Preface

There are more misnamed gentlemen

than flies,

of those who still rest their conscience

on the first ticket

they ill-earned

dyed red, dyed in blood and miseries.

and miseries.

For with time they well forget

what their poor ethics are,

for they never cared if they swindle, steal or kill.

if they swindle, steal or kill

for, as long as they are not caught,

they come to care rather nothing.

And it is that they are like apples

worms,

as for the hair

nits,

or that kind of black fungus

that eats flowers.

But they think they are elegant,

of course, the best,

believing they know everything.

It is normal that they do not want to see their misery,

they don't want to realize that they live

as in a room without windows

black, dark, without sky,

without sun, without heat or clouds.

Alone, eternally alone,

constantly angry children,

cowardly with themselves,

immature,

capricious and spoiled,

who do not even know how to govern themselves

only want to control the world.

Without regard for their own tears;

without regard for their own tears.

The waves broke with greater force, the gulf announced an imminent hurricane, from the beach the shooting was heard, the screams stunned, the wind blinded and the midday night arrived without warning. The smell of gunpowder exasperated the atmosphere, the tension was inevitable and the silence was a knife edge that killed without penetrating. 

She felt the waves wetting her feet, confused she walked through the wet sand, her small canvases dripping with salt water. She ran with her little legs without rest up the hill; she looked for her mother who was lying lifeless on the ground, her little siblings no longer felt breathing; a woman with white hair, brown skin and wide hips, took little Maria De La Cruz, held her in her lap and together they waited for the storm to pass, under a wasteland of sheet metal, it seemed that she would not resist, however, they managed to survive such a catastrophe. 

When the light showed the clarity of the scene, the horror had no mercy, the voluntary and involuntary deaths could not be distinguished, however the bullet wounds could be seen expectantly of a cursed crime that the police denied without compassion. There were no culprits because they wore elegant and perverse suits, immune to social justice, which only endorses a few; vengeance is the only justice in this story. 

Mexican life is guilty of an exuberant fauna, full of greenery and incredible beaches, which tempts all evil. Peace has tried to reign since the ancestors, but war was never avoidable in these lands of battles. Over the years, the opponents changed their clothes, their lexicon, but never changed their reasoning, there were always enemies that stain the soil with blood of both innocent and guilty. 

In a land of monsters, barbarism is the number one protagonist, savagery is part of the mafia landscape, and Maria De La Cruz, will be the lamb under the disguise of a hungry wolf. She will desire revenge like the desert desires water, she will desire justice, like a child desires its mother's breast, she will be on the line of good and evil at every moment. 

That Mexican, brunette, beautiful; she hides under the magnified glasses of vision, her tragic childhood full of horror, is hidden among her deepest memories. She becomes strong and immense and builds the solid path of good, she immerses herself among the unsuspecting children and victims of her beloved high school, her routine days fill her with security, her emotions are reinforced with psychiatric drugs, she tries to continue, to move forward, from that tragic mafia hurricane that ended all her innocent life.

Her beloved adoptive grandmother, took care of her for many years, in a humble abode, far from all evil, they were peaceful days, although she was not sure if she was happy or not, but at least the bullets did not manage to find her for many years, although in her mind they accompanied her day by day. At fifteen years old, the lady with wide hips became a stooped old woman and could no longer walk, she was too thin due to her illnesses that would have come all together that year, one morning, she said she did not feel well, she looked a little dull, she took a nap and never woke up again, she lived with the corpse for more than seven months, until social assistance found out about it. Maria De La Cruz was taken to an orphanage, went through several families, until she came to stay with the Smith family, humble middle class truck drivers. Then when she was finally free, she moved back to her old hometown, somehow wanting to feel like her original family. 

She rented a nice wooden house up in the hills, had some second hand furniture that she was able to restore to her taste, fixed some leaks that made her wet during the rainy season, put up a fence in her backyard garden and lived quietly. She worked to support herself, studied at the university, graduated and began to practice her profession with great joy; Maria did not understand the feeling of happiness, but at times she swam in it without knowing it, every time she was with her children the corners of her lips twisted into a beautiful smile. 

One particular morning, under a gloomy winter solstice, rainy, cold, with strong winds, she had a dark hunch, she felt that she should not go to the classroom that day, she felt the need to stay under the blanket of her warm blankets, but the responsibility was stronger. She woke up with an alert spirit, took half a cold shower as the thermos pipes would have broken down and the icy water caught her naked. Then her breakfast was damaged because the coffee heater decided that day did not work, the bad mood along with the bad feeling accompanied her those blocks walking to the bus, the waiting passengers coincided with their astonished looks towards a dark alley, suddenly the sound of a bullet stunned her, she was paralyzed in the middle of the road, the memory of that tragic day left her for a few minutes immobilized, but suddenly the brake of a car woke her up and ran towards her tragic destiny.