The feeling of being free is something that is very difficult for me to describe.
I made mistakes, unforgivable sins that I doubt can be forgiven in this life, either by society or by myself. I am the one with blood on my hands.
A couple of hours ago, I was an inmate at the "Alta Esperanza" correctional facility, one of the most controversial juvenile prisons in the city because of the horrific things that happened there.
When I was captured, I was sentenced to five years in juvenile detention and ten years in prison for serious crimes such as contract killing.
I remember thinking I was powerful, untouchable, because I was willing to do things that few dared to do, such as taking a life.
But all my bravado was taken away from me on the first day. I realized something very important: that it is very easy to be brave when you are holding a gun. I knew how pathetic I was when I was beaten up by a group of inmates, shattering my facade of bravery. Despite being a correctional facility for juvenile offenders, the guards did nothing to stop the beating.
Then I understood. I was in that place to pay for my crimes, and the beating was only the beginning. The second thing was the worst, an act that shattered my pride, my dignity, and my virtue.
Not even my own dreams were an escape from the hell I was living, as many ghosts appeared, looking at me, judging me, saying they would witness my suffering, and if I dared to leave soon, they would drag me to hell to punish me for all eternity.
All of this caused me to fear death, so I became obedient, and being obedient prevents beatings and pain.
I lived that way for a year until the day things changed with the arrival of a new warden.
Roberto Martines Martines, God bless that good man who, in a matter of months, brought order to the correctional facility, implementing various workshops, such as art, baking, and martial arts. But my favorite was the large library where you could stay as long as you wanted on the condition that you write an essay about everything you had read.
It was thanks to books that I found hope, my refuge, my escape, and above all, they gave me the courage to cope with things in a better way.
I enrolled in the martial arts workshop where I learned to strengthen my spirit. During that period, I learned many things, such as respect for authority and for
life, and for the first time I felt guilt and regret, and I believed that it was right to be in that place, and I would accept the punishment as I should.
Years passed, and one day I was suddenly called to see the warden, which was not unusual since I had distinguished myself in the library with my increasingly elaborate essays. I was invited to have a pleasant chat with him, and the man helped me get on track, feeding my passion for reading by making me president of the reading club. I helped other inmates find the pleasure of reading.
My favorite genres were fantasy, especially Japanese fantasy with its light novels.
I fantasized about being that character who was blessed to be reincarnated in another world and have the great opportunity to start over, like a blank slate.
When we arrived at Roberto's office, we began our respective conversations, and then suddenly dropped a bombshell.
Due to your good behavior, I believe you are ready to rejoin society.
That night I couldn't sleep. The news was a big surprise, and for the first time I didn't feel happy. I was overwhelmed with questions like: Do I deserve to be free? What will I do when I'm free? Many of those questions hit me, making me uneasy.
"Don't disappoint me," were the last words Roberto said to me before they gave me the documents and let me go.
Now I was out of prison and had two paths to take. I was internally debating which way to go. Until a red car stopped next to me and rolled down the window.
A woman with a gun in her hand was pointing it at me.
This is for my bastard father, and she pulled the trigger.
The first shot was painful, as were the second, third, and fourth.
I remember the whole thing in slow motion, that time when I was in that state. It was at a fair, where a father was walking with his little daughter. That man was my first murder victim. As soon as he saw me pull out my gun, he covered his little girl with his body.
I was nervous that time; it was the first life I had taken. I remember emptying all my ammunition into that man's body. I saw chaos unfolding around me, the screams, the fear, everything happening in slow motion, just like when I was bleeding out on the dance floor.
I was really very naive. How could someone like me ever have the chance to start over? My sins are so great that a simple apology would not be enough to make amends. As I lay dying, I couldn't help but laugh at the cruel joke of the universe. For a moment, he believed that someone like him would have the chance to start over.
Everything went dark, and when I opened my eyes again, the bright light made me squint in discomfort.
Once my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw a red-haired woman looking at me.
She looked very young. Her face was covered in freckles and her skin was rough from sunburn, but she still smiled at me with a deep, almost painful affection.
Who is she? I wondered, feeling uncomfortable.
Her gaze... that gaze made me want to cry terribly, as if my heart recognized her before my mind did.
Next to her was a man who looked like her, although with noticeable differences: his hair was black and—
Are those cat ears?
I thought, surprised, as I watched fluffy feline ears move rhythmically on his head. He looked immensely happy.
"She has your eyes," said the man, hugging the red-haired woman.
"And your soft ears," she replied, smiling in my direction.
I didn't understand anything that was happening.
The last thing I remembered was being shot to death.
Wait... am I not supposed to be dead? Why am I still conscious?
I tried to stand up, but I couldn't move my body. I wanted to ask what was happening, but only unintelligible sounds came out of my mouth, mere babbling.
The woman reached out her arms to me and carried me with ease, leaving me completely stunned. I wasn't made of feathers, yet she held me without any effort. She was too strong... or something very strange was happening.
I should have realized the truth from the beginning, but my logical mind refused to even consider it. It was an absurd, impossible idea. Something that only existed in fiction.
Until I saw my reflection in the large mirror in the room.
Then it all clicked into place.
I had been reincarnated in another world.
The idea of a Latin American being reincarnated seemed so absurd to me that I couldn't help but laugh. But as the seconds passed, the laughter broke and I began to cry... with all my might.
I had done it.
I finally had the chance to start over.
I felt immensely happy.
My crying, it seems, frightened my parents, who did everything they could to calm me down. However, as time passed, my mother also began to cry, worried that something might be wrong with me.
My father, desperate, ran off to find the village doctor.
And that's how my life in another world began.