Mirror Shards

Chapter 2| First part

Henry Rose- Jekyll's journal entry.

July 28, 1874. I have been living in London for 3 years now... A modest life with no frills like I used to have. At least, my father is keeping the promise he made me and continues to send me enough money to continue my studies, but... For a boy like me, without family, without roots, without a big name of renown; Life has been harder than I have ever imagined

I could feel it from the moment I get off the boat and touch the mainland: "Things were going to be very different here." It was the first thing I had thought about, so, with the few coins I had on hand I managed to pay for a small room to spend the night with 10 other people; everything was dark, damp and dirty, with a strong smell of putrefaction in the air.

The people around me looked at me strangely, with intrigue, but not with fear as they used to do in my homeland ... With that I came to the conclusion that perhaps in London, a city much larger than Épernay, there were many more things to fear than a simple boy with a strange eye's color. That relieved me for a moment, but not enough to make me fall asleep that night (a regular thing in my life, to be honest).

So, I had decided to unpack some of my things, candle in hand I opened my suitcase trying to make as little noise as possible. I reviewed for a moment the things I had brought with me, while searching I found inside my vest, kept with the utmost care, was a small box that I was sure I had not packed.

My surprise was great when I opened it and inside there was a monocle that had been painted in a beautiful shade of blue. It was tailor-made for me, but no matter how much I searched the entire suitcase, I couldn't find any letter or envelope that explained the existence of said object.

Even so, I put it on my right eye and, since my eyesight improved considerably, I decided to keep it.

(As I write this, several years after I found it, I'm still using it. I don't know where it came from or who it really was for, but... Part of me wants to believe that maybe this was a last birthday present.)

Anyways, I sat in that little room for a while, it was located around Bethnal Green; a neighbourhood with few resources, but cheap rent.

I must admit that the two years and six months I spent there were not easy, life had become a game where the ultimate goal was to survive one more day.

In that crowded neighbourhood I created my daily routine: Going to school in the morning, stopping by the nearby bookstore to take some notes (Mr. Fernsby was very nice for always allowing me to read the books without paying for them), running errands for coins, taking care of myself from the thieves around, and to end the day, try to get some food.

However, even with all these difficulties, those were not the reasons why I moved to where I am currently living.

No, the worst came after 30 months living there ... When I saw my dream collapse before my eyes.

Near the place where I slept there was a ceramic objects factory, where I always saw people come and go at all hours, however, as my days were short, full of activities... I had never stopped to observe it closely.

Until the day his own little revolution broke out and a crowd was outside the bars of the place, with posters in their arms, shouting, demanding for better wages; their bosses just looking furious from inside the facilities, without moving a single pinkie.

With that scandal, it was obvious that the police did not take so long to appear, blowing their whistles, waving their truncheons, trying to disperse all the people gathered.

I swore that I wanted to get out of there, but the surprise of the event forced me to stay a little longer, a decision that I quickly regretted, since in the blink of an eye, chaos unleashed in that small stretch of the city.

Both sides wanted to win to take control of the situation, and they were willing to do everything possible to achieve it... Screaming, hitting, pushing and arresting took place all over the street. People who were not involved quickly left the scene, many others closed the doors and windows of their homes, taking refuge inside them.

It was at that moment that I came to my senses, so I quickly turned to run back to my little room, but just on the way back a man bumped into me; he had an open wound on his head that was bleeding deeply and when we collided some of that blood fell on my dirty clothes, my curly hair... And my hands.

I swore to God that I already knew the smell that that red liquid produced, the image with which it appeared ... From the one that sprouts from the fish in the market when they are beheaded to the one that runs off the kitchen knife.

But I think, I don't remember it well, that that was the first time I touched it, human blood ... And the moment I felt it in my hands, hot and sticky ... Something flooded my mind: Fear! The purest fear anyone could feel!

My heart beat faster than ever and I felt my vision blur around me, all I focused on was that red spot on my hand; I couldn't stop looking at it! And I didn't know why! It was as if my brain wanted to remember something I had decided to forget. I wanted to look away, run away from there, but my legs weren't responding, none of my limbs did!

I felt the tears run down my eyes; I felt the world spinning non-stop around me. It was only the blow of another passer-by that brought me out of that trance, and even with that I couldn't help but vomit in the street at that moment.

That afternoon I ran back to the room I called "home" and, after desperately washing my hands; I threw away that shirt that still contained the drops of that man's blood. I tried to go to bed early that night, however, what happened was that I stayed up until dawn, feeling... Desperate, just thinking... "Was my life going to be like this forever? What kind of a surgeon would he be if he couldn't bear to see a little blood?! Who can I ask for help?" Those and more questions haunted my head on one of the worst nights of my life, and when I finally got out of bed the day only got worse, because the rebellion, the screams, the blows! They continued in place, that day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next!

I couldn't bear it! And of course, I tried to overcome that incomprehensible fear, I tried with all my might and still my attempts never gave hope. I wanted to be a doctor and I did not even meet the minimum requirement to be one! The fear that that "accident" of the drops of blood would happen again was eating me alive, so without any other visible way out I packed my things again and fled from there like a coward ...

I was walking with my suitcase through the dirty streets of London; abandoned again, because in this smoky city where was I going to find a better place than the one, I had? I was practically, and I am, a fourteen-year-old orphan teenager, I was not used to the maximum work of the factories, I had enough money to study, but not to eat, sometimes I felt like doing everything, sometimes I did not feel with courage to do nothing, and as a final mockery, I am considered a monster among my peers, all because of this orange eye that does not even see well!

I remember that day I threw my suitcase on the stone path under my feet and sat there for a few minutes, letting my disorganized ideas flow. I was really worried; I didn't know what else to do but look at the sky and pray that God would hear my cry for help ... And he did...a miracle happened in front of my eyes, a golden opportunity that ran uncontrollably in my direction.

Exact, surprising, but true. It was a horse without a rider that was running towards me.