Know what? I hate this! I always have something really important/interesting to say, and then I log-on and ZIP!! It's gone. *sigh* Oh, well. Here we go...

****

Mexico City, "el metro." The girl was seventeen years old. Her name was Lupita. She was not from this huge metropolis, but she had relatives there and she was visiting them. Her aunt accompanied her. This was not the first time she had come to "el D.F." so she knew the rules that applied here, especially here on the metro.

Don't talk to strangers. Don't LOOK at strangers. Don't talk, try not to move. No jewlery, no valuables, no purses, no wallets. If you MUST carry money, hide it in your clothes: in socks, underwear, bras, whatever's not visible. Don't draw attention to yourself, and keep to yourself. No matter what you see here, don't even comment. So what if the guy beside you is raping a woman? He's not raping YOU, is he? Mind your own business.

A man gets on. He is young, maybe two years older than she is. He wears a closed trenchcoat and a closed face. His eyes are expressionless, lifeless. Lupita shivers, but says nothing and looks at her feet.

Glancing over, she notices how he holds his right hand close to his torso. Then she realizes it - he's cradling his left hand, which he has tucked securily inside his coat against his chest. He's bleeding. Badly. She tries not to stare at the scarlet stain as is spreads rapidly down his right side. Dios, now his whole right side is covered in blood! Down to his leg, even! But though he sits close by her, Lupita says nothing, and never offers her help. But so much blood! Oh, God... Hasn't her aunt noticed?

The metro bounces along turbulantly. A sharp turn, and the young man's coat opens a little. Opens enough.

Ay, Dios mio!! Es una mano! It's a hand! A woman's hand!! Severed mid-way between the forearm, bloody yet beautifully bedecked with rings and bracelettes. Elegant jewels, the man clasps the dismembered hand tightly in his. My God, my God... Lupita grows pale, and can't stifle a horrified gasp in time.

The young man looks at her, and Lupita feels upon her the stare of Death. Me muero, me muero, yo SE que me muero... But he closes his coat again, and at the next stop he's gone, not once looking over his shoulder. He is a being with no remorse, no soul. He fears nothing, not even Death, and so he prowls the streets in search of prey.

That night, Lupita ages at least another twenty years.

****

The above story is true. Lupita is now married, and has a son who's about to graduate. She is an out-going woman, funny and optimistic. A happy go-lucky person full of life. Still, I swear I see some of that life die every time she tells her tale.