The weight of my decision still crushed me... before chaos reminded me of the new world.
Upon entering the alley I was greeted with a metallic crash.
From a rusted dumpster, a man emerged like a broken shadow, falling to the ground with a dull thud.
His face was covered in dirt, bruises, and deep dark circles. Bulging eyes, sunken. And his skin looked like paper stained with ash.
I took a step back.
Was he dead?
What if he wasn't just a vagrant...? What if he was one of them?
—Excuse me... —I murmured passing by him.
Like a restless baby, he changed position, and as if air gained form on his lips, a word formed.
—Daughter... —he muttered almost in tears.
Those words awakened something in me, I approached, cautiously. I didn't want to repeat the same mistake, the mistake of abandoning myself.
I touched his arm in a light attempt to know his condition.
—Are you okay... sir?
A metallic light shone. A blade crossed the air. A cold burning scratched my cheekbone.
I backed away with a jump, falling to the ground, covering my wound.
The man began to laugh from the ground. Hoarse laughter, as if it hurt him to breathe. Then, with trembling movements, he stood up. His gaze shone with a crazed red. But more than madness, I saw something broken.
—You have a pretty face, kid. —he said with a rhythm as slow as it was broken. —Just give me what you have... and go.
—W-what I have... —I said, still feeling the cold of the cut.
—Yes, quickly.
I put my hands in my pockets with clumsy fingers. I only carried two things: my cell phone... and the drawing.
—H-here. —I replied, offering him my cell phone.
—What's this? A fossil? —he grumbled, though he kept it. —What do you have in the other pocket? That bulge doesn't look empty...
I swallowed.
—It's just a paper... I don't think it's worth anything.
He let out a nasal laugh.
—You don't decide that. Take it out.
Slowly and with doubt, I took out the small folded sheet, and with a trembling hand, gave it to him.
He snatched it from my hands, unfolding it carefully. And with eyes even wider open, he looked at it for several seconds, in silence.
—Well. How sweet. —he murmured—. Did your sister make it?
I nodded, unable to speak.
—Did you go out looking for her? You know something... you and I are similar. —he revealed, placing his hand on my shoulder.
—What do you mean?
—...So you haven't understood it. —His voice changed. Lower. Deeper—. I'm going to save you time.
Without warning, he crumpled the drawing into a ball of paper, throwing it to the ground like trash.
—Discard that raw hope and fall back into reality. —his gaze sharpened. —So crush it.
—What...? But.
—I said crush it. Believe me, it will do you good. Although you may not believe it... I'm being kind.
The knife moved again. Just a gesture.
With my chest tight, I lowered my gaze to the paper.
"Discard that raw hope and fall back into reality." I heard those words repeating in my mind.
With a slow and tense movement, I raised my leg, and began to lower it. I felt how the drawing crunched under my sole. As if breaking something more than paper.
That man's gaze softened. And a disgusting sensation boarded my thoughts.
—Look, kid... I know you feel bad. —
"Shut up, damn it!"
—If you went out looking for her and didn't find her, that girl is already dead. —
"Shut your mouth, idiot!"
—These are the new rules. Here, everything that is loved... is lost. —
"I want to leave you without a face!", I screamed inside, clenching my fist
But with a sad gesture, not mocking, he gave me a pat on the shoulder. It was almost... paternal.
—I tell you this because I was you too. And I don't want you to end up being me. There are things that are better to let go... even if it hurts more than dying.
And with those words he left.
I stood still. With the paper under my foot.
"He wasn't me... I can save her"
I bent down. Picking up the drawing.
It was dirty. Crushed. And it had a red stain in one corner: my blood.
I spread it out carefully. I could barely distinguish the stroke.
—No... —I muttered. —She's not dead.
I looked at the gray horizon. And as if challenging it, I said:
—If this world wants me to forget her... it will have to kill me first.
With those words I continued my way. My steps were shaky, but my destination was clear: Lee.
As I crossed the end of the walls and left the alley, an intense light hit me head-on, as if a lamp was pointing directly at my eyes. The brightness of the hospital greeted me like a long-awaited finish line.
A smile, barely a scribble on my face, sustained me. I was determined. I was going to enter. I was going to see him.
But upon opening the door, the sweet fantasy I had nurtured vanished. And in its place, a rotten stench embraced me, as thick as the word that names it: putrefaction.
The smell wasn't the only thing that hit me.
I had barely taken a step inside when a figure rose before me. A nurse, or what was left of her. Her uniform, once white, was tinged with red at the edges, as if the fabric kept the memory. She had a tired, absent look, but not empty. She observed me for a moment.
—Are you the young man with pink hair? —she asked, looking at me with a mixture of exhaustion and pity.
—Yes, I'm here to see Lee Spencer.
Without another word, she turned on her heels. I understood that I should follow her.
My feet moved by inertia, but my eyes... they trembled.
With each step, the hospital revealed its nightmare face. Improvised stretchers occupied the hallways, some covered with sheets that hid more than they showed. Others exhibited bandaged bodies, soaked in still wet blood, which slid down the edges like tears of living flesh.
The screams were constant, like the echo of an endless war. Someone begged for morphine. Another cried the name of a mother who no longer responded. A child moaned with his face covered by a dirty rag. And all that, all that hell, occurred under flickering lights that seemed to mock any hope.
The nurse said nothing. She just walked, with an almost unnatural serenity, as if she had become part of the place.
I followed her. Clenching my fists. Breathing through my mouth. Trying not to look too much. Failing.
The nurse stopped in front of a half-open door. Her hand trembled for a moment before pushing it. Then she turned to me. Her face was stained with sweat and dried blood, but her voice came out clear, though tinged with something I couldn't decipher.
—I don't know whether to be happy that you arrived in time.
Her phrase hung in the air, like a sentence without a verdict. I didn't ask anything. I couldn't. My feet crossed the threshold. The air, denser in there, told me everything I needed to know.