The nurse examihe scar on the right eyebrow; the eye was starting to swell. She khat even if Charles caused a sdal, they had to take the boy to the hospital, risking him losing ahe blow was extremely hard.

  "Kid, who hit you like this?" Nurse Rose asked.

  "Everyoes me, eachers, correal facility members—they bme me for things I didn't do, for things I did, and, on top of that, they py nasty pranks on me," said Billy.

  "e on, I'll call the hospital for a check-up. They'll have to stitch up that eyebrow," said the nurse.

  "Thanks, teacher. Is there anything for the pain? I feel like I'm falling apart," said Billy.

  "Nothing. Let's hope the hospital give you a more essential diagnosis. I only handle some falls, scrapes, headaches, presses, but I 't perform a healing process," said Rose.

  " you call my mom? I o talk to her," requested Billy.

  "I 't do that, kid. But I'll send a report; the secretary will take care of givihe news," said Nurse Rose.

  "Doctor, please, tell her it's the sed time they've seo the hospital. The superinte wants to bme me aend my time in prison. Tell her the institution's superinte is corrupt. I just wao know. Rest assured they'll bme me for this fight," said Billy.

  The surprise came when Riself took Billy to the hospital. That day, he missed the music css in a regrettable attempt. The white walls, the bruises on his ribs, the bumps on his feet, the cut on his eyebrow, the swollen nose, and the hospital report once again gave him a bed; for a day, he slept in the hospital like never before.

  "Kid, it's time to wake up," said Walter, waking him up.

  "You have to go back," tinued Walter, this time much gehings were getting out of trol, and there was a strong reprimand from the head of guards, James Johnsarding the report Spencer made upon learning of Billy's situation and the fact that he was accused of hitting Pablo. Spencer, a strict follower of rules, followed the protocols: three notes, oo the superinte, oo coordination, and ao the head of guards. He even waited for the coordinator to s the dot and send it to the tral by ser.

  "Yes, sir, but they'll give me antibiotics. I have a cra my left rib," said Billy, in pain. The sorry state of the child marked a sense of guilt for how the situation was being handled.

  Rose never called the mother, and Agustina didn't find out that her son was again in the hospital until two days ter in a note sent by the hospital itself, about the boy's admission.

  "Well," said Walter, going down to ask about the boy's dition. Billy felt like ughing at Walter's face, a middle-css man just following orders, unfortunately in the hands of corrupt people.

  He walked to the third floor; there was old Joseph, reading the m neer.

  "Old man," said Billy. A woman was o him.

  "Billy, kid, stop getting into fights. Now it's the eye," said Joseph, more cheerful than reproachful, with a much more friendly attitude than punishing.

  "Well, I have a problem with the Ala gang and the Bck gang. Everyone wants to end this face. It came cheap," said Billy.

  "This is my daughter. She's e to visit me—quite a surprise. I thought they'd pick me up in a box. The st time they visited was for a heart attack," said Joseph, totally offehrowing daggers at his daughter, who only had a serious look.

  "Well, old man, I'd tell you to go to hell, but how I refuse when you're my patron?" said Billy, invading Joseph's room. Now, another old man was in the bed in front of them; he was asleep.

  "Did you record the demo?" asked Joseph.

  "We did it two weeks ago; it's incredible. I even had time to record a song. This time I tried to rhyme a bit more with rap, fast rock to focus on different styles, but I have a feeling I'll do another rock song sooner or ter," said Billy.

  "Fantastic. More formally, my daughter Edith and my old roommate. This kid promised to sing at my funeral," said Joseph, with his characteristic dark humor.

  "Dad!" excimed Edith.

  “It's natural, dear, even if it's ter, it'll be more valuable. If I die, let it be with the chorus of the Elvis Presley, sweetheart," said Joseph, raising his eyebrow and looking at Billy. It was known that the promise was a binding pact between two men, a repayment. It was sealed in something more than paper, in blood.

  "I'll do it. I'll sing the songs we agreed on and some of my own, even if I have to turn down the president, I won't miss this itment," said Billy.

  "See, there's o worry. I already have everything prepared. Give the kid one of those roast beef sandwiches yht me," said Joseph.

  Edith could only roll her eyes, but she handed Billy a rge sandwich with roast beef, BBQ sauce, lettuce, tomato, aed cheese. Old Joseph, just by looking at it, almost vomited. His appetite had ged after chemotherapy, and he could only i boiled chi without sauce or white rice with a few seasonings, fruit, and water. Meat caused him severe stomach pain that made him vomit.

  "It's delicious, old man," said Billy, sav every bite of the sandwich.

  "Ha, that garbage. The only seasoned food I eat is your mom's, blessed woman who cooks like the gods," said Joseph.

  "You're right. Mom is the best cook there is," said Billy, looking down. He was thinking about his mother. At first, he didn't know how to treat her, but now she was his only strength. He cradled all his sorrows in her warmth and love. For Billy, who had lost that sense of affe, sotten by many people, his mother's warmth and love were like heaven oh.

  Walter appeared in the hallway, with renewed a losing Billy and walking through the entire hospital. "Kid, you'll have X-rays in an hrabbing Billy by the arm.

  "I have to go," said Billy, walking with the strong grip that held him. He didn't have time to say goodbye to the old man or his daughter. Walter pushed him onto his bed and threatehat he shouldn't leave the room under any circumstances.

  "I uand," said Billy.

  "Well, I'll tell you again, punk, you're a criminal, and you're treated as such," said Walter, sitting in a chair with a magazine in his hand, ign Billy's rebellious eyes that followed him. A superstar doesn't care about others' opinions, Billy thought.

  "Sing," Billy heard in his ears. "Sing... let it out. Sing."

  …

  I wake up to the sounds of the silehat allowsFor my mind to run around, with my ear up to the groundI'm searg to behold the stories that are toldWhen my back is to the world that was smiling when I turned

  Tell you: You're the greatestBut once you turn, they hate us.

  Billy's singing hit Walter like a punch, leaving him dumbfounded with the magaziill in his hands. There was a slight involuntary movement that almost made him fall off the chair. Billy heard the backgrou, imagining if or could handle a drum set of that style. The chorus and adjustments were in his head as if it were a cert.

  Oh, the miseryEverybody wants to be my enemySpare the sympathyEverybody wants to be my enemy-y-y-y-y(Look out for yourself)My enemy-y-y-y-y(Look out for yourself)But I'm ready

  Your words up on the wall as you prayed for my fallAnd the ughter in thе hallsAnd the hat I've been calledI stack it in my mind and I'm waiting for the timeWhen I show you what it's like to be words spit in a mic.

  Billy closed his eyes, allowing the music to resoh his soul. The spitting, the jokes, the reproaches, the blows—he felt on the verge of exploding. He wao hate everyone, recalling the interrogation that aimed to sink him, bme him, and his teacher spewing insults into his ears, making him feel ie. Like a fool, uo decide his fate, drowned and trapped in darkness.

  He opened his eyes, and for some reason, Walter saw them as red, as if he were a demon. Billy found in Walter a vas to express his demons, and he directed his singing at the security guard just a few meters away, so fidently, hating him with all his heart. Billy didn't know when, but the color of his voice began to rise in octaves with each phrase uttered.

  By the end of the "mic," his voice was so loud that even the rooms door could hear it.

  But suddenly, he stopped, softer, fresher, and started rapping, with the same strength he had when rec the demo. Even the nurse heard the rap from the young man who kept staring at Walter, with sparkling red eyes. The power to vey emotions through his songs was no joke. Billy didn't know, and no one did, but he had already transported four people to his ethereal world with his rebellious and serene songs.

  Walter watched as the small room became darker, and Billy's red eyes shone more brightly. For the devout Walter, he saw the demon ing to punish him.

  Uh, look, okayI'm hoping that somebody prays for meI'm praying that somebody hopes for meI'm staying where nobody 'posed to beP-p-posted, being a wreotionsReady to go whenever just let me knowThe road is long so put the pedal on the floorThe enemy's on my trail, and my energy is unavaibleI'ma tell 'em:They lot my trot to the topI've been outta shape, thinking out of the box I'm an astronautI bsted off the p rock to cause catastropheAnd it matters more because I had it notHad I thought about wreaking havo an oppositionKinda sho' they wanted a static with precision I'm an automatic quarterbackI ain't talking sag, pack it, pack it up, I don't panicBatter, batter up, who is the worst?It doesn't matter 'cause we at the ya throat

  Billy took a breath and ignored Walter's panic. That sigh allowed Walter to breathe, something he had been holding for a minute since Billy opened his eyes, leaving his hands in awe, feeling even his peculiar blood.

  Like a puppet held by strings, Billy moved his body and opened his eyes again. This time, they were a bright, strong, and ominous yellow. The way he looked at Walter left him crushed in a haunting silence.

  Only to be resumed by the chorus, with power in his uhy lungs.

  Everybody wants to be my enemySpare the sympathyEverybody wants to be my enemyOh, the miseryEverybody wants to be my enemySpare the sympathyEverybody wants to be my enemy

  …

  The room fell silent. For others, it was just a good song, but for Walter, it was like an explosion of feelings that he had missed. In five seds, he recalled the st five years of his life when Billy stopped seeing him. Reality hit him like a falling rocket, exploding.

  "What do you say, a good song?" Billy asked Walter with a smile—the devil's smile, thought Walter—as he nodded, eager to leave the room immediately.

  ...