Those are a really beautiful wheelchair, I thought. Thank God I only have one shortcoming, physical incapacity would only further complicate my life. But what is actually missing in me? I know what day it is today – Wednesday. That was easy. I also know my last name and first name.

Am I crazy? However, if we were to talk about madness, we would probably highlight some incomprehensible and illogical things. I mean – I assume. Then it could be said that the one who thinks about madness is mad, right? I know I heard once that thoughts come to a person spontaneously, that actually, he already possesses all the information, he just isn't aware of it yet, at least until they come to mind.

Now, it depends, of course, on how meticulous one is, and how diligently they maintain their compartments in their head. I think that if someone repeated the same sentences more, they would eventually form into a larger, more complex one over time. That's entirely logical, I would say. Like when a baby repeats only "mama" and never "dada." Then over time, they would understand parenthood as a woman's duty.

It wouldn't be strange if something was done more frequently and only in one way. Monotony is a strict teacher. But again, through repetition, we understand the reality around us, what is good, and what is bad. Because for a good thing, doing it once is enough for someone to be happy, and you've succeeded, while for a bad thing, a different fire ignites. Although it can start as good but actually be bad.

I tell you - who would have thought that money would bring so much evil to people? Only one man didn't want to exchange his apples for wool. I mean, I understand him, he also had sheep, what would he need more wool for? But still, he thought it could be better, that an agreement could be reached. But I blame him for spending only a small amount of iron on coined money.

I understand for tools, but he really didn't need weapons. Well, you can't go without an axe in winter when it's cold. Even a mace for defense against wolves I understand, but still. It's interesting how a torch burns longer when soaked in fat, one would initially think that dry things burn longer, but there you see the truth.

..//..

And it was such a beautiful storm. I remember the turbulent water differently from my uncle because he was on the lookout, up high on the mast. He kept yelling for me to turn around, “Turn around, we're heading straight into the storm!” And I didn't quite understand what difference it made if I turned, whether to the right or left, the ship still followed the same path.

There was a certain energy, you know. Yes, the waves constantly battered the ship, so I couldn't recall the melody of a song, but that's irrelevant now. No one can claim to know how something works if they haven't experienced it. And I experienced such an adventure that afternoon. I didn't just like that it thundered a lot, the lightning distracted me, and my socks were always wet. I'd occasionally go to the cabin to change them, but as soon as I stepped out of the cabin, I felt that unpleasant cold.

I probably had a fever due to chills, now that I think about it. But it wasn't my fault, it was as if I were in an icy pool, filled up to my knees. The smell wasn't that bad, there was a slight moldy odor, that's true, but the scent of salt and shells replaced the air mixture. I could just feel the vein pulsating in my temple and my knees trembling more as time passed.

Unfortunately, not everything was as magical as it might seem. My uncle perished that day. And to this day, I don't understand why he tried to impress me with his double somersault. He had never been a great gymnast. Namely, at one point, while I was probably looking towards the open sea and thinking about how big a wave must be for a whale to surf comfortably, the ship shook violently because we came across a chain of huge orange buoys. It quickly darkened, and after some time, the Coast Guard came to rescue me. A sailor's life is tough, I've always said that.

..//..

The roof was high up. Still, she jumped strongly enough and caught the edge of the gutter. There was soil and a few young birch saplings. Even some roots occasionally made holes in the old metal.

When she looked up towards the blazing sun, she felt the sharpness of its rays. Drops of sweat gathered on dark eyebrows and streamed down her curved cheeks. In the distance, she saw a railroad track on a smaller elevation. At one point, she saw a black object gliding on it from afar. She approached the edge of the roof to see better what was moving there, carelessly stepping on the quality old tile.

She noticed mold covering the tiles in the form of brown spots of different radii. The moment she realized small mining carts were moving on the track, a large brown stain beneath her opened, and she fell. At times, she felt like she was in some sort of whirlpool until her vision blurred.

She found herself on damp soil. She opened her eyes. She felt a slight pressure at the back of her head. It was dark, seemed like she was in a hallway. Ahead, the air was fresher, so she assumed an exit was nearby. She didn't understand how she got there but decided to find the way out and free herself. She could only continue straight ahead. After a long walk, her eyes caught a flash of light. There were torches on the wall burning for some reason.

She approached and saw two metal chests covered with red fabric. How they got here, she thought. The fact that they weren't dusty or rusty puzzled her, even though her toenails were of a miner's design. She couldn't understand this cleanliness because she had removed dry soil from her sandals several times before arriving at this place. They were unlocked as well. She began to suspect she had wandered into a dream, and, as time passed, this idea seemed to make sense.

As she began to peer into the inside of one of the chests, the ground began to shake. She stopped approaching, and the tremors ceased. As she waited and pondered what to do, a loud roar came from in front of her, where there were no torches, where darkness ruled. Without thinking, she rushed towards the chests, opened both, and saw they were full of dynamite and spilled gunpowder.

She stood still, and the roaring grew louder. Out of nowhere, with a strong tremor, the earthen roof of the tunnel opened, and an immense amount of light attacked the pupils of the immobilized girl. Something grabbed her from above and began pulling her out. The last thing she saw, as green tendrils wrapped around her waist and armpits and began pulling her towards the outside, was the silhouette of a five-legged creature where she was before she detached from the ground.

..//..

It became cold. Fragile snowflakes landed on her warm palm. Despite the majestic sight, every time she unintentionally killed one, she felt drops of sadness filling her heart's cup. The whole beauty lasted shortly, and because of that, she savored it with all her heart.

She listened to the crunch of her boots on the snow-covered sidewalk as she walked lightly. She observed the imprints of her boot soles. She thought about warm chocolate with a sprig of cinnamon. She imagined that if she placed a yellow parasol with red stripes on the rim of a copper mug, due to the warm air, the forged mug would fly away to the south.

Probably, on some beach, perhaps in Sri Lanka, they would sip lemonade from it with the same yellow parasol. Then, over time, the mug would return to her hands, but it would be so damaged by all the sandy gusts carried by the wind on that beach that the taste of warm chocolate would never be the same again.

Every night is not the same, and yet – it seems so. The stars are there, in the same places as on the nights before this one, streetlights shine with the same intensity, and silence reigns in the small hours. We can see the difference in lunar phases. Sometimes, one night is very important to someone, while for another, it might be the last in this life.

And now, the sun has set behind the same hills. If they weren't weary, people would always be angry at the sun because it is so selfish. It carries all the warmth with it. It holds every dawn in its lantern. As if it absorbs a part of everyone's energy with its departure.

It was no longer as interesting to listen to the gentle sound of footsteps. Fear emerged, knocking on the back door. A howling was heard, and soon four crazy dogs appeared in front of her. She didn't think, she started running back the way she came. She thought she wouldn't be able to escape them, but by some miracle, she managed to keep her distance.

She turned right, hoping to throw them off her trail, but after a few meters, she found herself in front of three large green containers. It was a dead-end – a cul-de-sac. She stopped, trying to catch her breath. She was ready to fight for her life, even though she knew the odds weren't in her favor.

But she didn't get to play the fateful dance. A small black cat jumped out of the right container. It stood on the edge while the dogs barked relentlessly. From that edge, it jumped onto the terrace right in front, always presenting a live target to the frothy dogs. It climbed onto the metal fence of the terrace and began running along it, jumping from one terrace to another. Hungry glares were still fixed on her, and muscular bodies started chasing the cat as it fled around the corner of the building.

The animals ran off in their direction, and she stood there, with adrenaline in her veins, until her legs gave way. She slid to the ground. She couldn't stop trembling. Inexperienced, she cursed the situation she was in and collapsed on the ground. Her vision darkened, and consciousness left her.

They swayed on sturdy stems. All those golden children whose birth follows in the hot month. So much care was given to them – by humans, but also by Mother Nature, making their future so important. Few people understand what actually makes gold for humanity. Every root of the plant looks up to its earth. It grows toward the stars, high above. It moves away from its stability and beginning, from its origins, hoping to bloom. To bear fruit. All for continuity.

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Throughout its life, it looked up to its family. Bathed in light and buffeted by the wind, it never gave up. It succeeded. Now it was the cradle of new life and had long prepared for separation. It didn't expect that on that hot day, that final buffeting would separate it from its world. From its seeds. And it never expected that it would finally emerge from its membranes, from its darkness, but safety and feel the light on its skin.

That's usually how it goes; the inexperienced seek experience, while the experienced seek patience. Knowing what awaits you usually doesn't bode well. The fateful judgment is therefore on an invisible height, separated by so many steps from our consciousness that we don't even realize it exists. But there's that balance. All those obstacles, even on a daily basis. All that exchange of energy.

We sometimes think we have no limits – then it happens that we wither, and lose spirit. Yet our mind drives us to wander still, even as our eyelids grow heavier. That's why we dream. We seek an alternative reality. Continuation. The brain tickles us, we don't stop living. We love all those trials, and adversities. That's how pleasure was born. Only those who have gone through hell know what heaven is. Experience, one might say.

But sometimes it's also confusing. It seems that the right thing is wrong, and we don't understand how we even thought of it. And then, when we choose the "wrong" one, we wonder if this sequence of events makes sense. Sometimes, and in most cases, we regret it. Regret – nothing more than the desire to control time and the course of a situation. All those mischievous glances and every wrongly spoken word.

But still, we don't see the judge, so how can we know that we're being judged?

She thought she was lying in tall grass. That her shadow was playing tricks on her face. Storks were flying above the marsh; she saw several of them carrying fabric bags in their mouths. She wondered why they were doing a service to people even though they had killed so many of them. She looked behind her, still reclining, her head resting on straw mud.

All this time, she thought the grass was giving her shade, but now that she saw it, she became very frightened. A huge man with a straw hat, on which there was a piece of land with thick reeds, stood motionless, rubber boots buried in the mud. She jerked and rose. With trembling lips and a pale face, she looked at him.

His face couldn't be seen from the yellowish bandage wrapped around his head. She thought she couldn't breathe and that there was no protrusion where his nose should be. Her ears were burning, sweat started trickling down her forehead. She tried to pull back but didn't budge. She looked at her feet; they were on the ground, which was now dry with cracks. She lifted her head, and the man was gone.

The tall grass, which provided greenery to the landscape, didn't exist. She felt empty, in a strange way. She touched her stomach and was amazed. She could feel herself touching her spine. Her skin wasn't there. No muscles, no organs. She turned around and fainted in the turn. She hit the ground hard with her cheek. Her eyes watched her insides with a whirlwind of flies above them. Blurring ensued, along with a dull pain in the chest and lower abdomen.

..//..

Inside a bat's cheek, there must sometimes remain a wing of a mosquito, she thought. They must be very sweet, otherwise, they wouldn't eat them. When one thinks about it, it's clear why some species have chosen to directly drink blood. A lot of effort needs to be put in, and many mosquitoes need to be eaten to replenish a cup of fresh blood. That's a healthy liquid, full of iron. She chuckled at the thought that stagnant blood could be called rusty.

She remembered the brave cat that saved her. She kept her eyes closed to extract its sketch in her mind, trying to remember her hero. She heard a faint meowing. She knew that sometimes the brain played with her, emitting suitable sounds to complete her memory. She was sure that was the case now, but she wanted to check. She liked to check things, to prove her intuitions, to create arguments to show she was aware.

She opened her eyes and felt a murky tension in her head. Her body began swaying from side to side, but she could clearly see herself. Clasping her paws with its tail, it squatted steadily and watched her swinging uncontrollably. She stopped swaying as if rooted in the ground and stood still. Two yellow diamonds were fixed on the narrowed pupils. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't speak then. Perhaps she would have wanted to show gratitude, to ask how and why, but it just wasn't possible.

Her jaw was in a spasm, teeth grinding, and her pupils rolled upwards. With hands stiffened by her body, she collapsed to the ground like a candle. She felt alternating, pulsating pains in her thighs and lower back muscles. Helplessly trembling, trying to absorb and reveal all the pain. A moment before her consciousness left her, when the batteries were drained and her eyelids relaxed, the shadows of a lively hairy tail flickered before her eyes.

..//..

She trod on a cloudy mattress. Her eyes didn't see the dusty ceiling, where rays, piercing through wooden blinds, portrayed a swirling dance of dust particles. Her imagination didn't allow it. Three feathers peeking out of the mattress were launching pads, from which she would bounce high above the roof, into dense white smoke, light and soft, where children's dreams sailed in a gentle boat. It was a sweet ship with a mast made of bent purple and white lollipops and a rudder made of Neapolitan wafers.

Paved with wafers, it had sails made of stiff cotton candy and an anchor made of glued rock candies. Jelly cannons fired marshmallows through the white thicket ahead, creating sweet cavities from which honey dripped. However, the sugary reverie vanished and cleared after a fat gray rat surprised her with its clumsy run from one end of the wall to the other.

She wasn't scared, just saddened, as she thought that it was probably hungry. Not wanting to scare it, she didn't approach but descended the stairs and hurried to the kitchen. She didn't find any cheese in the fridge, and she wasn't sure if it would want to eat the piece of leftover spreadable processed cheese from yesterday's breakfast, so she grabbed a slice of dried ham and cut a few pieces.

She began searching for it as soon as she returned upstairs, but she couldn't find it. She no longer heard the indistinct cry of the chubby little one. Tired, she settled on her stained cloud and ate the brought meat. She was angry with herself for not arriving on time. For lingering too much. For not approaching it and telling it to wait.

She stood up and threw her slippers far away. One hit the wall, brushing off the surface dust from the wooden plank flooring. She stared at a point low to the floor, not perceiving colors and shades, wondering what had happened to the rodent. When she directed her focus to sight, she suddenly stood up.

In the corner of her right visual field, she noticed movement. Now she heard a bloody slurping. It seemed like some little animal was eating its prey. She approached and saw – it was her chubby one, now gutless, with eyes fixed to one side. It lay dead while a skinny black cat enjoyed its insides. The cat continued to drink the fluids of its prey and nibble on it. It paid no attention to the girl with braids.

Suddenly, it turned. With bloody jaws and glassy eyes, it stared stiffly at her. It meowed with a voice of great depth, unheard before. The rafters of the attic cracked in the middle, and the roof collapsed.

..//..

Sleep was much needed. She felt the weight of her eyelids. She tried unsuccessfully to stay awake. The surrounding whirlwind of events turned into a straight line. Everything else seemed insignificant compared to that feeling. She imagined her heart in her chest, now resting in a lounge chair between her ribs. She looked at her hands. She didn't notice any nails on her fingers. It seemed like she was trying her hardest to stay focused.

She felt warm and cozy. Now she knew she was lying on a bench. In front of her was a fiery sight – a huge chasm full of lava. She was on top of a volcano. She found herself high, so high that birds flew at her height. She smelled burnt air. She was thirsty. She would drink swamp water now. She noticed how the ground a little farther from her, at the foot of the volcano, was splitting and spreading. She watched the tearing and downfall of an unfortunate shrub and a few huge rocks. The crack healed.

Now, out of nowhere, grass appeared on the previously barren, scorching ground. She turned to see how far the newly created mountain pasture extended and saw water. Previously where there was lava, there was now a sparkling lake. Even the fish stirred the water in it. She didn't understand how the previously hot, volcanic scene had been replaced by a gentle, forested one. New animals and plants appeared so quickly that she couldn't keep up with the sequence of events.

Now she watched a wild pig running scared away from her. She saw joyful rabbits and huge gorillas in the far corner of the forest, curious squirrels on tree branches, and a multitude of parrots in the canopies. She clasped her hands to her face and covered herself with an unbelievable view. She moved her hands.

Now she trod on the leaves of ripe forest strawberries. Joyfully, she bent down to pick a few. As she was bringing them to her mouth, her brain boiled with serotonin. All the upcoming sugar spread her mouth wide and collected on her cheeks in soft pads. She ate a few strawberries and truly enjoyed them. The moderately sweet taste was very pleasant.

However, instead of small red morsels, strawberries didn't dissolve in her mouth; large fiery bugs lay crushed on her tongue. When she felt the strange, bitter taste, she gathered the clumped remains at the tip of her tongue and spat them out. When she saw what was in the spit, she felt sick.

The next moment, the strange crushed pile on the ground turned into a moth and landed on her nose. It was a match that lit the wick of illusion. Aflame, screaming inwardly, she fainted. After a short dark pause, she opened her eyes. She stared at a strange glass ball.

..//..

The rooster's eye watched me. It wanted to know who I was. Probably, it wasn't clear to it why my sleeves were torn, even though I put on this pajama for the first time the day before yesterday. But it doesn't have to look at me so angrily, what does that crest on its head mean?

I know I'm guilty, it doesn't have to point out every mistake. I faltered, yes, but why – does it ask? If only it knew why I get up on the wrong foot every day, it wouldn't look at me with a beak on its face. But I understand it too, of course. I mean, that's usually how it goes. The brains run the house, showing who's in charge and who shouldn't be offended. I don't blame it for not having any more corn. I'll eat pudding; I'm used to it.

I don't have a cow or a goat, and I still haven't tried cornbread with dog cheese. It's probably not too greasy, I guess. Because a puppy isn't that demanding, above all. I mean, of course, it doesn't see very well at first, but what intelligent thing is there to see? Newspapers no longer write about interesting scientists’ endeavors or the mechanics of time. I don't prefer gossip, so maybe it's better to be blind to most things.

I'm just not sure if anyone would mind if I put pineapple in the freezer. I wonder if I'd get exotic fruit ice cubes, because that wouldn't be fair according to nature's rules, maybe. But surely the curiosity wouldn't be missing.

Ah, how do birds fly so flawlessly without a decent compass? Mother Earth thought instead of everyone, even me. What are all these answers worth if nobody would understand me? It's not worth arguing with ordinary people; even fools realize that. You think you're right only when someone applauds, but in fact, the signals aren't directed at you. Hah, it would be easier if people had another pair of eyes on the back of their heads... Although, as glasses sometimes aren't enough for someone, I believe the Sun does most people a bear's favor...

..//..

They are calling her by her name. She takes the pink pill offered to her in a plastic cup. She gets up and is led to her room, walking through the hallway whose walls are made of glass. Supported by the nurse's hand, she is walking mechanically toward the direction it leads, while her gaze remains focused outside the glass. For a few seconds, which she had managed to steal from the daily monotony, she was watching a black cat with white paws. It was still playing with a yellow elm leaf, just like it did yesterday.

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