A/N: So...Polish people are pretty depressing. At least their movies are.

If the above statement offends you...GOOD! Feel my pain!

This movie was so sad I had to reopen the wounds by writing stories for it.

Breathing was easy.

Breathing was simple.

So why, why, was life so damn hard?

It was a question she couldn't answer, and one that tortured her at night, when she didn't sleep. She'd gotten used to not sleeping, she didn't even feel it anymore. Granted she didn't feel anything anymore.

She didn't feel anything anymore, not usually, which was good. Except...except sometimes...as she watched Dominik...as she heard him cry...she wished she could feel too. She wished, just for a moment, that the bite of the razor was still a bite, and that tears were still warm and comforting on her skin, and that the light didn't make her flawed.

But these were things that she'd lost long ago, when feeling had driven her crazy, when she'd given up feeling all together. Except for feeling desperate. She felt desperate all the time. It was a blur though, not a short sharp stab like feelings should be, and she'd gotten used to it. It became, no longer feeling, but being. She WAS desperate. She didn't feel it anymore.

As she laid awake at her computer screen, watching a sleeping Dominik, she wondered what he was dreaming. In a perfect world, she figured he wouldn't be dreaming anything. His dreams would be black, the new comfort color, and his eyelids would be the only thing he saw. But, as the world was far from perfect, she knew he must be dreaming something. He wasn't stirring or talking, so she could only assume the dream wasn't troubling.

Maybe he was dreaming of death.

She wasn't sure she liked that idea.

Dominik, who was so used to living, could never dream of death. She, so accustomed to the desperate pining for an end, could dream of death even when she was awake. But Dominik...so perfect...so pure...could not.

She was troubled by an earlier conversation...one where he'd told her...that he wanted to die too. She'd been surprised, unpleasantly so, but she'd agreed. Agreed like a coward because that's what she was. A coward. Scared of life like she was scared of light. Scared of herself like she was scared of everyone else. She'd told him, oh she'd told him, that they could do it together.

Do what together? Find salvation? Find perfection?

She was a coward, scared and questioning, even of death. Death which she wanted so much. Death which beckoned and teased her with its promises of finality. With its release and its redemption. Yes, she was scared even of the only thing that could set her free. Was that cowardice? Was she a coward?

She was.

Dominik mumbled in his sleep and fell silent. She watched him, wondering if now he was dreaming of her. She liked to think he was, liked to think she was in his dreams to console or guide him. She hoped the dream her was brave, she hoped the dream her was alive, she hoped the dream her was beautiful.

Dominik didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve the pain and the uncertain. He was no coward, but she'd showed him cowardice, and he'd found solace in it. She'd showed him cowardice and he'd taken it upon himself to be a coward.

She cursed the world and she cursed herself and, as she watched him sleep, she wished she could spill her blood and, with the spilling of it, she hoped to make him pure. Her blood would wash away his sins, her sins, and make him whole again.

She took the razor and slid it across her wrist and didn't even feel the pain. It was normal now. The blood spilled softly on her stained and ragged comforter and Dominik slept on, oblivious. She cried, but the tears meant nothing, and Dominik roller over in his sleep.

The world was unfair, showing people like him people like her. The world was cruel showing people like him people like her.

The world was an enemy, but she already knew that.