Italy—Back Alleys—Late Afternoon 4
The evening's coolness had gently settled over the cobblestone back alley in Italy. The shadows of the narrow, historic buildings stretched and shrank under the faint glow of street lamps. The air carried a faint dampness mixed with the scent of fresh bread, as if a nearby bakery had just baked its final loaves to bid farewell to the night. In my hand was the final copy of my thesis, and in my chest, a triumphant feeling that swept away years of exhaustion. Today, I was the happiest person in the world. Truly. I had finally submitted my university thesis. Years of sleepless nights, endless research, insufficient funds, tears, and moments of despair… all of it seemed to evaporate the moment my advisor stamped "Approved" on my thesis. It was as if a mountain I'd been carrying on my shoulders had quietly crumbled and been swept away by the wind.
What was my thesis about? A study on injecting bacteria into the human body to enhance regeneration. I had achieved incredible results with mice. My small, furry subjects showed astonishing recovery rates after injections—cuts, wounds, even internal organ damage healed at an unbelievable pace. Moving to human trials, however, was another matter entirely. Strict laws, ethical regulations, bureaucracy… all of them had slammed my dream against a wall. But even those obstacles couldn't dim my joy. My thesis was set to be published in one of the world's most prestigious scientific journals. Million-dollar offers were already pouring in. Big corporations, mysterious investors, even nameless "generous men"… they were all after my ideas. But I wasn't chasing money. I was chasing passion—the passion to push the boundaries of science and humanity.
My home was in one of Italy's quaint, boutique apartments. Its exterior was clad in yellowish stone, with narrow windows adorned with wooden shutters. It had once been renovated for a TV show, blending old-world charm with modern flair. I had chosen this city, this university, because of a disabled family member. The school had offered me incredible opportunities during my master's program. That's why I picked it over universities ranked in the global top ten. I had struck a solid deal—financial support and research facilities. I had no complaints.
The street, as always, was narrow and slightly sloped. The cobblestones, worn by centuries of footsteps, were mossy in places. Normally, this path was my haven of peace. I had walked these same stones for years without ever encountering a thief or trouble. But tonight, something felt off. The street lamps' light seemed dimmer than usual, the shadows sharper. A light breeze sent a scrap of newspaper skittering down the street. Maybe it was just the post-thesis adrenaline, but deep in my gut, a small unease stirred.
I ignored it. I dropped the tin box from my pocket and gave it a light kick. The metallic clink as it bounced on the stones accompanied the song I was humming. It was an old Italian folk tune, something my mother used to hum when I was a child. I didn't know all the words, but the melody always sank into my soul. A kick, a hum, a step… My home was just a few hundred meters away. But then, I caught a movement in the shadows.
A hand, darting out as if from the darkness itself, grabbed my bag with full force. The leather bag in my hand held years of work—original notes for my thesis, sensitive experimental data not found in copies, handwritten formulas, and pages filled with failures. It felt like someone was trying to rip my heart from my chest. Instinctively, I gripped the bag tightly, my fingers digging into the leather strap, pulling back with all my strength. The bag became a battlefield in the middle of the street as I tugged against the shadowy figure. For a moment, I caught their hand: thin, pale, almost delicate. Their fingers trembled slightly, betraying fear or haste. That tremble gave away their weakness.
My mind, seized the opportunity. I raised my knee and delivered a hard kick. The frail, cloaked figure stumbled, lurching forward a few steps onto the wet cobblestones. But they didn't give up. Like a desperate animal, their eyes glinted with wild determination as they lunged at me again. As we wrestled over the bag, files spilled open, papers scattering everywhere. The pages of my thesis, meticulously handwritten by a calligrapher, fell onto the filthy stones, mingling with the stench of air-conditioned runoff and garbage. Rage surged through me; my blood boiled. My vision blurred with fury, and I clenched my fist, ready to strike. But then, my body… collapsed.
It was as if an invisible hand pulled me to the ground. My legs trembled, then gave out. I sank to my knees, my breath catching. Looking down, I saw it: a knife in my stomach. Blood, warm and sticky, seeped into my shirt. The figure, hands trembling with fear, dropped the knife. Their eyes, gleaming with terror even in the shadow of their hood, met mine for a moment before they vanished into the darkness of the alley.
My vision darkened. The world retreated behind a veil of fog. A bone-chilling cold enveloped me. The blood pouring from my stomach mixed with the burning acid rising in my throat, but strangely, I could barely feel it. All I felt was that unbearable cold. I was freezing… With trembling hands, I collapsed onto the ground, the scattered papers crumpling beneath me.
My mind began replaying my life like a film reel. Sleepless nights, hours spent in the lab, moments when I hunched over my desk while my friends went out to have fun… Were those my choices, or a life imposed by family, society, expectations? I didn't know. I'd never be sure. But one truth stood out: I had loved this work. In the lab, lost among test tubes and papers, that fire of discovery had burned in me, as if it validated my very soul.
Did I have regrets? Of course. I never confessed my feelings to the girl I loved, despite her shy smile and our brief chats at the coffee shop. I never made it to that new patisserie with its colorful macarons glowing in the window. I always said "one day" about buying my dream car—that sleek, red sports car. And my greatest regret… my father—
My eyes closed. My thoughts flickered like a candle flame, then went out. My time was up.