When the teacher asked him to introduce himself before the group, he said: “I am Andrew and I come from the future”. The mockery did not wait, nor the torrent of nicknames that flooded over him. “Hey, galactic kid, where did you park your ship?” They asked. “I don’t need one,” he replied. “And… how are we doing in the future?,” they insisted. “You all are losers,” he replied. Every day afterschool, the mother of Andrew accompanied him to the grocery store but this time, prey to a migraine, she sent him alone with three dollars for a milk carton. The schoolmates, who continually harassed him, took advantage of his solitude to approach him. “Take this, boy of the future!” one shouted and hit him with a stone. The other five repeated until they saw Andrew fall and hit his skull on the sidewalk. The shadows of that joint crime pursued them that afternoon, and another, and many more … it changed their future.
Alejandra Meza Fourzán ©