with a crimson flame invisible to all. Slowly, from the shapeless cloud, firm, vigorous thighs emerged, giving rise to the rest of those incredible limbs. The feet were as smooth as the hands, gently lifting from the table, awaiting the complete birth of their owner, who was slowly becoming a goddess of this cloudy land. The face took on the expression of a woman, both hard and fragile. Luscious lips remained motionless, aware that they might never open. They quivered only slightly, wanting to cry out for their empty land. Just above them, a graceful nose, with small holes at the bottom, gleamed with its harmony. Every so often, smoke escaped, transforming into eyes weeping over their fate. Their pupils gazed longingly into the empty space, completely oblivious to the smoke from the remaining cigarettes. A storm of gray-auburn hair fell over those sorrowful eyes, hugging their necks and curling around divine shoulders.

As breasts emerged from the smoke, all the other cigarettes in the room began to burn more intensely. The smoke rising from them was increasingly edgy and acrid. He involuntarily moved toward this graceful, alluring apparition. They, too, began to take human form. The room was filled with males. Some large and muscular, others of average stature. All were united by an incredible arousal that deprived them of their senses. They glided around their object of desire, dancing their own nicotine mating dance. However, they were completely unnoticed by the figure, whose mind was still in a completely different dimension. Alarmed by the increasing amount of smoke, she began to move toward the half-open window.

When she emerged, the bar was already in the throes of a general brawl among her admirers. By far the most common method of fighting among the cigarette-smoking men was strangulation. Many necks were wrapped in clenching hands, professionally carrying out the murder. The floor slowly filled with bodies, which gradually dissolved, leaving only an acrid smell behind. All this happened outside the world of the being who had caused all this cruelty. Now that she was outside, she had no other member of her species around her. However, loneliness didn't bother her so much. She was slowly becoming accustomed to her fate, and hope, supposedly the last to die, began to fall gravely ill. She headed toward the turbulent sea, which resounded with a hissing sound as it crashed against the gentle beach. Seeking peace, the apparition saw in that place an uninhabited land of her own happiness, a tomb of eternal peace, where her own acceptance would be born with the end of existence. Filled with hopelessness and loneliness, she longed to achieve the happiness of the end of her existence as quickly as possible. All this was due to inexplicable complexes she had developed for reasons unknown to anyone. These were the source of her deepening depression, which led her towards destruction. In fact, she was probably born an adopted child of sadness and dejection. Created to suffer, she never considered the happiness that allowed humanity to survive to this day. Perhaps her uniqueness prevented her from enjoying the things most people cherish. Individuality has always been a source of immense suffering, which periodically gained an unimaginable force, striving for self-destruction. Despising the ordinary, she was unable to find happiness in the grayness of everyday life, falling victim to her own, somewhat twisted, vision of an ideal world. She wandered without hope for her own happiness in a world that, from the very beginning, seemed to have given her no chance of fulfillment. All talents seemed to be fictions of people who invented their own uniqueness for their own benefit. Meeting someone in such a hopeless situation, and of the opposite sex to boot, was the source of many a tear. Similarly, the gray goddess didn't believe in combining her own smoke with someone worthy of her replica of divine beauty. Dreams of a group of children playing made her depressed, deepening with each passing second. Despite her many admirers, she chose solitude and peace, the feelings in which she felt most comfortable.

A slight embarrassment slowly crept over her. Total isolation never brought joy to anyone, especially someone for whom it was the only feeling they knew. She longed to meet someone like herself. On the other hand, however, she was immensely afraid of commitment, so often cut by the whistling sword of failure. In truth, she had slowly lost track of what she truly expected from life, which was slowly turning into aimless lethargy. She wondered how her dead admirers must have felt, vanishing somewhere in the crisp sea air. Their desire was doomed from the start. Despite this, their instincts drove them toward the emerging, murderous beauty. They died with smiles on their faces, for they could witness divinity. Unlike grayness, the sight of God's radiance could make even death the most beautiful moment of an otherwise unexciting life. All because of a few smooth features whose inner selves they would never know. Yet the image of them had always existed in men's minds. Beautiful women have always seemed delicate, sincere, giving birth to wise and strong offspring. Every man dreams of his family surviving, flourishing in happiness and universal recognition.

No one wants to be alone, so why do so many remain in a state of complete detachment from their surroundings? Of course, it's all because of this foolish, idealistic vision of the world. The question remains: is it worth being yourself if your own being doesn't allow for a lasting sense of joy?

Whatever the answer, the tobacco apparition had no intention of changing. Perhaps this source of pride confined her to her own world, which brought her nothing but suffering. She moved through narrow streets, oblivious to anything but her own misfortune. She exemplified the meaninglessness of existence, in which everything goes according to its owner's will, yet brought no peace of mind. As she drifted toward the waves, the hope of reaching a haven began to fade. A full moon illuminated this final path to old age and hastened death. The beach beckoned with its golden glow, where the gray smoke slowly thinned with each step. Noticing the end of her existence, the gray goddess indifferently submitted to the gentle breeze from the sea. She weakened and shrunk with each gust, merging with the sea air. The crashing waves on the shore beat out a mournful march, and seagulls wept for another life wasted. In this setting, the apparition vanished forever, leaving behind only ashes in an ashtray in the small, stuffy establishment.

CLOSER TO HEAVEN

The creak of opening doors occasionally interrupted the cold, damp silence. More souls to be saved appeared on the threshold. In black suits and shimmering white dresses, little people entered the temple, holding their parents' hands. A sense of fear combined with somewhat forced concentration was evident on most faces. More than once, it was downright terror, comparable to that of a child about to be beaten by their father. Even the most cheerful and lively ones now had absolutely no desire to play. Only the parents seemed calm, though they obviously sensed the gravity of the situation. They escorted their offspring to their pews, and then most knelt somewhere in the back, praying primarily for their children on this very special day. Not all adults, however, were granted a quiet prayer. A few children couldn't bear it and ran up to them. Usually, after a few, often harsh, words, they returned to their pews, waiting their turn. The boys' mood improved a bit when they saw Tomek crying, and his mother had to force him to go and sit next to him so that he wouldn't run away again.

The doors opened less and less frequently, and the deathly silence was now broken mainly by isolated coughs. Pawełek sat roughly in the center of the church. From there, he had a good view of the entire sanctuary and what was happening inside. The pews were adorned with white ribbons, which occasionally fell off because of the nervous children. The air was filled with the unpleasant smell of floor cleaner, which today shone so brightly that no one was afraid to get down on both knees. To the right hung pictures of saints. They looked very menacing, and when Paweł was little, he had always been afraid of them. They deepened the atmosphere of pervasive fear and gave the impression that they saw everything. Trying to hide anything from them was pointless and could only worsen the situation. A flashing red light behind the altar caught the boy's attention. He knew it was a sign of the Lord Jesus' presence. However, he had always wondered what would happen in the event of a power outage. He didn't know if the light would still shine, or why it shone there anyway, especially when the religion teacher said God was everywhere. Pawełek always asked himself many questions, but when it came to religion, he always accepted what his parents and catechist said. He couldn't quite grasp, however, that God had always existed. He often wondered what kind of parents this gray-haired, long-bearded sage would have. What games he would play with his friends, and who his favorite soccer player was. On the other hand, despite the lack of answers to these questions, the boy understood the concept of faith in his most perfect, childlike way. Childhood, during which doubts rarely arise, is undoubtedly the period of the most mature and impeccable faith in the Creator's wisdom and justice. Only teachers and parents, to whom the only complaints at this age seem unjust, seem to be directed.

Pawełek had been preparing for this event for several days. He remembered all his sins. He counted exactly 23 of them. He decided to memorize them, but he knew he might forget some. At first, he wanted to write them down on a piece of paper, but he'd heard somewhere that that wasn't allowed. So he decided that if he'd said more than fifteen and couldn't remember any more, he'd stop listing them. He knew that forgotten sins were also forgiven. His were average for his age, so the boy counted on the priest's understanding and understanding. For that reason, he wasn't as upset. What bothered him most was the too-tight suit he'd borrowed from his cousin Piotr. He was terribly angry with his parents for not buying him his own.

After a while, the fear dissipated, and the boy began to feel a little bored. To his delight, he discovered a small pocket inside his jacket. When he slipped his hand inside, he felt the dry touch of paper. It turned out to be a folded piece of paper. He felt the excitement that always accompanies discovering other people's secrets. He quickly unfolded it. The piece of paper was two-lined, most likely torn from a notebook, and written in a child's, rather ugly handwriting. The first line read, "I expressed myself in a bad way." Pawełek became incredibly excited. He guessed it was a list of his cousin's sins. He felt rather indecent, but he couldn't resist reading on. He had the opportunity to learn Piotrek's greatest secrets. Pawełek felt a bit like those figures in holy paintings from whom there are no secrets. He continued reading: "I didn't go to church, I talked in church, I fought with my friends, I called my friends names, I didn't listen to my parents." The boy was a bit disappointed by his discovery. He had been hoping for something extraordinary, but it turned out that all his transgressions weighed heavily on his conscience and were part of the 23 he had found within himself. His mood changed dramatically, however, when he read the last line: "I was spying on my cousin." How he now regretted his archaeological endeavors. His conscience could have been cleansed with such a small effort, yet it seemed he would have to fight a massive battle comparable to those of American wrestlers. The miracle of oblivion vanished, and the enormous boulder his subconscious had struggled to lift with such great difficulty rolled back onto Pawełek's conscience. The boy recalled that unhappy summer evening. Then, together with Piotrek, they had admired their twenty-year-old cousin swimming naked in the lake. The memory of the sight of a woman's grace now evoked entirely different feelings in him. That evening, it seemed like God's most perfect creation. The girl was a part of nature, bridging the eternal gap between Mother Nature and humanity. Full of harmony, the heir of Świtezianka reveled in freedom, combining this most beautiful feeling with her own flawless beauty. Her long, auburn hair, flowing over the surface of the water, left the boy no doubt that he admired one of the water goddesses, long forgotten by all the inhabitants. Now, however, she was merely a deft imitation of the ruler of darkness. Beauty had lost its luster. Her smooth skin wrinkled like an orange slice left unattended, and the sweet song of her beautiful body was now a terrible, screeching laugh. He felt like a medieval sailor lured by a siren onto the sharp rocks of sin.

He was incredibly angry with himself. After all, it had been Piotrek's idea, and at first, decency had prevented him from doing so. However, nature ultimately overcame human inhibitions, and the sin was fulfilled. Now his memory returned at the worst possible moment. It was a bit like being caught eating a sandwich during class, just as you were taking your last bite.

The dull sound of the occasional knocking now took on a completely different tone. It seemed faster, louder, and more distinct, and the church itself seemed smaller and lower. The figures of the saints were taller and even more terrifying than when Pawełek was little. They stared at him from the cold, stern walls, wanting to let him know they knew everything. The red light no longer blinked cheerfully. The boy now associated it with the hot fires of hell, where he would fry if he concealed his sins. His heart was beating fast, and his legs felt limp, preventing escape. Cold sweat broke out on his palms, which he tried unsuccessfully to rub into his pants.

Another person walked away from the confessional. Her red face was slowly beginning to regain its natural color. The exhaustion that accompanies a sorcerer after a hard-fought battle, one he wins, but then has no strength left. Her hands slowly began to control their tremors, and a faint smile was an expression of immense relief. The girl, with increasingly quick and easy steps, made her way toward the altar. Finally, when she reached it, she knelt, crossed herself, and opened the white book. Another soul cleansed of its childhood sins.

Only two people remained before Pawełek. The boy envied all the children who could enjoy the lightness of their souls. He himself couldn't wait for the moment when the priest would cut his umbilical cord of sin and be born again. However, everything was accompanied by a feeling of fear, which after a while gave way to humility. He deeply regretted what he had done, but fear was still decidedly stronger than regret.

Once again, the knocking came from the confessional. Pawełek was next. He would soon have to cross a pass, which every participant in the journey had to traverse in order to be able to walk freely for a while. Kneeling at its edge, the boy accepted his imperfection. Slowly, he began to calm down. Sorrow took on its most sincere, mature form for a boy of his age. He tried to control his breathing and repeat the formula from the catechism one last time. He mentally listed his sins, which now numbered 24. However, he wasn't particularly pleased that he remembered them all. He waited for his turn, concentrated and focused.

Finally, the sound of striking wood echoed. The little penitent stood up. Fear and shame attacked again, driving away concentration and regret. His increasingly heavy legs barely moved the boy toward the confessional. An invisible force, which he briefly experienced, came to his aid. He finally reached the shore of that cleansing river in which no one had ever drowned. He knelt and, with his right hand, touched his forehead, heart, and shoulders, one after another, then joined his hands. He cleared his throat and began reciting the formula he had learned in religious education. When he finished, he began the exchange of the 24. He slowly immersed himself in the cleansing current of forgiveness. When he was left with this last one, the boy began to hesitate. Fear struck again, and the boy began to be drawn into the insidious vortex of shame. A deep voice spoke from the confessional, urging him to continue. The boy still hesitated, but once again, he felt the support of that inexplicable force. He closed his eyes. As he began to speak, the church space was suddenly filled with the powerful, mature, gently vibrating sound of bells. It pierced Pawełek's ears and entire body, stirring life and joy within him. The boy detached himself from reality. His soul had been carried away by the rushing stream and was now swaying in a trance. His journey continued to the rhythm of the bells, which were still ringing furiously. Immediately after they stopped, the boy heard a knock. He felt an incredible sense of relief at being on the other side of the river. He stood up and took a few steps, then stopped and returned to the confessional to ask about penance.