The Grimoire of the Blue Crystal

That morning, I didn't make it out in time to open the library. I was late, and the alarm clock didn't go off, or I didn't hear it. I jumped out of bed and put on the clothes hanging on the rack. I went down to the street and walked as fast as I could, trying not to trip-as fast as my old, bouncy leather sandals allowed me.

The cobblestones of Murra Kish were damp from the morning drizzle. The moss-green awnings were spread out, indicating that the merchants were about to open their businesses. Waving my hand to keep me from stopping, I greeted those who saw me pass by while enjoying the different aromas: Mrs. Amira's flowers, Mr. Mohamed's coffee, and Hassan's bread. I loved mornings, especially the damp and cold ones.

My mind returned to work, and I remembered that they must be waiting for me. I quickened my pace, and I could see the impatient students and the general public lining up. They looked from side to side, and when they saw my silhouette looming in the narrowness of the street, they gathered at the entrance. I felt a sense of relief: I ran across the square and lifted the lid of my bag to remove the heavy iron ring from which the three iron keys hung.

The collision of our bodies knocked the wind out of me. I was thrown backward, flying straight to the ground. As I tried to resist, I saw some people raise their hands to their heads and others cover their faces. Those images made me suffer before the inevitable: I received a sharp blow against the stone that left me motionless, stretched out on the ground, staring at the sky and trying to assimilate what had happened to me.

The initial impact was so unexpected that I didn't even see it coming. I assumed it was a man because of his height and weight, but I couldn't confirm it. A curious young man ran up to me, stood beside me, looked around for something, and then ran away from the scene. A girl offered me her hand to help me up, and I took a run. Standing up, I realized my bag wasn't beside me. Had I been robbed?

"My bag, have you seen it?" I asked the girl as I placed my hands on her shoulders.

"A man ran with your bag, and the boy followed."

"Which boy? I can't lose my bag; what I have in there is irreplaceable. Which way did they go?"

"They crossed that street," the young woman indicated anxiously.

I ran in that direction, and as I was about to turn the corner by the bakery, the boy was coming with my belongings.

We walked together, without speaking, catching our breath, to the large old door.

The boy stood behind me with the others, watching the maneuver I mechanically executed and noticed my small hands fitting the keys into the locks in a particular