She was somewhere she had never been before.


The awakening of her consciousness was interrupted by a strange sound.


A voice appeared and communication was established, but the call was painful.

It felt like the moment when the killer in your dream finally catches up to you in waking life.

She had gone to a place she never imagined she could be.

She could have guessed, like many others had. But she was the only one who denied it.


Petra - I fell. All the way down. Hell.

 - Instead of morning, I inhaled anxiety. I never left the bed. I slid lower, onto the floor.

Half-asleep, I kept trying to shut off a faucet that was already completely closed, yet the water kept flowing.

That was my eyes.

I didn’t want to awaken my thoughts, to face them. But the awakening had begun.

There was nothing beautiful to hear that day. On the other end, I heard my own fear, while in my head, only pain and trembling.

I opened my eyes just for a moment, covering them with my hands. Tears came in waves, in intervals.

I couldn’t stop the tears. Or the sobbing.

Everything felt wrong.

I had no control over myself.

That daily control, always strong and present, own existence, sense of self - was completely gone that day.

The voice that called me, like an upgraded AI version of myself, threw everything back in my face.

The sound was a second ahead of my thoughts. My deepest secrets were laid bare to absolutely everyone.

My own hidden demons became public shame, so intense my legs cramped, and my gaze couldn’t turn away.


The pillar of shame became my pedestal.


The large room swallowed her like an ant insignificant, waiting for a massive foot to appear and crush everything in a second.

The apartment beautiful and magical next to the Vltava, in the most cherished, beloved part of the city.

And the view: the golden rooftops of the theater, gleaming, stretching time itself, stealing your breath. A fairytale.

But everything turned suicidal.

Everything came into question.

The job and life I have and love, some silently envy, others judge and mock.

And now, I judged it too, with them.

The city I live in, its people, its landscapes became a place and moment I no longer wanted to wake up in.

I only wanted to disappear. No vision of a better place.

No safe haven, no roof to shelter me, no arms full of love where I could cry.

Dark, cycling thoughts. Sobbing. Torment. Not a single trace of hope.

Maybe even worse was the realization: there was no stopping, no surrender.

The truth overwhelmed me—there was no more road to walk. No light.

Only darkness. Shut doors. Gloom.

Instead of a tunnel with a desperate light at the end, all I saw were dead-end streets, blind alleys where no one walks, where no one is ever found.


Petra - My family was far away. I screamed inside, hoping someone would hear, find me. But I didn’t dare to scream out loud.

Voice - Shame. Self-degradation. The burden was too heavy. It’s time we met, Petra.

Petra - I have years behind me, and I thought I was resilient, immune, almost indestructible.

I knew courage, at least in theory, and I chased unreachable limits that time and circumstance constantly raised.

And I kept climbing.

But I realized - I was left behind.

Courage was above me, far away, on the other side of the clouds, in the sun.

That moment, that conversation, finally brought me down.

Like a trophy that arrives after long and hard labor. Just like that.


Emotionally, She truly realized her existance. She could feel some impulse, faint but real.

Emotionally disturbed and alone for far too long.

This calling of life, this throne was earned through years of effort.

These are the days and years behind it.

Petra - The only impulse that still confuses me, that glimmers like a speck of gold in the mud, is the impulse of love.

That one kept flickering. I never let go of it. That one hurt.

It stirred me from paralysis, cleared my blurred vision, silenced the unbearable noise.

Because of it, I fought back.

I still fight.


Petra – Nice to meet you Voice.


She was holding her breath, looking through the window.

The smiling sun was reaching only Petra’s window,

while inside, a storm of confusion sparkled-

music, memories, and scared ideas on how to move forward.

Find solutions. Steps. Sound. Music. And food.


Voice – I can tell you something:


a certain amount of alcohol is useful for handling problems and kill some brain cells you don’t like.

The more you drink, the more I see you’re killing the stupidity.

Everything you say starts to sound just right.

The more you drink, the more I see silence breaking.

You’re gaining self-confidence.

You’re making your own sound. Your own music.


But memories...

Those motherfuckers are tough to kill.

They don’t surrender just like that.

This is the shocking truth.

And the best thing?

Is to stay shocked.

The real thing isn’t about the truth,

it’s about the shock.

As long as this is shocking, I’m here.

But when it becomes your reality,

when it turns into everyday truth

I’m no longer here.


I’m leaving you for good.


Because of that, she fought back.

She’s still fighting.


Petra – Nice to meet you, Voice.