ith small golden inscriptions covering them. Sara tried to read what they said, b

normous numbers in the middle and her name, Sara Almeida, in shining golde

, letters formed words, sentences, and merged until, as if by mag

one. Her miniature version admired the immaculately white uniform - a work uniform f

ch second of the call. Worried, young Sara walked up to her mother, who repelled her without

e call minutes later and called for her daughter. Her younger version swallowed her tears and went to her mother, hoping for a hug, a s

ion, the observing Sara continued walking, seeing other sad,

nd. They smiled, the sun illuminating their faces, their bodies drawing closer. She could

. Eager hands, clothes being thrown aside, an afternoon of

her reproved her, saying she was weak, e

ngth due to the enormous size of the cover and the pages. On the first page, instead of being golden, the letters were gray, fixed, but even so, Sara couldn't read them. She turned more and more pages,

ike sixteen, the ones after it were the same. Gray letters that disappeared when she tried to read them. She noticed tha

words vanished as she looked at them, she was startled when the ligh

there are only words

Unlike the other volumes, this one had red numbering, and the surname was erased. She couldn't see the woman's face, both due to the distance

. I waste my time watching the days go by, feeling insignifican

he ground, her hands on her face

gs heavy and her feet rooted to the ground. She opened her mouth, wanting to cons

green circles, focused on Sara, her fa

past few years and wipe y

rce, violently pounding her head. Her vision darkened, and everything around her disappeared, y

*

of her hair to her eyebrows. She forced her eyelids to open. A crack was enough to make her groan, the l

hing heavily like lead, Sara persisted and, blinking to adapt to the brigh

onnected to wires, needles, gauze, and so much apparatus that sh

her voice coming out shrill,

as did the pains all over her body. She couldn