Instead of buying food for myself, I went back in and stood in my dimly lit room, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. My roommate, Addu, was nowhere to be found, might be with his gang or doing whatever he held with his hand, thus, leaving me with a rare opportunity to explore the mysterious grimoire that had piqued my curiosity. The black book lay dormant in my hands, its aged pages beckoning me to uncover their secrets. It had that strange aura that was quite... persuading.

Who could this be from? Could it be from my father? Impossible. He might not be aware of where I live. Besides, they, with my mother, be busy cultivating the fields back in the province.

With cautious hands, I opened the grimoire to the first page, my eyes fixating on the ornate illustrations that adorned the parchment. The text was written in a language I could comprehend, though I must admit, the handwriting was as trash as a morning owl. As I turned each page, the realization of its contents washed over me like an icy wave.

The grimoire's three pages contained a haunting revelation about the human condition. It stated that "once a person is born with a sense of perpetual failure, they will continue to live their life believing they are destined to be an unsuccessful man, and he shall pass his life as an unremarkable being henceforth". In short, it meant that once a person is born a loser, one will live his life believing he's a loser, and he will die as a loser. It was a damning proclamation that shook me to my core. The words echoed in my mind, a painful truth I had unknowingly carried all my life. Am I a loser?- I reckoned. Haha...

In the depths of my mind, a fierce battle rages, tearing at my very soul. It's a conflict that haunts my every waking moment, a relentless tug-of-war between survival and self-preservation. I find myself standing at the precipice of a choice, one that feels both alluring and abhorrent, a choice that could save me from the harsh realities of this unforgiving city.

However, the grimoire didn't stop there; it presented a glimmer of hope. As my vision trembled with every vivid letter, on the following page, it spoke of a way to reconstruct the human body and alter the fundamentals of the soul, a method that could potentially transform a loser into something more. The instructions were precise and required a concoction made from specific elements. I held my breath reading through all the instructions.

I stand here, trembling, the weight of revelation crashing upon me like a tidal wave. The book, once thought to be a mere artifact of fiction, has revealed itself to be something far more profound. Its pages, weathered and worn, now hold the secrets of ancient art—the art of alchemy. This is... occult magic.

I read the list of ingredients aloud, my voice trembling with anticipation. "A jar of rainwater, sulfur dust, salt, crushed chalk, and a copper coin. All on a ratio of 1:1." I glanced around my room, searching for the necessary materials. My eyes were about everywhere. It's true... I'm tired of being a lackey. This is a revolution. I submit to the occult.

Right. The Jar. I reached through my desk to see if the previous settler of this room had some. He did. Along with... some sulfur... and chalk? No need to overthink. At least, I'm one step closer. Kinda sad though that I stole from a dead person.

I cautiously ran through the creaking wooden floors, my footsteps barely audible against the old, worn-out boards. The dimly lit corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the walls adorned with faded wallpaper peeling at the edges. The scent of must and neglect permeated the air, a testament to the aging boarding house that had become my temporary home.

My footsteps echoed softly as I made my way toward the kitchen, my mind focused on the task at hand. The instructions from the grimoire resounded in my thoughts, urging me to collect the necessary ingredients. Salt. It seemed like a simple enough request, yet its significance in the alchemical concoction could not be overlooked.

As I pushed open the heavy oak door, a faint beam of light trickled into the room, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. The kitchen was sparsely furnished, its appliances outdated and worn. The landlady stood near the stove, her presence imposing and watchful. She had an air of caution about her, her eyes tracing my every move.

I approached the pantry, its door slightly ajar. The shelves were filled with mismatched crockery and various foodstuffs, each item appearing as if it had been abandoned long ago. My gaze settled on a humble container of salt, its contents encased in weathered paper packaging. With a gentle touch, I reached out and took hold of it, careful not to disturb the other items.

Satisfied with my acquisition, I turned my attention to the next ingredient - stagnant rainwater. The landlady's gaze never wavered as I approached the back door, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension glimmering in her eyes.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Stepping out into the unkempt backyard, the once vibrant foliage now sagged under neglect. The cracked tub stood forlornly against the peeling fence, rainwater gathered within its stagnant depths. The sight was uninviting, the water reflecting a dull gray hue under the overcast sky. I hesitated for a moment, contemplating the necessity of this particular element, but the grimoire's words echoed in my mind, urging me to proceed.

Gingerly, I approached the tub, its weathered surface rough against my fingertips. I dipped a small jar into the murky water, careful not to disturb its stagnant depths. The liquid swirled, carrying with it a musty odor that wrinkled my nose. With each measured pour, the jar filled, capturing the essence of the stagnant rainwater.

As I turned to make my way back to my room, I caught a glimpse of the landlady from the corner of my eye. She stood at the threshold, her expression a mix of curiosity and caution. Her gnarled hands grasped the doorframe tightly as if the secrets of the grimoire had woven their way into her thoughts as well. Well, didn't she technically give it to me? Why does she seem so shocked? Or maybe she didn't have any idea about the contents?

With a nod of acknowledgment, I made my way back into the boarding house, carrying the salt and the jar of stagnant rainwater. The weight of the grimoire's instructions bore heavily on my shoulders, and I knew that the journey had only just begun. The landlady's gaze lingered as I disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, the anticipation of what lay ahead palpable in the air.

The rainwater, collected from the boarding house's rainwater stash, glistened in the jar. The sulfur dust and chalk, conveniently available on my cluttered desk, awaited their transformation. I retrieved a pinch of salt from the pantry and fished a worn copper coin from the depths of my pocket.

With my supplies gathered, I carefully measured out the ingredients, ensuring their equal proportions. Using the jar of murky rainwater as the base, I placed the ingredients as stated in the book.

Salt. Sulfur. Chalk.

and... I reached through the bottom of my pants. A copper coin. Kss!

The copper coin... dissipated?

As I mixed them into the jar of rainwater, a pungent odor filled the room, assaulting my senses. The concoction's foul smell only heightened my apprehension, but I pressed on, reminding myself of the potential transformation that awaited me.

The book's instructions guided me further, urging me to drink the elixir while gently poking my temples. Trembling, I brought the jar to my lips and took a deep breath. I wasn't hesitant- I was desperate to survive Barter. The liquid slid down my throat, leaving behind a lingering taste of sulfur and salt. And that's when the pain hit me. Fuck!

Almost immediately, a searing pain erupted at the back of my head, as if a thousand needles pierced my skull. I clutched my temples, hoping to alleviate the agony, but it only intensified, spreading to my stomach.

Fear mingled with the pain, yet something deep within me told me to endure. I gritted my teeth, my body contorting with the torment. Moments stretched into eternity as I fought against the waves of anguish crashing through me. Sweat poured down my brow, my breaths ragged and desperate.

Help. My body was begging for somewhat release. This tremendous torment went on to make me suffer for a couple of minutes. I have no choice other than to lay on the dirty floor, silently crying.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain ceased. My body felt both light and heavy as if I were floating while simultaneously grounded. I cautiously opened my eyes, my vision adjusting to the ethereal glow that bathed the room.

What happened? My mind felt foggy.

The book... Suddenly, the page I was reading was empty as if nothing was written in its ancient pages.

What?

As I closed the grimoire, a sense of question washed over me. "What was that?", I loudly mumbled to myself.

Footsteps can be heard from afar.

As my eyes panned to the book, the elegant writing on its cover became apparent to me. My eyes seemed to render more images in my head. It wrote...

Fernando Guerra.

Then, a sudden scene flashed in my mind as if a faint memory was already there. Ugh...

In a family of opulence and intellect, a boy emerged, born into wealth and privilege. His parents, rich and brilliant, hoped for a legacy of success. But he, a loser at heart, dwelled in laziness, dim-wittedness, and the absence of social grace.

As the sands of time drained, he matured into a decent man, yet his family's riches fell victim to gambling's vice. Reduced to a beggar, he roamed the streets, his dignity lost to destitution's grip.

In a twist of fate, a merciless flood engulfed the city, erasing his existence. No trace of his body remained, forever lost to oblivion. The tale echoes, a haunting reminder of life's cruelties and the swift descent from fortune to despair.

On the other side of the city, in the shadows of poverty's grasp, a young boy took his first breath, his mother's frail body consumed by illness. Born into adversity, he embarked on a journey of resilience. Fate led him to the doors of a casino, where destiny's dice were rolled.

With broom in hand, he toiled as a janitor, witnessing the alluring dance of chance before his eyes. Temptation whispered in his ear, and against the odds, he dared to place his bet. Fortune smiled upon him, and the riches of the previous boy cascaded into his grasp. In a single moment, he transformed from destitution to opulence.

With a heart overflowing with gratitude, he turned to his ailing mother, healing her ailments with the finest care and embracing her with the warmth of love long overdue. They basked in the glow of prosperity, their lives touched by the golden rays of fortune.

In grace, he lived, weaving his name into the tapestry of history. He was a beacon of triumph born from the depths of hardship. His name is carved... Fernando Guerra.