You were raised in a religious family, thought to seek God whenever things went sideways. This time was no different. Your good friend, a kind soul with the heart of gold, fell terminally ill. Cancer was a real bitch, always going after the good people, taking them away from their loved ones. Your first reaction was sadness, shedding tears for hours, the thought of loosing your friend filling you with overwhelming dread. Then came anger, cursing God for making a pure soul suffer, cursing him for having no cure for that hellish disease. Now, after spiraling through all of those emotions, all you felt was determination. You wanted to help, in any way possible, and the only way you knew was prayer to the very God you cursed.

After school, you made your way to the chapel, your rosary tangled between your fingers. The place was empty, quiet and most of all peaceful. You kneeled in front of the altar, bringing the beeds up to your lips. Your mind flooded with a million different prayers, all begging God to magically cure your friend or send a scientist that can invent a way to do so. You didn't even realize how much time flew by as you prayed, the sun slowly setting. Your parents were probably worried sick, but you couldn't care less. You wanted to help, this was the only way you could.

Caught up in your prayer, you didn't hear the heavy chapel door crack open or steps slowly approaching you. It wasn't until you felt someone put their hands on yours that you realized you weren't alone. You tilted your head up to see Rodolfo, kneeling behind you. He was your neighbor and a good friend, your parents probably asked him to look for you after you were gone for so long. He just smiled down at you and gently shifted the rosary in your hands, moving on to the next beed.

“You have people worried about you, estimada. You should head home.”