An essay about the worst day of your life for tomorrow, the English teacher said. It seems simple, I thought, everyone has had bad days. Then, I realized the challenging part of writing that essay that I would search for in my memory palace. Then I would choose the worst of those black, cold, wrong and endless days. The math, chemistry and literature teacher was unaware of my English writing project, which I was due the next day. Since this was the case, they neither cared nor doubted about filling huge blank spaces on their cluttered bulletin boards with tasks that were, presumably, the simplest ones there could be. And they were supposed to arrive the next day. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay After school, I started thinking about my essay for English class. I couldn't think of any good ideas. Sure, I've had some bad days, but at that moment my mind was occupied elsewhere; it was at my uncle's house. I almost forgot! That afternoon my family and I went to visit Uncle Lazaro. Anyway, I kept searching for that lost rainy day; the hunt continued in the palace of my memory. And meanwhile, as the distance between the school and Lazaro's house shrank, the shadows of the people on the street grew longer. I wasn't deeply concerned about the assignments, but I noticed that I was subconsciously starting to rush. Doing homework in the car while my brother sang Merry Christmas was not a very pleasant experience. He sang it once, he sang it twice and then he shouted Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! out the window, again and again. What a bad song for this day, I thought, it's the Ides of March, not December! But my brother didn't seem to care much, and neither did my younger brother, who happily joined in on the amazing celebration. In the back garden, which seemed to be the only available and quiet place in my uncle's circus, I struggled to graph the simplest parabola there could be. Suddenly, the hands on my watch began to make me feel sick. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, I couldn't believe it! This was one of those days where everything seems to have a deal to ruin your life. There was a cupboard right behind me (it's always a good idea to have a cupboard in the garden in case you don't know where to put your watch or anything that might bother you while you're sorting out the bills). I took off my watch, tick, tick, tick, and looked at its round dial with a pitiful sense of guilt. I stared at it for a considerable amount of time and for a moment I thought the batteries were dead. Tick, tick. I thought wrong. I slowly opened the wardrobe door, tick, I could almost feel the scary tremor of the three little hands, tick tick tick. My left hand slowly opened the door and an almost inaudible moan came from it. I heard the moan as a warning. Don't open me up, I might feel far away in my imagination. But I enjoyed it, I was sure that the clock was suffering and begging for forgiveness, asking me for mercy. No more tics, my friend, I said aloud. Then I realized, too late, that the cabinet wasn't used specifically to store watches. All kinds of crystal bottles and bags full of dust fell to the floor after hitting me, wet, dusted At home, other homework and of course for tomorrow. Les Misérables, from page 13 to 169. I finally understood what irony is. If this day had been the 13th I would have thought I was in one of those nightmares. But now two days have passed for this to be true. If only the essay was about the..