His face haunted him. No, his old face. It wasn't his. Not anymore. Now it belonged to a different life, it belonged to a stranger. A stranger who hunt him in everywhere. But it didn't bother him. Even it had been just a few days since he lost his old life, he had already resigned to his fate. Though his face didn't bother him, the ignorant people cursing and blaming him made the blood inside his veins boil.
He closed his eyes and listened to the TV while drinking his beer. It was a rare moment of peace in the last few days; the match was almost over and his team was winning and the cold drink felt nice in the warm bar. But when the referee pointed to the middle of the field and the news came on, the peace left him as if never had existed.
The first news of the night showed his old face. It wasn't the photo that made him keep the rage in him—it was one of his best—but the word wanted under it, along with his name, brought all the pain back.
He didn't have to listen to the TV anymore. Even without paying attention, he already knew the topic. "Samuel Alexandre da Silva is still at large...", "The police is offering..." or "Guilty for the death of thousands..." or anything along those lines.
"Son of a bitch!" "That bastard must die!" The screams filling the bar died out the news anchor. Sam wasn't sure if he should be happy or angry for that.
It's time to go, he realized when other people joined in and a small crowd formed near the TV. Sam was there only to watch his team and forget his troubles for a couple of hours. Shit... I could swear this bar wouldn't have so many people. Since the destruction still affected most of the town and electricity still hadn't returned to many neighbors, any bar open would have clients.
That was stupid of me. Off course everyone would have the same idea, he thought, handing the money to the closest waitress before leaving. No one paid him any attention when opened the door. Why should they?
Sam glanced at the TV. He barely looked like the image; not only he had lost most of his hair, but the color was gone as well. His skin wasn't the same and the photo hadn't the scars either. With the hood covering half his face, it was hard to recognize at first glance. Only if someone looked me right in the face might recognize me.
Even if it wasn't necessary and didn't make any real difference, Sam pulled his hood closer. The simple act made his breathing and his heartbeat slow down. Sam closed his eyes and felt the breeze on his face.
He hadn't taken ten steps outside the bar when he felt something sharp against his back. "Don't move," someone whispered and pushed Sam to the alley nearby with the free hand. "Give all you got."
I'm a huge idiot, Sam thought, holding his urge to press his temples. Even before everything, the city wasn't safe enough for people to walk alone at night, but now it had become much more dangerous. Mugging became the main source of income for many, especially those who lost all. He had seen it during his search, but he never imagined it would happen to him. A crowded bar was obvious to attract that kind of people.
Keeping the rest of his body still, Sam moved his left hand to his pocket slowly, looking for the battered wallet he had. The mugger grabbed it the moment he pulled it out, opening and taking the money.
He's gonna be mad, Sam thought, half holding his smile, half thinking what he should do when his prediction became true. I doubt that money's gonna satisfy him...
"That's it?" The bandit roared as he stared the single twenty reais note.
I called it, Sam thought, smiling. Still holding the knife against his back, the mugger threw the wallet on the floor and looked through the other pockets. If you're looking for a phone, I got more bad news to you. Mine was destroyed and I have no reason to buy a new one. There's no reason to... not after everything... The thought made the smile on his lips disappear.