Saying that the rainy day was the worst day of my life is not entirely true. I would say that it was rather just the first of what would be the worst days of my life.

I woke up exactly twenty-one days after being attacked. The first shot rendered me unable to run for more than a couple of seconds, the second destroyed a chunk of my liver and made me lose most of my blood. That's what I was told at least. And together, both forced the doctors to put me into an induced coma. After I woke up, I felt like shit. I threw up every day, couldn't eat anything, and going to the bathroom was horrendous. Not to mention the horrible pain that spread through my body. Plus, the television in my room didn't work. For days I continued to hear the raindrops falling on my head, as if I were still trapped in that night.

During the two weeks I was in the hospital, my mother only visited me to scold me. She seemed upset, but I could see that she was also grieving for what had happened.

The old man we assaulted had filed a complaint, and the ones who found us were the police. Precisely the ones who had been looking for us before. After that, a scandal broke out, because it was revealed to me that Rodrigo was wanted on other charges. In the end, no one investigated the murder.

My mom told me I disappointed her, and I could hear her crying outside the room every time she visited. Rodrigo’s family sued me for moral damages and involuntary manslaughter, although the latter was not pursued. And on the last day, the hospital gave me a bill for an amount I don’t want to remember. I was in debt, hated by everyone, and I was missing almost a month of my life, not counting the “miniscule” brain damage from blood loss, damage to my internal organs and muscles from the bullets, and the after-effects of the induced coma. But what hurt me the most was that no, Rodrigo had not survived. I don’t know what I expected. That guy had shot him four times in the head.

Back in the normal world, my brother had to convince my mother not to kick me out of the house. After all, I needed money to pay for the hospital, bail, and lawsuit, and being on the streets wasn't going to accomplish much. Lying back down on my old bed didn't feel half as relaxing as it should have, and I'd only have another week of rest before I had to figure out a way out of the hole I'd dug myself into. In the dark, the bed felt hard, and the walls were starting to close in. Closing my eyes, I could swear I was in a coffin.

My own thoughts overwhelmed me. How did I get here? How did everything go so wrong?

At night, I couldn’t sleep anymore. I was afraid to leave the room, and I stayed there, staring at the edge of the bed. Hours and hours, thinking about sad things – Rodrigo sat here, days and days, for so many years. Talking about so many things that are now irrelevant… Why did he ask for me to be killed?

The pain hit like a car. When I tried to get up, I couldn't. The pain increased and wouldn't go away. Nightmares kept me awake, and guilt made me cry. Crying hurts twice as much when you have a wound on your side.

But, I must also say… Something inexplicable happened. One particularly painful night, I tried to relive the incident. Remember everything I could. But I couldn’t. The man’s face, his words, the sound of his voice… they were gone. The only testimony from that day was what a couple of investigators managed to extract from my anesthetized self. I don’t know what he said, but I doubt it was of any use to them. All of this only increased my feeling of helplessness.

The rain took my best friend, his killer, that cruel day. I think it took a part of me too. Or maybe everything, this must be hell.

At the end of the only week I was given to rest, I went out to look for work. My mother hadn't even looked me in the eye since I came back. It was Blas who had to serve me food or help me do anything…

Well, Blue. It turns out he had been taking some stuff and going to the hospital to change his gender for a while now. I didn't know, and the fact that he didn't judge me for it only made me feel worse. How long had it been since I last talked to him? It was strange, I was starting to realize that I barely was with my family – always out on the streets. Anyway, now I know. I like her new name better.

…

“Where did you study?”

“Elementary at #2, junior high at #7”

“No high school?”

“…No”

“Any extracurricular courses?”

“…No”

“…What did you do in high school?

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, I mean, what were you good at?”

“Ah! Well… I liked Chemistry, why?”

“Well, well, you have good writing… and you are very well spoken”

“Ah, yes, in elementary I read a lot”

“I see… Well, I can’t do much for you anyway, Samuel”

“How come?”

“You’re alright, but…”

The HR guy reached one of his huge hands toward a stack of papers at the end of his desk. Rummaging through them, he pulled out a sheet of paper with someone's photo and a list of words on it. He placed it in front of me. “We got people a little more… qualified, for this… I hope you understand”.

I walked out of the office slowly and looked around. Another week had passed. No one wanted to hire me. Not even when my uncle talked this bald guy into hiring me. Well, he didn't force him to hire me, but he did help me get the interview. Damn people with their stupid resumes. Maybe it didn't help that I didn't have a high school degree, but now was not the time to regret that.

I start walking through the city, factories filling the avenue in front of me. It doesn't help to talk well, they just want me to have studied. That's all that matters. Shit. I pass right by a vending machine. I'm about to put a coin in when I notice that it doesn't even turn on. It's dirty and dusty. I doubt there's anything in it at all.

How did I end up here? I sit on a metal bench waiting for the bus. I liked to read a lot in elementary school, I used to think that when I grew up I could write a book. Mom always liked that I spoke correctly, one of the few good things that remained in my life. Growing up I wanted nothing more than to be calm. I was when Rodrigo was still here. He was like my brother. Yes, I have one. Well, had one. I don't know. But Blue was always busy with her things, I rarely saw her at home. She only came home to sleep. And so was my mother, although she was working non-stop day and night. Unlike Blue, she did speak to me. Although most of the time she was to scold me for things I had done. Ironically, the roles had been reversed. Now I had really screwed up.

The pain is coming back. I have a hand on my side. Turning to the sidewalk, someone has recently broken a mirror. Or maybe they dropped it. I reflect in the broken pieces of glass. Silly brown eyes. Silly nose. Silly hair. I need to cut it off now. That's the face of someone who let his friend die. I could have helped in another way. Maybe I should have told him it was a bad idea. All my life keeping the things I should have said to Rodrigo to myself. They ended up killing him, and almost me. It's strange, because it still doesn't feel like my best friend is dead.

What the hell am I going to do? If I don't get this job, my mom will kick me out of the house. For the first time in my life, I have nowhere to go.

…

“Mm ... Just high school?”

“…Yes”

“Well, it doesn't seem like it, nice handwriting”

“Thank you”

“Well, Sam Horace, I test you, okay?

“Yes sir, yes”

…

With a bit of luck, I got a job one day later. To tell the truth, I saw the shop on my way home and got off the bus in a hurry. I didn't remember having seen a place like this before. A shop selling Chinese goods: They sell hundreds of different things but I can't find any other label to describe it. The shop had recently been vacated, so the owner offered me the job immediately.

…

Life continues on its way without stopping for anyone in particular. As I make my way through the crowd to my new job, I try to imagine myself as just another employee, heading out to earn my bread. It doesn't feel the same, though. The other people have nothing in common with me, something tells me that. Still, that doesn't diminish my excitement in the least. Getting the job in Dongxi was a small blessing. Within two weeks of starting, I had gotten the hang of it, it gave me money, served as proof to the authorities that I wasn't wasting my time, and stopped my mom from kicking me out. Plus, the job was easy. Reassuring, even.

In the mornings I arrive and Mr. Long is always there. I think he lives nearby. I think that's his name. Then he opens the doors and I start arranging the merchandise on the shelves. The man is a bit paranoid, so he asks us to put the products in their boxes every night. It seemed difficult at first, but over time I realized that he doesn't care if they get damaged.

The place is part of a building that houses other shops, all located in the Azul’s downtown. It's convenient because I can grab some breakfast or lunch when Blue doesn't leave me some leftovers on the table. From the outside, it's nothing more than a white wall with two huge masonry-framed windows and giant red neon letters displaying the store's name.

Inside Dongxi we sell cheap toys, knockoff makeup, combs, ladles, scissors, pencils, baskets, utensils, and incense, among other things, all at cheap prices. The stuff comes in by tons every day. The place is spacious, but Mr. Long has cluttered it with furniture and shelves. He has also hung those red Chinese lamps and talismans from the ceiling. It makes the place look like a temple.

The atmosphere is usually very quiet when we open, then it gets a bit bustling in the evenings – when people are leaving school or work, and stopping to buy something on the way home. After those rush hours, everything is quiet again.

The customers are also easy-going, though they do regularly crowd together, pushing and grabbing things from each other. In short, it's relaxing to have found this job the way back a week ago.

A tug on the small sleeve of my shirt is enough to snap me out of my trance. Removing the headphones from my ears, I swing the broomstick to the side and turn around.

The fingers that have pulled at my shirt belong to a girl. Instead of talking, she always uses signs to communicate, and right now, she is pointing at a couple of small boxes sitting on the counter. Packages for our boss.

“Oh, yeah, I'll take it” I say as I walk to the counter.

Of course, I had also been able to meet Melpomene.

Mel is the girl who was already working here when I arrived, and she is the only one who has also been here the entire time I have been working.

She is very quiet, never initiates conversations, and is almost always lost in her own world, staring at her hands. But that doesn't mean she is mean, I understood that when I saw her answer all my questions. Also, at lunchtime she always sits in the same place as me to eat. She doesn't say anything, but I know it's because she wants to make it clear that she is not rude. Plus, I've gotten used to that silent ritual.

Mel has been working here for a few years now, and she goes to a nearby college. I don't know what she studies. At first I thought she might be Mr. Long's daughter, because she has eyes like him, so I asked her, but she said no, and told me everyone who has worked here has asked her that question. Mel is tall, taller than me, and very thin, a little bit than me. Her hair is blonde, but I think she dyes it, because sometimes the roots of her hair look black.

Working with her is soothing. She comes almost every day, and she is attentive to every customer that enters the store. Sometimes we talk a little, when I tell her something that made me laugh or surprised me about a customer.

I don't know when a month and a half has passed since I came here, but I am extremely happy. I haven't been in years. I can talk freely with everyone, and Mel laughs at the things I say to her. I also appreciate that she doesn't ask me about my life, or why I'm always taking pain pills. It's a bigger surprise to me that life is so pleasant sweeping the same place every day.

…

While I'm cleaning the windows of the entrance one day, I notice that Mr. Long is completely focused on the small television screen that mounts to the side of the cash register when it's his turn to operate it. He's a short man with a funny haircut, but he hardly looks it – his attitude is strong, he doesn't tolerate unnecessary things, and he won't hesitate to tell you if you've made a mistake. However, I can tell that he's not doing this to reprimand us, there's some affection there, like a father's. Or maybe I just tend to imagine things that don't make sense.

“…At the institution… Where she was attacked…” I hear Mr. Long turn up the volume on the television and I can't help but move a little closer to hear more, curious about what has him intrigued so much.

“…The suspect was fourteen years old… and during the interrogation he declared that he felt no remorse…”

He begins to theorize what could have happened, and I move closer, intending to read the headline. But Mr. Long decides to summarize it for me.

“Do you hear this? A girl… dead… killed by her neighbor”

His tone is somber, I can tell he's mulling it over, thinking of something that's tormenting him. But obviously I won't ask him. The news itself is scary - a fourteen- year-old boy. What drove him to do this? I don't know if there's any point in asking, maybe it's true what they say: some are born evil.

“It's horrible, sir”

“Yes, it is… It always is, but in this place… well…”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Saul, you have to be careful… This city is cursed”

The words take me by surprise. Not to mention the fact that he forgot my name. Looking at my boss, I tried to sense something, but he turned his head back to the screen and started flipping through the channels with the knob on the side. Curse? I’ve heard it before – adults mention it from time to time. It would be strange to never have heard that more murders are committed in this place than in the rest of the region.