Lilith

Autumn. A mournful wind gnawed at the draperies of my home like a hungry wolf. A shroud of silence covered the castle, whose thick walls rose high toward the dark sky. Night poured through the perforated windows like mercury, like cold lead. An all-encompassing darkness, like a shawl, enveloped my chambers. Bathed in nothingness, my heart bleeding, I wandered like a ghost through the recesses of my home. The cold walls touched me with disgust. Mighty caryatids wept with me in stony silence, and pain, like prison shackles, prevented me from walking calmly. Staring into the void, I shed salty tears for my beloved. For four days now, I have not been allowed to see my sweetest Catherine in the light of day, or even in the light of kerosene lamps. Desperate, I wandered the castle, barely able to drag my heavy feet with longing. I was like a living statue that hadn't yet fully grasped the meaning of true walking, like a child who doesn't know what happiness is. I remembered only pain. A great black cloud covered my memories, like a vast blanket, from beneath which not a single edge would peek out into the daylight. I climbed the old, ice-cold stairs. I climbed toward the bedroom at the top of the palace. My black cloak wrapped around my shoulders, gently billowing in the castle drafts. Outside, the moon, listening to the howling of wolves, paid me no attention. The high walls defended my peace like wild, hellish beasts. For four days, I thrashed with sadness, fear, and tears. I still felt the same cold anxiety, tension, and depression. Lost, weak, with my head bowed forward, I looked like a corpse sobbing in the dreadful, dark chambers. I opened the wooden door, and the sound it made could only be associated with sadness. Holding the lamp in my hand, I walked to the large windows and drew the dark, dusty curtains. I felt like a small boat tossed onto the dark waters of the Irrawaddy, like a laurel leaf carried by a tearful, predatory tornado, or even by the northward-blowing African sirocco. On aching legs, I approached the bed, like a marble monument mounting a plinth amidst gardens and city squares. I placed the lamp on the ebony table, whose decadent shapes stirred mixed feelings in me. The ornate edges evoked the image of tiny heads, and the thin legs seemed worn out by the weight of the table's beastly body. I threw my clothes haphazardly onto the soft, fluffy carpet, whose beautiful, subtle patterns recalled the ajer that grew by the ponds near the castle. The bedroom was large. The spacious windows always let in plenty of warm, cheerful light. Numerous paintings and trophies hung on the walls, making the place a bit cluttered, but certainly not devoid of soul and character. In the corner stood a massive, Baroque-style mirror. Its frame was held by gilded oak arms, and carved ivy vines snaked around it. To the side of the mirror stood two small cabinets, in which Catherine kept her wonderful beads, gold earrings,Rings, ruby ​​brooches, and silver bracelets. When she was still here... the kitchen, the bedroom, even... the entire castle smelled of delicious nougat. Delicate nuts, almonds, and honey transformed even the dungeons into ballrooms and exquisite drawing rooms. Wardrobes and dark, intricate furniture complemented this interior with an aura of mystery and domestic bliss... I blew out the candle flame and laid my heavy head on the soft pillow. The drawn curtains blocked out even a single ray of moonlight, so the bedroom was impenetrably dark. It was difficult for me to even see my outstretched hand. Time passed, and I gave myself over to painful reflections. Catherine was a doctor. She jokingly said that he was, like an Aesculapius, helpful in health problems and helpful to the utmost of his ability. She truly was. Kind, noble, and helpful. She loved walks, which is why she never deigned to travel to the city by carriage, as befits a doctor. Walking was something Catherine cherished. The last day I saw her, she was wearing a beautiful tricot dress. Shades of red and black intertwined like good and evil, like the colors in a wonderful rainbow. The long fabric covered her shapely legs and leather shoes. Her black hair was pinned back with silver stilettos. Here and there, strands of shining hair flowed like waterfalls over her delicate, pale face. That day, as usual, she had an appointment with a certain Mrs. Petrus, who had apparently been struck by anuria. I remember once laughing until we cried over the similarity between this old woman's name and the French scholar born in 1572. On her way back, she was supposed to stop by for help, but I couldn't remember who that person was. Tomorrow I'll set out to search the forest again, just like yesterday and the day before. I must find her, I must… I repeated quietly until I fell into a deep, restless sleep. I was alone in a dark, misty forest. All around me, dead crows hung from the strangely twisted branches of large trees. Their delicate legs were tied to thin white strings. The wind circulated between the bodies, laughing. Its voice was destroying me. It shattered my soul and heart. The cold breeze sent shivers down my spine. The red sun, like a giant clock, ticked away, and in the middle of it all, I stood. Pinned to the floor by an invisible force, I could only watch as tiny drops of blood dripped from the birds' dry beaks. The loud cackle of the wind was all I remembered before I woke up.It was difficult for me to even see her outstretched hand. Time passed, and I gave myself over to painful reflections. Catherine was a doctor. She jokingly said that, like an Aesculapius, he was helpful in health problems and helpful to the limit of his ability. She was indeed so. Good, noble, helpful. She loved walks, which is why she never deigned to travel to the city by carriage, as befits a doctor. Walking was something Catherine cherished very much. The last day I saw her, she was wearing a beautiful tricot dress. Shades of red and black intertwined like good and evil, like the colors in a wonderful rainbow. The long fabric covered her shapely legs and leather shoes. Her black hair was pinned back with silver stilettos. Here and there, strands of shining hair flowed like waterfalls over her delicate, pale face. That day, as usual, she had an appointment with a certain Mrs. Petrus, who had apparently been struck down by anuria. I remember how we once laughed until tears fell over the similarity of this old woman's name to a French scholar born in 1572. On her way back, she was supposed to stop by for help, but I couldn't remember who that person was. Tomorrow I'll set out to search the forest again, just like yesterday and the day before. I have to find her, I have to… I repeated quietly until I fell into a deep, restless sleep. I was alone in a dark, misty forest. All around me, dead crows hung from the strangely twisted branches of large trees. Their delicate legs were tied to thin white strings. The wind circulated between the bodies, laughing. Its voice was destroying me. It shattered my soul and heart. The cold breeze sent shivers down my spine. The red sun, like a giant clock, ticked away time, and in the midst of it all, I stood. Pinned to the floor by an invisible force, I could only watch as tiny drops of blood dripped from the birds' dry beaks. The loud chuckle of the wind was all I remembered before I woke up.It was difficult for me to even see her outstretched hand. Time passed, and I gave myself over to painful reflections. Catherine was a doctor. She jokingly said that, like an Aesculapius, he was helpful in health problems and helpful to the limit of his ability. She was indeed so. Good, noble, helpful. She loved walks, which is why she never deigned to travel to the city by carriage, as befits a doctor. Walking was something Catherine cherished very much. The last day I saw her, she was wearing a beautiful tricot dress. Shades of red and black intertwined like good and evil, like the colors in a wonderful rainbow. The long fabric covered her shapely legs and leather shoes. Her black hair was pinned back with silver stilettos. Here and there, strands of shining hair flowed like waterfalls over her delicate, pale face. That day, as usual, she had an appointment with a certain Mrs. Petrus, who had apparently been struck down by anuria. I remember how we once laughed until tears fell over the similarity of this old woman's name to a French scholar born in 1572. On her way back, she was supposed to stop by for help, but I couldn't remember who that person was. Tomorrow I'll set out to search the forest again, just like yesterday and the day before. I have to find her, I have to… I repeated quietly until I fell into a deep, restless sleep. I was alone in a dark, misty forest. All around me, dead crows hung from the strangely twisted branches of large trees. Their delicate legs were tied to thin white strings. The wind circulated between the bodies, laughing. Its voice was destroying me. It shattered my soul and heart. The cold breeze sent shivers down my spine. The red sun, like a giant clock, ticked away time, and in the midst of it all, I stood. Pinned to the floor by an invisible force, I could only watch as tiny drops of blood dripped from the birds' dry beaks. The loud chuckle of the wind was all I remembered before I woke up.On her way back, she was supposed to stop by for help, but I couldn't remember who that person was. Tomorrow I'll set out to search the forest again, just like yesterday and the day before. I have to find her, I have to… I repeated quietly until I fell into a deep, restless sleep. I was alone in the dark, misty forest. All around me, dead crows hung from the strangely twisted branches of large trees. Their delicate legs were tied to thin white strings. The wind circulated between the bodies, laughing. Its voice was destroying me. It shattered my soul and heart. The cold breeze sent shivers down my spine. The red sun, like a giant clock, ticked away, and in the middle of it all, I stood. Pinned to the floor by an invisible force, I could only watch as tiny droplets of blood dripped from the birds' dry beaks. The loud cackle of the wind was all I remembered before I woke up.On her way back, she was supposed to stop by for help, but I couldn't remember who that person was. Tomorrow I'll set out to search the forest again, just like yesterday and the day before. I have to find her, I have to… I repeated quietly until I fell into a deep, restless sleep. I was alone in the dark, misty forest. All around me, dead crows hung from the strangely twisted branches of large trees. Their delicate legs were tied to thin white strings. The wind circulated between the bodies, laughing. Its voice was destroying me. It shattered my soul and heart. The cold breeze sent shivers down my spine. The red sun, like a giant clock, ticked away, and in the middle of it all, I stood. Pinned to the floor by an invisible force, I could only watch as tiny droplets of blood dripped from the birds' dry beaks. The loud cackle of the wind was all I remembered before I woke up.

The sound of curtains being pulled apart woke me. Disoriented, I opened my frightened eyes and lifted my head from the pillow. A vast amount of sunlight streamed into the room, bathing everything in its golden glow. I rubbed my tired face and shuddered. A shadowy female figure stood in front of the window, bathed in the pristine sunlight. I stared at her, wide-eyed and dazed. It wasn't Catherine; she was too short and too… mysterious. My heart began to beat faster, and sweat slowly trickled down my forehead, stinging and prickling. I couldn't see the woman's face.

The immense light made this visitor seem more like a shadow than a living person.

"Who are you?" I asked in a terrified voice.

The shadow remained silent. We stared at each other for a few moments. My fear grew. A deathly silence fell between us. Finally, the woman raised a dark hand and, in the sunlight, pointed to the view outside the window.

"Say something?" "Who are you?" I asked louder. A strange, cold feeling of dread gripped me. I wanted to get up and throw the intruder out of the house, but fear and curiosity paralyzed my body. Truth be told, I wasn't even sure I'd woken up. My frayed nerves were probably tempted to think of anything they wanted, just to plunge me deeper into despair.

"Help her," the woman whispered softly. Her winter voice frosted the sun-warmed windows…

"What? Who are you? How did you get in here?" I asked questions like dust.

Even though the woman was almost invisible, after a while I began to notice certain details. Namely, her hair was in two braids, tied in a circle. They encircled the shadow's head like a halo or a queen's tiara. The long dress fell to the floor. It looked like satin or silk, probably white. On her right hand, I managed to spot a bracelet, visible only briefly. It was quite large and drooped delicately on a dark wrist.

"It's there," he said quietly.

I didn't know what to do. I guessed it must be Catherine. I wanted to shout, to ask so many questions, but suddenly I realized the room was filled with a strange scent. A strange composition of roses, orchids, and a hint of Mexican tuberose. Beautiful, delicate, it filled every corner of the bedroom.

"I am Lilith... I was supposed to be your... maid, Mrs. Catherine was so kind as to employ me... And now she's suffering," a sad voice wailed.

"What?" I was utterly surprised. Where was she?

"We were walking back through the forest," the stranger said, still standing in the sunlight. "It got dark... something was chasing us.

" "What do you mean... tell me... quickly..." I urged, my nervousness taking over my body.

The woman stepped out of the circle of light. Now that I could get a better look at her, I noticed a silver chain hanging from her thin neck. The face was still hidden, but the sadness radiating from it was all too clear.

"Something was chasing us...wolves, a bear...I don't know, maybe the devil himself was casting his fiery traps upon us. We were running through the forest and suddenly the earth...the earth caved in. I managed to get out and promised to bring help to Lady Catherine." The voice grew fainter and fainter until it was almost inaudible.

"I'm so scared...and if what was chasing us is lurking nearby...I have to run, save her..."

she said, and with a quick movement, she closed the curtains. Blinded and dazed, I only heard her running from the room. I stood up and followed her.

"Stop!" I shouted. "Show me where it is."

In response, I heard only the echo of her gentle footsteps and that single word,

"Window..."

I entered the cave-bedroom. Shakily, I pulled back the coffee-colored curtains and peered out into the world. The sun was finally shining brightly among the tall, dark green trees. The castle was surrounded by a dark wall, the gates of which I left open. I hoped Catherine would return home one night. Beyond the walls flowed a calm, quiet dark river. Crossing it was a magnificent, large bridge. Marvelous carvings were visible even from the bedroom window: beautiful, delicate streaks on the cold gray stone. Next to the bridge stood a chapel, and over the entire wondrous structure rested a magnificent, ornate roof. It was supported by several marble pillars. I often sat there, gazing at the flow of the dark waters. Beyond rose magnificent, vast forests and abandoned farmsteads. Once, a plague enveloped this small forest village, and all its inhabitants perished. The plague, having taken its toll, vanished, leaving its mark on the psyche of the locals. People were afraid to go there. It was said that the place was haunted. Apparently, the spirits of the dead prowl among the trees, laughing maniacally with hollow mouths and festering, swollen eyes. But these are just fairy tales believed by the local villagers and children. The houses were abandoned and the wells buried…

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed. "Wells." That's what Lilith was talking about. That's why she didn't want to go with me. She must be a superstitious peasant girl who, at the sound of a ghost, makes the sign of the cross and glares nervously. Something frightened them as they returned to the castle; they began to run. The forest erased their paths, and they found themselves in a "cursed settlement." Lilith fled, promising to fetch help. She comes to me without any problem, as I hadn't locked any doors in constant anticipation of Catherine's arrival. She tells me what's happening, and, terrified, not wanting to go to that terrible place again, she runs away with tears in her eyes.

I dressed hurriedly, equipped myself with ropes woven together like a tiny ladder, and set off towards the "cursed settlement." The journey passed quickly and without any unexpected events. The sun was already high in the sky, peering down briskly. Unfortunately, its rays didn't penetrate the ominous crowns of the dark trees, which gave the place a very gloomy feel. I slowly approached my destination, and just as slowly, I realized I didn't feel right. All the fairy tales I'd heard about this place haunted me.

I spotted the first ruined huts from afar. Two ravens perched on the stone walls. Darkness enveloped the deserted settlement in a dark, mournful shroud. Tall trees towered over it, enclosing the entire structure with an impenetrable, leafy vault. I approached, and other abandoned, ruined houses began to appear. Roof moldings were visible above some well-preserved windows. The cracked, rotten boards harbored countless insects within their entrails. In the center of the village was a small square containing the remains of a wooden sculpture. It depicted a strange, macabre figure. But truth be told, this work had been so weathered by time that my perception of it certainly differs significantly from the one its creator envisioned. I stood there, surrounded by fallen huts, their empty eyes staring back at me. It was strange, but I had the overwhelming feeling that someone was there. I felt watched. A gentle, cold wind blew through the area, scattering fallen leaves. Terror rose within me like the temperature in an oven. I thought I heard footsteps and faint, satanic giggles. I was afraid to turn around, thinking that as soon as I did, I would come face to face with a pale, cold corpse.

A crack… I shuddered. A little more soothing light filtered through the dark forest canopy. Shifting shadows loomed on the old, rotten walls. The sun was already very high, and thankfully, the forest had brightened, though not enough to completely dispel my fears.

"Katarzyna, it's me... answer me," I shouted.

I heard only a faint cry and the groans of the door being blown by the wind. I looked around and saw a dark hole. It was a sunken piece of earth, perhaps once a well frequently used by the locals. I ran toward it full of hope, my previous fears forgotten. I knelt by the hole and shouted... In response, I heard a slight movement... but that was all.

I tied a rope ladder to a nearby tree. Then I dropped the other end into the black abyss. Checking that the rope was secure, I slowly lowered myself into the dark well. The darkness enveloped me like the deepest depths of the ocean. I slowly descended the soft rungs of the ladder until I reached the bottom. The well was dry, but also very damp. In the darkness, I felt for a body lying there.

"Katarzyna, is that you?" I shouted from the dark grave.

"Husband..." she whispered.

"Yes, it's me... hold my neck tightly.

" "I'm so scared..." she said quietly.

We slowly climbed up toward the dark village and the warm air. Heavy legs sank into the horizontal ropes connecting the two main ropes.

Finally, we made it. Emerging, we sat on the edge of the well and looked at each other. Katarzyna was exhausted and terrified to the core. Her muddy, dry face smiled gently, nervously at me. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were afraid to look at the place. I handed her the aronia berries in the bag, the dark bread, and some water in the leather carafe.

"There's another person there," she said quietly, taking the bread in her dirty, scratched-up hands

. "What?" I was surprised—after all, Lilith had freed herself and informed me of your misfortune.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, exhausted by fear and fatigue.

Not wanting to engage in a confusing conversation, I hurried downstairs to prove to my wife that this place had strangely affected her imagination.

After a moment, surprised and shocked, I emerged back to the surface of the forest, revealing a delicate body behind me. So there was another person, but why? My morning visitor hadn't mentioned him. I turned the body so I could see it better.

"It's not...impossible," I choked out. I looked at Lilith's emaciated face, her dark eyes staring at me like a porcelain doll.

Her two braids, curled into a halo, framed her muddy head, and a silver chain rested around her dirty neck.

"No... it's impossible... it's Lilith." My heart froze in my soul like a wanderer on a winter's night. "

What happened? How do you know her name?" Katarzyna asked, terrified and surprised. "

I saw her in our bedroom today.

" "I don't think so... the poor thing died this morning. I held her hand and comforted her.

Not understanding what had happened, I simply said,

"You were crying... and I was so worried...

" "No," she said, terrified; the whole experience must have taken a heavy toll on her psyche. "I didn't have the strength to cry today," she sighed.

"But I heard sobbing the other day..."

"I didn't cry. I was shaking with terror, but I didn't cry." Strange things happen here, but it's just our imagination, which is hard to cope with in a place like this.

"We must flee quickly," I said. It seemed to me that somewhere nearby I heard the cracking of branches and gentle laughter.

As I retreated, I heard only the soft sighs of the dark forest.

*****

Lilith was buried in the city cemetery, and we returned home. A week had passed since I found my wife. She had regained her former glory, but inner peace had still not been achieved. It was cold. I woke in the middle of the night and immediately noticed my beloved was missing. Terrified, I ran from the room and frantically ran down the steep stairs. Finally, I found her, sitting in the kitchen, sipping black French tea from one of those exquisite tea sets used only for special occasions.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, lifting her head.

"Did you have a bad dream?" I asked, walking over and sitting next to her on a carved oak chair.

"You know... you haven't told me yet how you found me?" She said a few words delicately, and I, catching them, replied,

"I've already told you."

"I know, but it's so... unreal," she said, staring into the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp. "I sat there for four days and nights, listening to the whispers of the forest. Lilith was so afraid... she believed it all. She didn't stand a chance. Her imagination proved to be a hidden killer." Tears streamed down her pale face and glistened in the firelight. "I'm a doctor, I have a scientific mind, and yet I told her just before I died that I couldn't stand it any longer, that one more day and I'd die, and... she replied that she would save me." She looked at my astonished face and smiled.

"So you believe me?" I asked.

"Yes."

I hugged her, and suddenly the kitchen was filled with the scent of roses, orchids, and tuberose. It felt cold, and shivers ran down my spine. I felt we weren't alone. "

Did something happen?" "Katherine asked, sensing my nervousness.

"Not everything's alright, I'm just... glad," I said.

I felt Lilith's presence, her scent, and her aura. I kept it to myself, not wanting to frighten or worry my beloved. I would definitely tell her someday, but for now, let her rest...

I never knew if what I heard in the "cursed settlement" were figments of my overactive imagination, or if ghosts truly lurked somewhere in those woods. I also never again felt the presence of the person who saved my wife. But I still carry those incredible experiences deep in my memory.

The forest at night becomes a magical place. Where darkness untangles the knots of our precise minds. A place where imagination can prove to be our worst enemy. A place where mystery and beauty intertwine like death and life... a place where somewhere the "cursed settlement" always awaits us...

The End

The Painting and the Witch"

I heard it again today. Plagued by terrible nightmares, somewhere between reality and sleep... The cry has taken up residence in my home. Every ghastly night, as soon as my heavy, leaden eyelids open from their steely grip, I hear that sob. Delicate moans carried by the wind, gliding through the dark corridors like a tiny boat on the calm waters of a lake.

Now, as I sit on a bed bathed in the gentle morning light, I can finally analyze in peace what happened. For a week, my consciousness has been plagued by terrible nightmares, whose basis I can find in vain in the familiar spheres of life. The same forest where I stand in my sweat-soaked shirt, the same howling of wolves that compels me to flee, even deeper into the wild forest and mysterious moors. My legs thrash under the covers like fish washed ashore, yet I still run deep into the dark trees, into the depths of sleep. In the light of day, it all seems so unreal, even playfully banal. But in the dark, the word "joke" doesn't exist; it has no place among the dark thickets and grass. Running like a madman, I finally find myself in a strange cottage. The seemingly abandoned house, cold and dangerous, slowly becomes my refuge from the lurking wolves and the piercing chill of the night. Then I notice a painting hanging on the dirty wooden wall. I approach it and see delicate trickles of dripping blood... Always the same beginning and end. A nightmare, unchanged in every detail, has taken up residence in my mind like a slimy larva. I fear waking up most. When the moon peeks in the window and the door creaks like chains of condemned men. Then I hear that soft moan, that tiny cry that wafts through my house like the smell of baking pastry. Only the light of the candle that I light with trembling hands can calm me down and drive away the sad lamentation from the walls of the house…

I know that as a doctor, I should relegate such hypotheses to the darkest corner of my mind, but… it seems to me that my problems began the moment I bought a beautiful, even miraculous painting. This painting, which had captivated all my senses, given me a pleasant dizziness and heightened the aesthetic sensations I was slowly beginning to lack, now haunted my dreams at night as something strangely mysterious and terrifying. The painting hanging above the fireplace fit perfectly into my enormous Victorian bedroom. I often sat there, gazing at it with glassy eyes, admiring its simplicity and incredible beauty. The canvas depicted a vast, dark forest, as if plucked straight from the most terrifying horror stories. Twisted, dark trees, with trembling branches, brushed the blue sky, defending themselves against its warmth and brightness, yet simultaneously curious about the beauty that this blue expanse held within. From the depths of the dark trees, a gently winding brown path emerged into a small, sun-drenched clearing. Beautiful, colorful flowers scattered throughout the meadow blended perfectly with the cemetery-like atmosphere of the mournful forest. Like fire and water… Could it be that the beauty and exquisite flavor of this work of art had stimulated my imagination to such monstrous proportions? Or perhaps it was the atmosphere of the village I found myself in. The small settlement surrounded by forests likely exerts its influence on me. But I'd lived here for several months, and nothing like this had ever happened. So what was the cause of this incomprehensible suffering in my soul?

I rose from bed, stretched like a wild cat, and padded to the kitchen. On the way, I stopped in the bathroom and washed my sweaty face, then my head, and finally my legs in a bowl of warm water. I poured the dirty water out the window onto the rows of geraniums and rose bushes. While lighting the stove and making tea, I reflected once again on the uniqueness of my story.

I bought this wonderful canvas in the nearest town, Leśna Osada. It was Czarny Dwór, located some 40 km to the north. Beautiful, well-maintained roads crisscrossed parks, gardens, and buildings like rays of the setting sun. Delicate, tastefully constructed buildings were surrounded by green fences and colorful lawns. Small palaces and fountains only complemented the place with their grandeur and craftsmanship. Wonderful avenues and landscapes, in which one could lose oneself, surrounded the city with an invisible halo of beauty and mystery. A river flowed quietly nearby. Its delicate dance could be heard beneath intricately decorated wooden bridges. The city center was filled with the sounds of street musicians and the scent of cakes, creams, ointments, perfumes, and herbs. I remember strolling the avenues in search of these extraordinary remedies concocted by local healers. The sunlight mingled with the street chatter and the satisfied cries of merchants. Amid these sublime sounds and among the delicate clouds of golden sand, I noticed a woman sitting on a black shawl. She was old, wrinkles cutting almost down to her brittle bones. Her gray hair fell delicately over her dark dress. Black, misty eyes, set deep in her skull, contrasted with her wrinkled, aquiline nose. Long, bony fingers nervously rubbed against each other as if in mysterious anticipation. She intrigued me so much that I decided to take a closer look. Slowly but agilely, I approached the old woman, who seemed to be peering into the world around her with her mysterious eyes. Only as I got closer did I notice a large object lying next to the woman, covered with a blanket. My curiosity grew like the water level in rivers during the spring thaw. I timidly glanced at the gray-haired woman, who was still staring straight ahead or searching for something deep within her ancient soul.

"Could I…?" I asked, pointing to the obscured object.

The old woman smiled, revealing a row of crooked, yellow teeth. Her skin smoothed, and her hands stopped nervously rubbing themselves together.

"This isn't for you!" she said in a dry, emotionless voice. Her lips barely moved, and her eyes continued to search the depths of the unknown world.

"What, it's not for me?" I was surprised, and my hands trembled. I'd always been a bit nervous and didn't mind if someone behaved inappropriately towards me. "Then why do you keep it, ma'am? We're trading here," I said, astonished, staring into the old woman's empty eyes.

"I'm waiting for the right moment... I'm looking for the right time, go away, traveler!" she said calmly again, and her thumbs started to flutter again.

"Traveller?" I was surprised. Such expressions aren't usually used in towns like this. "I'm a doctor from the Forest Settlement. Do you know this village?" I asked, not knowing why, and since I didn't get any specific answer except an incomprehensible murmur drowned out by a passing horse-drawn carriage, I said,

"Perhaps you could at least show me, madam, what mysterious and wondrous object is hidden behind such a hideous covering."

A moment of silence, in which I could only hear the distant words of the vendors on the other side of the road. Suddenly, the old woman's hands stopped moving, and one of them moved aside, delicately revealing the hidden object.

"Beautiful," I said, staring at the eerie, dark landscape. "What talent." Suddenly, the woman's hand withdrew, and the object was once again covered by that old, dirty covering.

I remember very well the lust that awoke within me after seeing this masterpiece. Blinded by the beauty of the painting, I stood and stared at the cover as if trying to examine it with my own eyes.

"Now go away," the woman said dryly, and I felt as if she'd stabbed me in the ribs. I glanced around. Everyone was busy with their own affairs. No one even glanced in my direction. And then a thought arose within me, so mad and evil that at first I was terrified. In the blink of an eye, I turned and threw a wad of banknotes at the woman, then grabbed the painting and ran like a man possessed towards the dark city streets. No one chased me, no one even reacted. They must have seen me toss the money to the old woman. Hidden in the shadowed streets, my heart trying to leap out onto the sidewalk, I waited, clutching my painting, a wonderful painting...

The tea tasted delicious; just a small breakfast and I could open my office. I have a lot of work today, so I sincerely hoped I'd soon forget the horrors of the night.

I glanced at the clock; it was already half past eight. How time flies. Smiling, I ran through the winding corridors of the Victorian house to open my office as usual.

The queue of patients resembled a long, twisted caterpillar. People had come from what seemed like the most remote parts of the county today. A wave of those in urgent need and failing health poured in through the doors, and it would probably have been a rather monotonous day if not for Mrs. Kinkof's visit.

"Hello," I said to a beautiful and charming elderly woman. Her usually cheerful face now struggled to hold back the salty tears hidden deep in her amber eyes. "What happened, dear lady?" I asked, then settled into a soft and comfortable armchair with its back to the large window. I had a feeling this was going to be something more serious. Such things are immediately apparent. A person's face, and especially their eyes, can say more than many a fortune teller in this country.

"It's about Natalie...Dr. Wilczak. My little daughter has disappeared, I can't find her anywhere..." Heavy tears streamed down the woman's delicate face, lingering for a moment at the sunken corners of her red lips.

"Dear God, little Natalia? It's impossible." I immediately conjured up an image of the young girl, the brave patient. Always smiling and cheerful. I still remember her golden braids and the blue dress she wore to see me just two weeks ago. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Kinkof, but how...how can I help?

" "She disappeared three days ago. She was wearing a light blue dress and blue shoes. I know you often go on your walks...trips, escapades...I don't know what to call them...!!! But I wanted to ask...haven't you noticed anything?...No trace or calls...? Please help me, Doctor!"

I felt great sadness and an indescribable emptiness. I didn't like situations like this. Losing someone or something is a terrible and painful thing. I sympathized wholeheartedly with the woman crying before me, but I could do nothing to help her.

"Unfortunately, dear lady, I am incredibly sorry, but I haven't seen anything that could help find Natalka. However, as soon as I learn something...

" "Thank you very much," she said tearfully and left, leaving me alone with sad thoughts circling the office like cold, black crows. I continued

to see the next row of patients as usual, without any mysterious stories or unusual events. However, sadness and an unimaginable desire to know the truth still lingered in my mind...

The evenings in the Forest Settlement were wonderful. The surrounding forest gave the village an air of inaccessibility and created an unsettling silence. The golden moon rose above my house, and I sat on the terrace, sipping fresh tea, lost in my thoughts amidst the darkness of the garden trees. It was very late when, jolted from my daydream, I rose from the wooden table and walked my weary legs toward the front door. Black clouds, delicately disturbed by the golden glow of stars, circled the sky. Somewhere in the forest, I heard the mournful wail of tawny owls. Before entering, I glanced around once more, making sure that all the villagers had laid their weary heads on the white, fragrant duvets.

The house was strangely cool. I climbed the high stairs and, as I undressed, left my wardrobe on them: shoes, tie, waistcoat. I entered the bedroom, dark as the rest of the apartment, and closed the door behind me. I lit five candles in a candlestick to the right of the bed and another five in a candlestick to the left. The room danced in a golden glow. Shadows loomed on the vaulted ceilings like the bodies of hanged men. Only the wall containing the fireplace and the painting remained in darkness. I decided to take one last look at the painting, my supposed cause of nightmares and strange household noises. I lit a single white candle from its clay stand and, with a touch of trepidation, slowly approached the canvas.

In an instant, all my senses were heightened to their limits, and the sweat on my hands made it almost impossible to hold the stand with the candle's writhing flame. In the wondrous painting, now swarming with mysterious shadows, I glimpsed a tiny figure. My knees grew weak, my head swelled, seeming to crush my body into the dusty floor. I took a closer look at this strange phenomenon. The figure turned out to be a girl. A tiny figure with a sad face stood on the path leading to a mysterious and dark forest. I rubbed my eyes as a few drops of sweat blurred my vision and began to sting unbearably. This was no ordinary girl, and I knew it. That face, that blue dress, and blue shoes… A silent scream escaped my lips and burned into the yellowish flame of the glowing candle. Yes… it was Natalia Kinkof. Tiny eight-year-old Natalia, whose mother had grieved so deeply in my study. It was impossible, my thoughts screamed within me. They clattered and clanged as if they had become great church bells. Their clatter made me dizzy and nauseous. The girl's sad face stared at me…and waited. Fear enveloped my body, gripping it until it ached, piercing my very bones…

I blew out the candles and ran from the bedroom. I lay down on the couch in the downstairs living room, far from this nightmare, probably caused by my intense concern over the loss of such a young person. I felt that even Zeus's aegis wouldn't protect me from this fear that had settled in the cold corners of my body. My delicate subconscious had encoded what it wanted, and now it was revealing its secrets to the real world. I'd always known I had a weak head; I took everything too personally. "Too literally," as the Turkish bashats say. Sometimes I felt like a sponge, absorbing all feelings and storing them deep within.

That night, the nightmare returned. This time, I was surprised because it was somewhat different from my previous dreams. Fleeing the howling wolves, I found myself in a cold house, a place so alien and yet somehow familiar. I looked again at the blood-dripping image, and again, strange shivers gripped my body. What distinguished these terrible dreams was the fact that this time I found the door to the basement of an abandoned small house. The cold earth greeted my feet with a sense of relief. In the dark, rather small room, I could only make out the outline of something resembling a tombstone. The cold radiating from it cut my skin like a whip or a Japanese katana.

I woke up, drenched in sweat, and screamed into the dark, muggy air. A shy, gentle cry answered me, coming, it seemed, from my bedroom upstairs. I lit the candles, and as if by magic, everything stopped. Soaked in sweat, I rose from the leather sofa and went to the window. The moonbeams prowled my garden like a pack of rabid dogs. I put on a cashmere robe and, holding a candle before me, headed upstairs. The creaking boards gave me no comfort. My racing heart pounded in my chest like a furious, thoroughbred English thoroughbred. After a moment, I stopped at the bedroom door and gently opened it. Darkness poured from the room like ink from an inkwell, waiting for me to enter its entrails. Advancing in the candlelight, I approached the painting and screamed. The sad little girl was no longer alone. A new figure stood beside her. It was a grimy, crying boy. His black fringe and striped sweater evoked new images in my mind.

"Filip... Filip Naichter?" I asked myself. The figure in the painting reminded me so much of the boy from the nearby village. I couldn't concentrate on what the hell was going on here. I kept hoping it was just a nasty mirage, a momentary weakness and indisposition of my soul. Little Natalka leaned over a crying boy, lost and alone on the edge of a dark forest.

Suddenly, the bedroom windows burst open with a silent cry, and the cool, damp night air flooded into the room. I hurriedly closed the shutters and, at the same time, drew the heavy coffee-colored curtains. Slightly frightened, I approached the painting again and once again illuminated myself with the glow of the warm candle. A truly extraordinary sight met my eyes. The little girl who had previously stood over the crying boy was now erect and terrified. Her outstretched, trembling hand pointed to the entrance to the dark forest. The children's frightened eyes seemed to scream in the depths of my home, disturbing its peace and quiet...

Rushing out of the bedroom, I noticed there were no candlesticks on the side tables. Descending into the living room, I also didn't notice the clothes I'd previously scattered. Again, prickles of fear ran down my spine like a funeral procession, and I felt uneasy. I was becoming a small, defenseless child, like an ostrich, wanting to bury its head in the sand. I spent the rest of the night in the kitchen, staring at the candle flames.

The first rays of sunlight soothed my quivering imagination. I rose from the table and slowly walked to the bathroom. The relaxing, warm water refreshed my mind and swollen body. I didn't want to look in the bedroom, not now. The head wounds were too severe, and I was already thinking about seeking help from eminent foreign psychiatric specialists. I hurriedly dressed, posted a note announcing the indefinite closure of the office, and headed down the hall, eager to quickly prepare my carriage.

The warm morning air smelled of resin and the delicate freshness of mown grass. I climbed into a carriage drawn by two shiny black horses and slowly, without arousing suspicion from the nosy tenants, drove away towards the Black Manor. The longer I sat at the reins and the more I looked around the dark, dense forests, the sooner I longed to reach the city and find the cursed old woman to whom I owed my troubles. The sandy road wound through dark trees and intricately woven shrubs. A leafy dome formed overhead, blocking out every ray of sunlight. The forest chill gripped my hands and tightened around my feverish temples. A strange, surreal feeling of being watched grew like mercury in a thermometer. Dark green seemed to pour into my lungs and fill every fiber of my terrified body.

I rode like that until the horse's hooves touched a cobblestone street. Only then, for the first time in a long time, did I breathe an inexpressible sigh of relief and wipe my sweaty forehead. I dismounted the carriage and hurried to the center of town.

She was sitting in the same spot. Her black, swollen eyes were once again staring into the distant void. Passersby passed her as if she didn't exist, as if she'd become just another cast-in-place concrete monument like so many others in Black Manor.

"You're a thief," she was the first to speak to me. There was no trace of anger in her voice. Her eyes, still fixed on the same spot, were boring into the space like a mole digging underground passages.

"I'm sorry," I said, confused and completely unprepared for the conversation. This arrival had arisen in my mind spontaneously and completely by accident. "I need help, something's happening... it's probably a painting...

" "Give it back," the woman whispered dryly. Her voice sounded like she was swallowing desert sand.

"Never," I shouted. "It's beautiful... it's mine," I said, then I was surprised and began to ponder the venom of my words to this innocent woman. What venom had poured into my heart that I spit fire at every word.

"It's a painting of witches, which should be destroyed at a time known only to me and destined for it," she hissed now louder, but still fearing my reaction.

"You're crazy, woman. The painting is mine. I mean... the children appearing on the canvas.

" "The children will show you the way..."

"What way, what are you talking about?" I shouted, asking myself rather than the old woman.

"The way to death," the woman thundered, "they want you to find the guilty party. A deed so vile that it hides behind the dark grasses of a person's soul." A crooked smile revealed the old woman's fetid lips.

"I see, dear lady, that your mouth is incapable of telling me anything normal or worthy of my attention, so I must end this conversation.

" "Image," the woman hissed, her eyes, staring at a point somewhere beyond the worlds, boring holes in the muggy afternoon air.

I left her more pleased than frightened by her nonsense. Walking toward the carriage, which was two streets away, just behind the wooden church, I encountered a large and very kind man. He turned out to be a seller of an incredible variety of items. His wares were wonderful and fit the broadest commercial categories. The shop contained everything from pig food to antique clocks. Expensive scarves to cheap used rags worn and rotting in the dry wind.

"Hello," he called, wiping his hairy, greasy hands on a woolen apron. His attire, so out of place in the slowly falling asleep town, awakened in me joyful memories of when, together with my aunts and the courtiers, we had enjoyed flour pastries, fatty meats seasoned with exquisite wine spices, and the sweet aroma of simmering chocolate. "

Hello, a beautiful sunset will be over Czarny Dwór today. The forests have spread their crowns like corpses begging for forgiveness. In the evening, we can expect a wonderful display of golden stars against the dark sky. Perhaps even Orion himself will appear over Czarny Dwór," I said, gesturing to the surrounding buildings.

"I hope so," he said, smiling, and after a moment added, "And how do you like the new tea?" He asked just as cheerfully. Then he added, "Gooseberries are a wonderful addition, aren't they?"

This question intrigued me

. "How do you know I bought gooseberry tea?" I asked. Then I waited for the conversation to develop, hoping it was some nosy merchant who liked to spy on his customers.

"Don't be silly, my friend, you bought it from me two days ago

." "No!" I exclaimed. "That's impossible!" I wasn't even in town!!!"

"Of course you were there... He was there and bought a box of gooseberry tea." The words flowed like a torrent. After a moment, he stopped abruptly. He eyed me the way men eye each other during a spectacular duel. "Are you okay?" he asked, confused by my weakness and the whiteness of my complexion, which was always full of life and vigor.

"No, nothing," I replied, and with a staggering step, ignoring the merchant's calls, I walked away toward the carriage. As I was leaving town, I noticed a note stuck to a post, the content of which I should have expected, and which simultaneously shocked me... It was a request for information about the missing Natalia Knopf, and beneath it another, for any information that would help find Filip Naichter.

The night was quiet. The moon curled over the dark undergrowth, settling into a blissful sleep. Nocturnal animals were setting out on their hunt, announcing their presence to the black forest. His hands seemed to intertwine above my head like a large umbrella or the dome of a mighty temple. A faint feeling of fear gripped me; even the horses felt strange. Something was here, but I didn't know what.

I quickly got out of the carriage and raced home. I lit a candle and raced up the stairs to the cursed bedroom. The stench there made me dizzy. I went to the fireplace. A scream flew from my lips like a flock of crows startled by a gunshot. The image vanished. The empty space on the wall took my eyes.

Outside the window, a storm had broken out. It came by surprise, like a fox sneaking into a henhouse at night. Thick raindrops clattered against the delicate windows, like the sound of a thousand drums. I grabbed my head and, terrified, fell to my knees. I screamed along with the dark sky, from whose mouths flocks of winding lightning bolts rained. Who is doing this to me? I thought, unable to gather my wits. Who wants me to lose what little sanity I have left…who! Who!! Who!!! My white-hot thoughts faded in the cold raindrops.

I stood up and ran out of this accursed house. The girl in the painting was pointing to the entrance to the forest. I felt that this was where I would find the answer to who was behind my worries, what cursed manipulator and criminal.

What if it's that old woman... I thought as I ran along the path leading to the dark forests. She's mad, she thinks she's a witch. Such sick minds are capable of inhuman behavior. Suddenly, a brilliant idea burst into the swirling thoughts, into the gears of my imagination. I stole a painting from that sick woman. The madwoman had gotten it into her head that she was someone unknown and was framing me... She told me to follow the children's sign... so I'm going and I'll catch that old woman. Raindrops blurred my vision of the sad world. I ran almost by feel, guided by instinct and a few visible clues. Time and again, lightning slashed across the world. The blood-red sky spread its arms over the forest, inviting me into unknown depths. I ran into the thicket of trees and, panting, leaned against one of the enormous, ancient elms. I waited a moment, hoping the storm would subside. Meanwhile, the storm monsters only grew stronger. The forest wasn't my ally, nor did it oppose me. Initially, it represented solitude… a kind of alienation. It was a hermitage, a temple where a tortured hermit contemplates the world and spiritual matters. However, the deeper I delved into the forest, the more my impressions shrank and burst like soap bubbles. I ran frantically into the darkness, my lungs burning with fire, and my leaden legs weighed down, dragging me down to the muddy, cold ground. My head was spinning as if I'd drunk too much alash. Suddenly, amidst the roar of thunder, I heard a single, yet very familiar, and terrifying, sound. I was terrified. I wanted to scream, but my vocal cords were momentarily paralyzed. Such sudden and uncontrollable aphony caused my soul to drown in an ocean of terror. The howling of wolves came from all sides. I felt trapped. I couldn't give up; I had to catch this woman before she stole another child. A witch... I thought, and suddenly it felt even colder than usual. Darkness enveloped my body like a shroud, and in the sky, Thor, the god of thunder, raged, hurling his arrows into the dark and impenetrable night. Fleeing a pack of wolves that seemed not far away, only moments away from meeting their white fangs. I ran as fast as I could, stumbling over branches protruding from the ground. After a moment, my eyes caught sight of what I feared most... a small house. Was this the cottage of that sick woman? Satisfied and terrified, I stood before the door to a nightmare...

A small wooden cottage. Its dark, glassless windows sneered. I stepped inside. On the desk, I felt for a candlestick containing five medium-sized candles. I lit them with the matches nearby and froze. I clutched the candlestick from my bedroom in my hand, and my clothes were scattered on the floor. I walked to the opposite wall and saw… a painting. Two terrified children stared at me with deathly eyes. Terrified, amidst the lightning flashes, I noticed a strange reddish goo dripping from the picture frame. On the table beneath the painting, I noticed a set of knives and scalpels, the tools I used in my work. The tools dripped with blood. Beside them stood scattered jars of paint and thinner. My eyes literally bulged, and my jaw dropped involuntarily. Suddenly, I realized the entire house smelled of gooseberries. My head felt as heavy as a cannonball. The howling of wolves was getting closer. Night guards, curious about the gruesome goings-on in this small, quiet cottage. Had

this old idiot orchestrated the whole thing, all because I'd taken her stupid painting? It didn't make sense...what was going on here? Suddenly, my gaze landed on the door, rightly so, I thought, to the basement. I slowly approached it. In the center hung a small note. I tore it off and, in the candlelight, read... "No trespassing...private study...the painting is MINE..."

With tears in my eyes, I looked around the room. It was my handwriting...lightning bolts slashed through my mind like a pig being slaughtered for Christmas...like fabric is cut for clothing. It was my handwriting...these were my things...Suddenly, like an avalanche, images appeared before my eyes like a ghostly slideshow. I saw myself with a knife in my hand, I saw the moon, blood… Crimes…

I am mad… With trembling hands, I opened the door, the scent of gooseberries becoming even stronger. I entered the small room. The cold earth welcomed my feet with relief. In the center, I saw a pair of small wooden crosses. My eyes clouded over. Madness peered into my mind like a nosy neighbor through an open window. A smile floated across my face like a galleon into an endless black sea. The howling of wolves stopped, and the house suddenly ceased to be so terrifying. I even felt it wanted to keep me within. The quick, cheerful glances of my blue eyes darted from tombstone to tombstone. Yes, I knew well what lay beneath this dirty, dark earth. An image, my image, I thought, and suddenly my mouth filled with laughter, the wonderful laughter of a madman…

Mad sounds drifted away into the cold expanse of the stormy sky. The rain subsided, and the night slowly turned into dawn…

***

A sunny day descended on the Black Manor, beautiful at this time of year. The dusty, light-drenched alleyways bore dozens of human bodies. Cottages and palaces bathed in sunlight. The markets were prosperous. Many merchants had come to sell their wares today. At the end of the alleys, unnoticed by anyone, sat an old woman. Her empty eyes gnawed at the warm air like a flock of starving rats. The woman sat on a black scarf, her hair falling gently over her dark, old dress. The old woman smiled to herself, her thumbs racing and rubbing insistently against each other. Beside her lay a strange object wrapped in rags. A black cat jumped onto the woman's exhausted back, wrapping itself around her neck and meowing softly. Its hell-red eyes contrasted with her dark fur.

"What splendor must be hidden beneath such a hideous covering," the old woman heard, then bared her yellow teeth in a terrifying smile.

"This isn't for you..." she said, then burst into a mocking, soft chuckle, and it seemed her black tomcat understood her perfectly, echoing her unusual, diabolical growl.

The end.

The Steel Horse

– "The Steel Horse will enter track three, platform two"… A strangely dry, barely understandable voice spoke. Standing in the tiny, dusty station, watching the bustling people bustle here and there, I was glad to be able to leave this place for a while, maybe even forever.

Looking around for the train that would soon arrive at the platform, I tried to remember once again how I came to be here. My wandering gaze was the only evidence that today had not been one of the most peaceful days, when I'd woken up relaxed, bathed in sunshine, and happily bustled about the apartment.

It all started a week ago, when I'd received an unexpected call informing me I'd won a week-long trip to Romania, to the heart of the Carpathians. And yet… I thought, solving those stupid crossword puzzles had finally paid off. This was my first win in my entire thirty-four years. I was so happy. I'd wanted to visit the Carpathians since I was a child. There was something about them… extraordinary, mysterious, that drew me to them like an invisible magnet. Now that I could afford such a trip, I felt life was beautiful.

Departure was scheduled for Monday at 6:00 PM from Czarny Dwór station and arrival at 6:00 AM in Britz on Tuesday. There, I was to find the "Palace Dream" hotel and show them the free stay permit I had received, along with all the motel's amenities. In short, a 12-hour journey awaited me to one of the most expensive and luxurious hotels in Romania.

I spent Sunday constantly packing and unpacking my suitcase. I couldn't decide on anything in particular. Sometimes I wanted to take more warm clothes, thinking it would be cold, and other times I packed elegant clothes, hoping to meet someone I could have a good time with. Perhaps a beautiful guide would spot me in the crowd, dressed in an elegantly tailored, fake navy blue tuxedo. I hoped to explore the local castles, whose dungeons still hold unsolved secrets, and sample the extraordinary culinary delights.

Around noon on Monday, I piled into an old black Mercedes and happily set off on the journey of a lifetime. A journey that would constitute the next chapter of my earthly existence, a journey I had decided to begin and change everything with.

I was to leave the car with a friend from Czarny Dwór. I rolled down the windows, turned on the radio, and set off. I had about 45 km of driving ahead of me.

The wind whistled joyfully in my ears. I sped like lightning between gorgeous green forests, blue ponds, and picturesque meadows. I remember occasionally passing small villages I hadn't paid much attention to, hurtling like a cheetah through the wilds of Africa in the glow of the midday sun. In one of these run-down backwaters, I thought to myself, "Enough of this radio, time for something stronger." I smiled to myself and reached for the cassette tape in the glove compartment with my right hand. I looked down for a second, but that moment was enough. I heard a loud bang, and some invisible force tried to rip the steering wheel from my hands. Stunned, I stopped and looked back. A figure lay on the road, a few dozen meters away. I didn't know if it was alive or not, I didn't care. All the horrors flashed before my eyes... the police, the court. It all happened just as I was planning to start over. It felt like the road was slowly flooding with blood. It was too much. I hit the gas pedal and sped ahead. I drove with a pounding heart and tears in my eyes. "What have I done..." I kept repeating, "What have I done..." I never thought I'd escape the scene of an accident. I never thought it would happen. My hands were shaking as if after drinking several liters of coffee. My saliva had become sour and had a very unpleasant taste.

I abandoned the car in the Black Manor Forest. It was a large, sparsely populated area, and I hoped that until I returned... if I returned... it would be safe there. I examined the car carefully. The severe dents made it impossible to return it to a friend. I would never be able to escape his questions about the details of the crash. Besides, that blood... There was a lot of it on the hood and even more on the undercarriage.

I walked to the station, carrying my suitcase like a ball and chain. It was 4:00 PM when I finally rested on the platform, slightly calmed and refreshed by the city food. I hoped, or rather, was convinced, that the person I'd hit would be saved. But there was no way to check. Despite my thoughts and speculations, I knew I wouldn't be returning. Nothing tied me to this place except that unpleasant incident. I treated it as an opportunity. I'd always dreamed of living somewhere else, and now that opportunity had fallen right under my nose. I had a lot of savings. I'd stay in a hotel for a week, then look for a job and stay in Birtz, leaving this whole mess behind. Incidentally, if it weren't for the accident, I would have put off making this decision for a good few months, and knowing my luck, I would have ended up in some small African country. I smiled gently and greeted the arriving train with relief.

The Steel Steed. It was a very elegant and luxurious means of transport. I was glad I didn't have to pay for the ticket out of my own pocket. If it had been, I would have had almost nothing left for the entertainment at Britz. Smiling, I searched for a suitable compartment, number 14A. Finally, I found it, comfortable, empty, and cozy. A dream… warm, soft upholstery massaged my tired body. The large, clean windows opened and closed easily. Air conditioning and excellent lighting completed my positive impression of the Steed. The train departed, moving slowly at first, but then picking up speed and gliding forward like an arrow fired from a recurve bow. It was getting dark, and both mental and physical fatigue were making themselves felt.

*****

I must have dozed off, because when I opened my eyes, impenetrable darkness reigned outside the windows. Even the moon, which should have been clearly visible by now, had disappeared beneath the black sky. The monotonous clatter of the wheels was very pleasant; I fell into a kind of trance, in which my body became lighter and purer. Unfortunately, I was interrupted by the sound of the compartment door sliding open. A beautiful young woman appeared in the gap. Her black hair fell delicately to her shoulders. A black turtleneck hid her neck. Denim pants draped smoothly over her long, stick-thin legs.

"Excuse me, may I…?" she asked quietly, her voice choked.

I felt as if she were speaking through an invisible pillow.

"Yes, of course," I replied. "And where are you going, if I may ask…

" "Where are you," the girl replied dryly.

"On vacation too? That's wonderful… you see, I won this trip by solving some crossword puzzle and…

" "No, unfortunately, I've never won anything," the stranger interrupted.

The woman sat down and stared blankly out the window with empty, black eyes.

"I understand—you're not in the mood for conversation... I'm sorry.

" "Nobody is, at a time like this," she whispered curtly, her eyes glinting.

Not quite grasping the meaning of these words, I glanced back at the sliding door, where a tall man dressed in an exquisite suit appeared.

He looked like a statue. His heavily chiseled face betrayed no emotion. His deep eyes seemed clouded. I watched in surprise as he sat down next to me, took out a newspaper, and, ignoring us as much as possible, immersed himself in his reading.

"Good morning," I said.

The man's cold gaze silenced me for another dozen or so minutes.

I decided to ignore this boor and engage in conversation with the beautiful stranger

. "What's your name?"

"I guess it doesn't matter anymore... but you'll be fine. I'm Dolores." "

Nice to meet you, I'm Teodor." "

I knew a Teodor once," the girl said with a smile.

"Yes, and what happened?" I asked flirtatiously. "

I killed a scumbag," Dolores said .

The brusqueness with which she said this made me root myself to the spot. Suddenly, her pale face lit up with a radiant smile, and I realized it was just a joke.

"I almost believed you," I said, and looked around the compartment.

"You see, I'm an excellent actress," she replied flirtatiously.

We continued on, time seeming to stand still. The clock read 1:37.

I felt a craving for something good, so I decided to go to the dining car. I stood up, stepped over the legs of a man as silent as a grave, absorbed in reading, and quickly made my way to the back of the train. The dining car was beautiful. Several tables were set up under the windows, and in the center of the car was a drinks bar. It was pleasantly dark and strangely cool. I felt like I was walking past the open doors of a morgue. There was only a waiter in the car. An older man sat at a table, polishing the same glass over and over. When he noticed me, he smiled and invited me to the bar. I ordered a gin and tonic and, staring out the window at the darkness, waited for my drink.

"Here," the waiter said in a resonant voice. "

Do you like this job?" he asked, looking around the carriage

. "Actually, yes," he sighed. "I'm here by force..." He thought for a moment and said, "but better here than there." He gestured out the window. "

I understand..." I replied, though I wasn't entirely convinced. The man was clearly tired of life, but he expressed it in a strange way.

"You mentioned being forced to work.

" "Yes, it was supposed to be a bit of resocialization.

" "Yes... and for what?" I wondered.

"I'd rather keep that to myself."

I finished my drink and thanked him. They were returning to the compartment. I glanced at my watch. It was 1:37. Strange, I thought, it must have broken. I shook my hand and continued on my way. I returned to the compartment. Dolores continued to stare out the window, gently rubbing her covered hands, and the tall, silent man continued to stare at the newspaper.

I sat down in my seat and studied my seatmate. He seemed to be staring at the pages, his eyes not moving an inch. Finally, I peeked out and saw what the man was staring at so blankly

. "Oh my God," I whispered. No one else in the seat reacted. In the middle of the newspaper was a photo of the rejuvenated waiter I'd recently spoken to. Above the photo, in large letters, was written "...45-year-old serial killer of women dies after being hit by a car during a police chase..." Beneath, in slightly smaller letters, was another caption... "Finally, the horror is over."

I was speechless, my palms were sweaty, and my mind was in a haze.

Wait a minute, I thought, it's just a resemblance. It could be his twin brother or a doppelganger. The man sitting next to me folded his newspaper for a moment and stared out into the darkness, sitting as silent as a statue. I leaned my head further, and then I saw something even stranger: the man was reading a newspaper from 15 years ago.

"What's this supposed to be?" I said to myself. "Aren't there any newer newspapers here?" I stood up and went back to the dining car. Behind the bar sat an older likeness of the murderer. I approached her and asked.

"You know they have newspapers on this train from 15 years ago.

" "Yes," he confirmed in a voice that expressed no surprise.

"Who were you before you started working on the train?" The car grew colder, the clock still reading 1:37.

"I shouldn't say anything.

" "Why..." I was surprised. I felt like I was going crazy. What game am I playing at? I thought, but I continued.

"It's not that simple..."

"Okay, I'll ask you straight. You killed those women and had a car accident..." I caught my breath. "But the newspapers, as usual, didn't write the truth... you survived and you're here. I don't know if it's resocialization or hiding, but..." "

They weren't wrong..." he whispered firmly and lowered his head. His long gray hair fell gently over his thin shoulders.

"What?" I asked, disconcerted.

"The newspapers weren't wrong." As he spoke, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it aside like a theater curtain.

"But..." was all I managed to choke out. "The bent ribs spoke for themselves. One of them pierced the skin and emerged like a snail emerging from its shell. My collapsed chest was bruised and unnaturally contorted.

I escaped the train car and, running into my compartment, narrowly avoided colliding with the silent man's enormous knees.

"Listen... there's some lunatic working in the restaurant..." I began, "some lunatic." I looked around at the neighbors, their faces fixed on mine, waiting for an explanation for such an accusation. "Oh my God... he's claiming to be dead, apparently it's that guy from your 15-year-old newspaper."

"Calm down," the girl said.

"How am I supposed to calm down?" I shouted. "The guy's glued on fake ribs or something equally disgusting and is saying I've been dead for years. "

Dolores made a sad face and exposed her wrists . "Oh my God..." I said . "A failed suicide," she whispered dryly, and after a moment, she revealed her turtleneck sweater. The rope mark was clearly visible on her delicate, thin neck. "It worked this time," she said, looking sad, staring into the darkness outside the window. "What's wrong with you people? This is some kind of nightmare." "It's definitely my imagination, just a dream. I didn't mean to kill anyone, this man crashed into my car on his own." I wrestled with my thoughts. I was sure it was remorse causing the hallucination or whatever it was.

Suddenly, the quiet man looked at me and turned so I could see the back of his square head. A hole stared at me from the back of his head, probably from a close-range gunshot wound. The back of his suit was covered in a net of dried blood.

"No... this has to be a dream," I whimpered. "Please tell me it's not true."

"Gangsters," the man said sternly, and stared back into the distance.

I ran out of the compartment. The world spun before my eyes. I glanced at my watch; it was still the damned 1:37 a.m. "

I'm crazy!!!" I screamed through my tears.

"No," I heard a warm, soothing voice.

I turned and saw the uniformed conductor. He had short dark hair and very vacant, cheerful eyes. A faint, mocking smile never left his long face.

"No?" I was surprised. "It's good to see you, sir. Maybe I'll get some explanation for what the hell is going on here."

The conductor said with delight

, "You used a very apt phrase." His dark, cheerful eyes studied my terrified face.

"What phrase?" I asked. "You'll probably tell me you're dead too, but I don't care, I have to get out of here."

Terrified as a small child, I shook my whole body. God, what's happening to me, what's wrong? I didn't mean to kill anyone… "

Here, this is for you," the man said, then handed me the newspaper.

It was dated August 14, 2005, so… (here it goes again, I thought) in three days.

"What is this? It's the eleventh.

" "Read it," he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

The first article… the large, dark headline clearly stood out from the rest… "The car of the person responsible for the accident in which 31-year-old Marcin G. was killed has been found. The perpetrator fled the scene."… Sweat flowed down my neck like a waterfall down the steep mountainside, and I looked lower… "The black Mercedes abandoned in the forest undoubtedly belonged to Teodor W." "

What's that supposed to mean?" I shouted. "

Read more," he said, handing me another newspaper, this one dated August 11th.

"This is madness," I said, and began reading… "The express train, the Steel Steed, en route to Romania, derailed in Hungarian territory at 1:37 a.m. All passengers are dead…" "

This is some kind of sick joke," I screamed and cried simultaneously. "I didn't mean to kill anyone, I really did."

"I believe you," the man said, then added, "And it's with even greater pleasure that I welcome you into our midst."

"What midst…?"

"This is the perfect place for you to atone for your sins," he said slowly and carefully, never taking his smile off his face. Please unbutton your blouse.

I did as he ordered, lowering my head and letting out a strangled groan; my shirt was stained with blood. I lifted it and saw a terrible thing. A torn chest, shards of glass embedded in it.

I looked out the window and saw that the landscape had changed. The sky had turned crimson. Rivers of fire flowed along the tracks, and among them I saw herds of people chained and screaming.

Various passengers of the express slowly emerged from the compartments, among them Dolores and the silent giant.

"The final station is coming soon."

"What station!" I shouted. "What's happening here...have I died?"

"Welcome to hell..." the conductor replied.

"The end..."

A person I could fall in love with"

Blond hair adorned with gel, beautiful lashes that accentuate blue eyes. A shapely nose, well-groomed hands, and the long, nostril-twisting scent of "Adidas for men."

That's the description of a typical heartbreaker. Add to that a crowd of screaming fans, and you simply have to have him.

Some girls declare their love to this ideal, others sob in their ears, suppressing their feelings.

*Would you like to have a boyfriend desired by a whole throng of corrupt female fans?

-No .

*Why?

-Because the title "my boy" should belong only to me, not be "gnawed away" at every turn by jealous "hands" and "eyes."

*So let's get to the point. Someone you could fall in love with?

-Let's think...They should be inconspicuous. They should always have something to say. They should be intelligent and resourceful. I'm interested in candidates full of ideas, unique, and with interesting interests.

*Looking for a partner?

- No, let's just say I'm looking around carefully. Because the person I'm supposed to fall in love with should be the first person in my life. I'm an individualist and I'm waiting for someone who will create such a tape of my life that I'll be replaying it for a long time.

*But please be specific. I want to know what they should look like, what their personality should be like, and what they should do.

- Okay, I'll start with their appearance.

Brown hair. A black and blue combo definitely suits me. I'm six feet tall or taller. I have my own style of dress. Of course, I exclude hippie fashion a la "flower children." A great sense of humor, but also sophistication and elegance are highly valued. A good memory is definitely essential (my birthday, name day, my mother's birthday, all anniversaries and meetings). I won't deny that I'm not interested in children, and I include "grown-up" men my age among them. Of course, I also want to point out that fate has already blessed me with one daddy, and for now, he's enough for me. Let him focus on school and work from Monday to Friday, but in return, he has to show us every day how unhappy he is that we don't see each other (text messages, internet). Saturday and Sunday are ours, then we're interested in the sun, culture, all the nice things, and each other. And even if there's a game on TV... well, sometimes you have to compromise. "Watch"—but we understand that everything in moderation. I like to be pampered and feel safe, and sometimes feel a thrill, so he really must have high ambitions.

*You've created a fantastic image.

But surely it wasn't supposed to be perfect?

​​- Well, yes, I've shown you what it looks like. But in reality, fate creates so many contradictions that we match up like puzzle pieces, even though we're completely different.

*So, really, someone you could fall in love with?

-I'm waiting for a surprise, but I won't get a star from the sky anyway.

Ten minutes of happiness

"I'm sorry," he heard it today, and to this day, he still doesn't quite understand who was apologizing to him and for what. He'd been optimistic for a week. "I finally have someone. Things will definitely be okay now." It was so nice to think about it. They'd known each other for a while. She was the girlfriend of his friend, a good friend, and that's why he'd been a bit hesitant at first. He simply didn't know what to say. "Listen, man, I know you two were together, but now I'm dating her, and I'm actually starting to care." He wondered how he'd take it. He knew him well enough to know he wouldn't lose a friend over a girl. And he was really starting to care about her. She smoked. He could even accept that, even though he desperately wanted her not to. He hated cigarettes. The sight of a pretty girl who smoked left him feeling a certain disappointment, something like, "She's so pretty and she smokes." He didn't like the sight of a girl with a cigarette, yet he was glad he had her. It was a living contradiction of his principles, which he had always valued so highly. One look into her eyes, when she was still happy to see him, and he knew that was more important than cigarettes. The first time he snuggled up to her, he felt how much he missed this, how much he needed shelter. He told her how happy he was to have her by his side. He finally felt grounded. When she once showed jealousy, he couldn't believe it. On the one hand, he was happy that she cared about him, on the other, he knew she would be suspicious of every female friend. His mind was spinning. He remembered now every look, every gesture. When she still looked at him with affection, and he saw something in her eyes. Not love, because it was still too early for that, but the initial infatuation he felt. That look healed all wounds, made his heart beat faster. Did he love her? Love was a big word, and it was probably too early to juggle its meanings. He felt good with her. Sometimes he was afraid he wouldn't cope, that he couldn't have a girlfriend, and now he knows he was right. Perhaps it's even better that he's alone; at least he'll be independent of everyone. He was deceiving himself. Sometimes, when he sees two happy people holding hands, looking into each other's eyes, and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, a sudden rage seizes him, his whole soul rebels, everything screams, "I want that too!! I need happiness too!" Then he smiles sadly to himself and looks away. His mind goes blank. There's a techno party in a week. Luckily, he'll be able to reset. Let go of everything, look at a nice ass, and think, "You're damn lucky you don't know me and don't feel anything for me." He didn't know if loneliness was the right solution. One thing was certain: loneliness was the only solution. Talk to others, laugh, joke, and don't let anyone too close to you because it would all end in nothing. Grabbing your ten minutes of happiness and then paying for it wasn't for him. Not anymore.You have to be tough, and he'd never been. Naive, he thought the soul was reflected in their eyes, but it turned out to be just an illusion, a mirage. He'd thought about their future together, but the present had crumbled. He liked her approach to the children. She'd cuddle them, kiss them, and she didn't mind changing their diapers. "She'll be a good mother someday," he thought, and felt that his children could have a mother like that. Not that he would now, but it was nice to think about it. Everything came crashing down in the present. Now it's time to sing alone. Sing alone. So many songs were rushing to his lips. "I guess it's my fault." He hadn't been able to meet her expectations? Had he offended her somehow? But what? He didn't even know what to say when he heard it was over. What could he say? That he wanted to be with her? What good would that do? He decided he was a damned naive guy and left. Why torment her and himself? He regretted being the kind of person who, after something like that, dwelled on his every move, every word. Maybe it's this, or maybe it's that. He can't get over the defeat. Sometimes the thought occurs that she might change her mind, want to be with him again, that everything will work out, but then resignation comes. It was probably the strangest relationship of his life. A few days. Nothing foreshadowed this turn of events, what had made her lose her mind, maybe she would reconsider, miss her. "Hush now, don't think about anything. Calm down, it will be better. Someday. But for now, calm down." It wasn't that he felt like crying. Not even that. He felt like deceiving himself by crying. He didn't love her yet. Once, when he was alone in a room with a friend, he heard, "So, are you in love?" He smiled and decided it was still too early for that. It was good that he was careful in that respect, at least, as if he felt something, an inner voice saying, "Be careful." Thanks to him, he suffered much less than if he had gotten involved. He simply felt good for those few days. It really felt like ten minutes. A moment of pleasant bewilderment, the knowledge that you have somewhere to go, that someone will always take you in. That's nice. Everyone needs that. He thought he could last at least a month with him. Strange. He wondered how someone could change their minds from one day to the next, just like that. Today we're together, tomorrow don't come to see me. He would have understood if they were both teenagers, but in your twenties, you expect a certain responsibility for your actions. It turned out they didn't. Stupidity. He'd been a naive fool, wanting to find refuge from his own thoughts, and now they surrounded him like a swarm of angry wasps. And they stung, stung, stung. He needed to reset himself, to forget. We'll see how it goes.Not that it was now, but it was nice to think about it. Everything comes down to the present. Now it's time to sing alone. Sing alone. So many songs were rushing to his lips. "It's probably my fault." Couldn't he live up to her expectations? Had he offended herself somehow? But what? He didn't even know what to say to her when he heard it was over. What could he say? That he wanted to be with her? What good would that do? He decided he was a damn naive guy and left. Why torture her and himself? He regretted being the kind of person who, after something like that, dwells on every move, every word. Maybe it was because of this, maybe because of that. He can't get over a defeat. Sometimes the thought occurs that she might change her mind, that she might still want to be with him, that everything would work out, but then resignation comes. It was probably the strangest relationship of his life. A few days. Nothing foreshadowed this turn of events, what had upset her, what would have made her think, miss her. "Hush now, don't think about it. Calm down, it'll be better. Someday. But calm down now." It wasn't that he felt like crying. Not even that. He felt like crying would be fooling himself. He didn't love her yet. Once, when he was alone in a room with a friend, he heard, "So, are you in love?" He smiled and decided it was too early for that. It was good that at least in that respect he was careful, as if he felt something, an inner voice saying, "Be careful." Thanks to him, he suffered much less than if he had gotten involved. He simply felt good for those few days. It really felt like ten minutes. A moment of pleasant dizziness, the knowledge that you had somewhere to go, someone would always take you in. That was nice. Everyone needed that. He thought he could last at least a month with him. Strange. He wondered how someone could change their minds from one day to the next, just like that. Today we're together, and tomorrow don't come to see me. He'd understand if they were both teenagers, but in your twenties, you expect a certain amount of responsibility for your actions. Turns out, no. Stupidity. He'd been a naive fool, longing to find refuge from his own thoughts, and now they were swarming him like a swarm of angry wasps. And they were stinging, stinging, stinging. He needed to reset himself, to forget. We'll see how it goes.Not that it was now, but it was nice to think about it. Everything comes down to the present. Now it's time to sing alone. Sing alone. So many songs were rushing to his lips. "It's probably my fault." Couldn't he live up to her expectations? Had he offended herself somehow? But what? He didn't even know what to say to her when he heard it was over. What could he say? That he wanted to be with her? What good would that do? He decided he was a damn naive guy and left. Why torture her and himself? He regretted being the kind of person who, after something like that, dwells on every move, every word. Maybe it was because of this, maybe because of that. He can't get over a defeat. Sometimes the thought occurs that she might change her mind, that she might still want to be with him, that everything would work out, but then resignation comes. It was probably the strangest relationship of his life. A few days. Nothing foreshadowed this turn of events, what had upset her, what would have made her think, miss her. "Hush now, don't think about it. Calm down, it'll be better. Someday. But calm down now." It wasn't that he felt like crying. Not even that. He felt like crying would be fooling himself. He didn't love her yet. Once, when he was alone in a room with a friend, he heard, "So, are you in love?" He smiled and decided it was too early for that. It was good that at least in that respect he was careful, as if he felt something, an inner voice saying, "Be careful." Thanks to him, he suffered much less than if he had gotten involved. He simply felt good for those few days. It really felt like ten minutes. A moment of pleasant dizziness, the knowledge that you had somewhere to go, someone would always take you in. That was nice. Everyone needed that. He thought he could last at least a month with him. Strange. He wondered how someone could change their minds from one day to the next, just like that. Today we're together, and tomorrow don't come to see me. He'd understand if they were both teenagers, but in your twenties, you expect a certain amount of responsibility for your actions. Turns out, no. Stupidity. He'd been a naive fool, longing to find refuge from his own thoughts, and now they were swarming him like a swarm of angry wasps. And they were stinging, stinging, stinging. He needed to reset himself, to forget. We'll see how it goes.Everything would work out, but then resignation came. It was probably the strangest relationship of his life. A few days. Nothing foreshadowed this turn of events, which had upset her, perhaps she would reconsider, miss her. "Hush now, don't think about anything. Relax, it will be better. Someday. But for now, calm down." It wasn't that he felt like crying. Not even that. He felt like deceiving himself by crying. He didn't love her yet. Once, when he was alone in a room with a friend, he heard, "So, are you in love?" He smiled and decided it was still too early for that. It was good that he was careful in that respect, at least, as if he felt something, an inner voice saying, "Be careful." Thanks to him, he suffered much less than if he had committed. He simply felt good for those few days. It really felt like ten minutes. A moment of pleasant bewilderment, the knowledge that you had somewhere to go, someone would always take you in. It was nice. Everyone needs that. He thought he could last at least a month with him. Strange. He wondered how someone could change their minds overnight, just like that. Today we're together, tomorrow don't come to see me. He would have understood if they were both teenagers, but in their twenties, you expect a certain amount of responsibility for your actions. Turns out, no. Stupidity. He'd been a naive fool, longing to find refuge from his own thoughts, and now they were swarming him like a swarm of angry wasps. And they stung, stung, stung. He needed to reset himself, forget. We'll see how it goes.Everything would work out, but then resignation came. It was probably the strangest relationship of his life. A few days. Nothing foreshadowed this turn of events, which had upset her, perhaps she would reconsider, miss her. "Hush now, don't think about anything. Relax, it will be better. Someday. But for now, calm down." It wasn't that he felt like crying. Not even that. He felt like deceiving himself by crying. He didn't love her yet. Once, when he was alone in a room with a friend, he heard, "So, are you in love?" He smiled and decided it was still too early for that. It was good that he was careful in that respect, at least, as if he felt something, an inner voice saying, "Be careful." Thanks to him, he suffered much less than if he had committed. He simply felt good for those few days. It really felt like ten minutes. A moment of pleasant bewilderment, the knowledge that you had somewhere to go, someone would always take you in. It was nice. Everyone needs that. He thought he could last at least a month with him. Strange. He wondered how someone could change their minds overnight, just like that. Today we're together, tomorrow don't come to see me. He would have understood if they were both teenagers, but in their twenties, you expect a certain amount of responsibility for your actions. Turns out, no. Stupidity. He'd been a naive fool, longing to find refuge from his own thoughts, and now they were swarming him like a swarm of angry wasps. And they stung, stung, stung. He needed to reset himself, forget. We'll see how it goes.how it will be.how it will be.

Life is beautiful??Part 2

The main entrance to the school is the gates of hell, which, once crossed, open only after a few hours that feel like eternity. Many brave souls have tried, but none have managed to earn the title of "School's Chosen One – Runaway." I climb the stairs and pass the reception desk. A brave woman, greeting the students a la a bounty hunter straight out of an RPG, looks at us with a characteristic half-smile. The woman is behaving like a witch, her eyes bulging with joy because so many victims have been lured today.

My stomach starts to ache, and I want to run, though I don't know why. But the game is just beginning. One Pierog, death. I cross the line to the cloakroom, the gate to Mrs. Stasia's realm. She takes a break whenever she wants, and only opens the cloakroom after completing an extremely difficult, mythical maze with a Minotaur inside. Rumor has it that her mother was killed as a child, and since then she has become a demon. He earns special points for not opening the cloakroom. This isn't about allowing students to break up, but rather about situations during PE lessons when uniforms are required, or at the end of the school day.

I change into my special sneakers. They feel like metal in skateboarding pants, but oh well; rules are rules. I have to pass a master's test.

I'm next to the reception desk again. To get up the endless stairs, I have to show my ID—my ticket to school life. Again, I don't want to, but I have to. I'm letting you in. I'm Mateusz Sobierajski from 2a. Yes, it's me—safe and sound. No one kidnapped me, and I'm not a vampire, troll, or werewolf. Good morning.

First lesson—Polish. Luckily, it's only a trip to the first floor. I check the clock on my phone. Five minutes late. I have no hope. I enter the classroom, but Mrs. W. won't let me in. The train to knowledge has departed without me. I have to wait outside the classroom because I'm disrupting the lesson. I sit quietly on the bench in front of the door. It's too bad, I didn't manage to successfully navigate the maze. I'm missing the opportunity of a lifetime. Due to my lateness, I have to be absent.

I long for a moment of sleep. Since it didn't work on the bus, maybe this wonderful activity will work for me here. I close my eyes. The weight lifts. The ton of events and adversities disappear for a moment. For a moment? I wish. Something hurts my eyes. It's a flashing lamp on the ceiling. It must be broken. I won't sleep anymore. I can't leave the scene because it would be an even bigger offense. Total stupidity. I'm in the classroom in spirit, but I can't take anything from it. I sit as if sentenced to death. My eyes, like a glimmer of hope, stare at the door to the land of knowledge. Maybe someone will at least open it a crack. Unfortunately, I remain seated. Minutes pass.

The lamp went out. Pop. A distinctive sound. My heart feels calm. I want to close my eyes. My eyelids droop. Trrrrrrrrrrrr!!!! The recess bell rings. A herd of cattle runs out into the hallway at terrifying speed. 10 long-awaited minutes.

My class leaves. The recess passes in the blink of an eye. There's not even a moment to chat with my loved ones.

We have our second Polish class. Mrs. W. comes in. First, a several-minute lecture about being late pierces my ears, then the first lesson continues. We continue discussing a text. I don't understand a thing. I try to concentrate, even though I know I won't succeed. After a few minutes, devastated by my helplessness, I ask my deskmate for an explanation. Mrs. W. notices our quiet conversation, and it's on topic. Explanations are futile. Michał emerges victorious from the rehearsal. Like a knight on a white steed, he wins the princess's hand. My exam is like kicking someone who's down. I know absolutely nothing. I wasn't there, after all. As a reward, I get an F. Probably as motivation to continue working. It's a shame my parents won't understand it. Generational conflict. Books versus entertainment. But whatever.

The next few minutes fly by, sitting aimlessly at my desk. I feel like a ghost. As if I weren't there. The bell for the next break is my salvation. I emerge from the dreadful classroom. Soon, a trip two floors up, but first, a trip to the land of toilets.

I enter. There are about ten people inside. Oh well, yes—we'll have to wait. Like back in communist times, for sausages. Everyone sits there as long as possible. It's stuffy, and the janitor watches every movement, even the slightest. Fucking Big Brother. Maybe he should even come with me into the stall and check if I've peed on the seat. The urinals are out of order, of course. What else? They'll fix them in a few months. Who needs that?

When the last person leaves and the gate to happiness opens for me, I hear the bell, symbolizing the end of break. Not now! I quickly go in and do my business. Phew! So good.

I go to the sink and start washing my hands. Cold water only. Great! It's good that it's there at all. There's no soap. I ask Big Brother when it will be ready. "It will be when they bring it." I would never have guessed. That people like that are born. I splashed the floor, and she tells me to clean it. What's her job? A damn cleaning lady! Probably to draw attention! I tell her the bell's past and I'm in a hurry, and she says she doesn't care and I'll mop the entire floor as punishment. What more can I do? It's your mess, bathe in it yourself. I run again today, this time to the classroom.

I cross the threshold. History. Mrs. K. looks at me like I'm a murderer. You're late! To answer. I explain that it's not my fault. It's a physiological need. "You're not in elementary school, what do you think you're thinking?"

The carnage begins. He bombards me with questions, probably reserved especially for me. The most minute details. Even if I studied for days, I wouldn't remember it. Another failing grade. It's here! Simply fantastic! What else will happen to me today in my beautiful life?

Finally, the bell rings! A long break. I head to the shop because I want to buy something to eat. The line is like communist times. And as soon as I get close, someone lets someone through, and they'll just go to their fucking death. I won't give up, just like I didn't do it before. And once again, I achieve my goal of getting my coveted cheese roll just as the bell rings.

More lessons – trips up the stairs and sitting quietly so they don't ask you anything. If I understood anything, it would be better, but I don't.

Finally, the last bell rings. I go down to the cloakroom. Again, a multitude of people. They seem to be born here. I grab my jacket, change my shoes, and leave the school. I run to the bus stop, but the bus still misses me.

I have to wait 15 minutes for the next one. Only 15 minutes at a bus stop packed with people. And it's starting to rain. Harder and harder. I zip up my jacket. Great! I realize I forgot to attach the hood.

Finally, the allotted time passes. Of course, there's another few minutes of delay, and I get on. This time, however, I'm not going home, but to meet my girlfriend. She finally found some time...