"Maybe, somewhere, someday, at a less miserable time,

we can see each other again "

-Vladimir Nabokov 'lolita'

Through the streets of Bogotá,

Through which thousands of people pass,

There was an innocent and somewhat naive girl

And a man who never stopped fantasizing about her.

It was a hot afternoon

The sweat of people going down their forheads,

The sun was shining through the blue sky,

The clouds floating quietly.

People walked from one side to the other

Self-absorbed in their lives

And between them there was a lady

With a weary face and a blurred look

She kept asking

If someone had seen his beloved daughter.

Through the streets of Bogotá

A few streets further from where the lady was

The girl ran across the street,

Her imagination flying,

The people ignoring her

While she happily got away with it.

What she did not know

It was that in an alley not far from where she was

In the middle of walls and dirt

There was a strange man

With tangled hair and elegant clothes

Whose black eyes sunk into his bony face.

They were staring in the direction of the girl

Without her seeing him.

He spent his days imagining,

Imagining what I would do once he had her

When that little girl who ran alone

Through the streets of Bogotá

I was finally in his arms.

Several minutes passed

In middle of a silent contemplation

Before the girl, completely distracted

It was within his reach

With a bizarre smile and a sweet in his hand

He went out to meet the girl.

Calling her by name

He told her to come with him

That his mother, worried and crying,

 Was looking for her everywhere.

That she had to go fast,

That her mother was at the police station.

Upon hearing this the girl, with visible concern,

He asked the man

If he was serious

And he, with a macabre smile, answered

"I would never lie to you, darling."

And with this, he gave his hand

And she strongly held on.

A few streets from where they were

The mother was still screaming desperately

Looking repeatedly from one side to the other

Without knowing clearly now what to do

In the middle of the crowd that summer day

He just sat on the brick floor

And began to sob.

He cried silently, thin tears falling down his face,

Regretting not having been more attentive,

Regretting not taking care of her daughter,

For having let her run away,

And losing sight of her.

But, worse than all that,

For knowing with bitter regret

That no matter what she did in those moments

She would not be able to get his daughter back in time.

So she just cried while the police

That, with a surprising resentment

Apparently against her

For not having been "pending" of his daughter,

They were looking through the streets

Some trace that she could have left.

Meanwhile, already several blocks from that place,

The man had taken the girl

Telling her again and again that they were about to arrive

While on his lap he carried

both a revolver and a couple of condoms

And, with a wince on his lips,

He led her silently to his apartment,

In the middle of the streets of Bogotá

Among which nobody can hear you scream.