![[in]genios](http://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/51c861c1e4b0fb70e38c0a8a/48d2f465-eaf4-4dbc-a7ce-9e75312d5b47/logo+final+%28blanco+y+rojo%29+crop.png?format=1500w)
Veronique I. Rosado Abreu
Departamento de Estudios Interdisciplinarios
Facultad de Ciencias Naturales, UPR RP
Recibido: 02/09/2025; Revisado: 02/12/2025; Aceptado: 4/12/2025
During a quiet afternoon at the beginning of August, Rose went to her neighborhood Walgreens in pursuit of two specific items: hand sanitizer and a box of bleach. This was the first of several errands she needed to complete to prepare for the start of her college career in the coming weeks.
As the web of emotions related to her new life slowly tightened around her, she tried to stay focused on simple tasks like this one. As her mother always said, “The grave swallows all deeds undone.”
Leaving Arizona felt like stepping off a ledge into the unknown. Could she navigate this next version of herself? Could she survive the world outside the bubble of home? Her legs felt unsteady, as though each step might tip her into something irrevocable.
The automatic doors slid open, letting in a rush of cold air that carried the sharp tang of floor cleaner, faint floral detergent, and the underlying sourness of cheap air fresheners. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off the vinyl tiles scuffed and sticky in spots where candy or gum had been crushed. The faint crackle of the overhead speakers leaked generic pop hits; half-forgotten lyrics floating above the soft hum of refrigeration units. A woman loaded a cart with diapers, a mother crouched over a rack of nail polishes with two fidgeting daughters, and a tall man in a black suit gave Rose a polite, fleeting smile — one she quickly ignored.
Rose moved past shelves lined with travel-sized toiletries, sticky floors, and fading price tags brushing against her awareness, grounding her in the small, banal details of everyday life. A boy knelt in the toy aisle, clutching a blue Hot Wheels car. His mother insisted he’d had enough, but he refused to release it, gripping it like a lifeline. Rose lingered. There was something achingly familiar in his desperation: the human desire to control even one small, bright corner of the world.
She ducked into the travel-size section, scanning for her favorite sanitizer. An older woman argued into a speakerphone, voice rising, each word laced with frustration. Rose’s fingers grazed the bottles, holding on to something ordinary.
Suddenly, the sound of three sharp, violent gunshots.
The store convulsed with sound. Phones clattered to the floor. Shrieks tore through the aisles. The older woman collapsed to her knees, whispering prayers. Rose crouched beside her, heart hammering, pulse ricocheting in her ears.
“Nobody move! This is an armed robbery!” The man in the black suit stood atop the counter, gun in hand, eyes cold, pacing the register like a predator inspecting prey. Rose’s gaze darted to every face she had passed — the mother, the daughters, the boy — and felt their frozen terror pierce her own chest. Dust shook loose from the ceiling, mingling with the metallic scent of gunpowder.
“Are you alright?” the older woman asked, voice trembling.
“I… I think so. You?” Rose hugged her knees tightly.
“I’m shaken… but it’ll be over soon, I guess,” the woman muttered.
The man leapt down, bag in one hand, gun in the other. For a heartbeat, it seemed over. Then two shots cracked into the ceiling, rattling tiles and sending a shiver down every spine. Screams and sobs punctuated the air. Rose felt the recoil in her bones, even from across the aisle.
And then: absurdly, the sugary jingle returned. Generic pop filled the store like nothing had happened. The dissonance twisted Rose’s stomach, a cruel reminder of life’s indifference. Phones trembled in hands, the old woman’s attempts to call again producing nothing but static.
Rose slowly stood, legs unsteady. She passed the boy, now sobbing into his mother’s arms, still clutching the Hot Wheels car like a talisman. His mother made no attempt to pry it from him.
At the hair dye section, Rose paused. Reds, browns, blondes — everything looked surreal under the fluorescent lights after the chaos. Then a soft pastel pink caught her eye: Bubblegum Blast.
Her fingers traced the packaging, grounding herself. She dialed.
“Hi, Mom,” she said. “I changed my mind. I’m gonna go pink.”
Her voice trembled, but the words felt like reclaiming a piece of herself.
She placed the bleach and the dye deep in her tote bag and walked toward the exit. The register was empty now, though the cashier sat nearby wrapped in a blanket while a coworker tried to comfort her.
The sliding doors opened with a soft hum.
As Rose stepped outside into the thick August heat, she felt the sun warm her face — something she noticed for the first time that day.
Esta obra está bajo una licencia de Creative Commons Reconocimiento-NoComercial 4.0 Internacional.