Horrible, I thought. It was the moment I remembered something that made me freak out that day. But only inwardly.

  Maybe it was midnight. Or perhaps noon. The clock's hands pointed to 12. The room was dark because the window was covered by blinds, so I couldn't tell if the sun was shining or if night had fallen.

  I was sitting in the corner of the room, holding a cup of tea in my right hand, with my head buried in my knees. Yes, I was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed. I didn’t want to, no, I couldn’t sit on it. Something didn’t let me.

  The horrible scene I just mentioned happened a few days ago. It was raining. Probably that awful, acidic kind of rain. I went to the supermarket to buy bread, and on my way, I saw a child. It was a girl, sitting on the road wrapped in some blanket. In front of her was a cardboard box with the words: “I’m hungry.”

  I reached into my pocket and walked toward her, preparing to smile and give her some money. As I approached and was about to greet her, my face froze into a pale smile without any hint of communication. The box was empty except for two coins sitting next to each other in the corner. I put some money into the box, enough for her to buy something to eat, and walked away.

  “I helped her,” I kept telling myself. And yet, something was wrong. Something about that help didn’t feel right.

  In the corner of another street sat another child. I did the same thing as before. And again, and again… I lost count of how many children wrapped in blankets I passed. Only one boy had enough in his basket for, maybe, one or two pieces of candy.

  It was winter. The cold air went in through my nose and out through my mouth. When I checked, I realized I no longer had enough money even for a piece of bread. I had given it all to the children. The children sitting on the streets in this freezing cold, wrapped in old blankets that looked more like medieval scarves than proper blankets.

  This was a popular part of the city, the center. There were lots of people. They walked, laughed, and took pictures with their phones. Couples took selfies, and young people talked loudly and laughed. Everyone was enjoying themselves. Walking happily and content in the beautifully decorated center, dressed expensively, reveling in their newly-formed relationships.

  Yes, there were mostly couples taking pictures and posting them on their social media accounts afterward. All of them walked by so happily, completely ignoring these other, clearly unimportant people—children who, at 12 years old or younger, sat inadequately dressed in the cold. What they saw weren’t these children, but the bright light emanating from the large Christmas tree in the middle of the square, whose light seemed to cast a shadow over the corners of the streets where the children begging sat.

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  Horrible, I thought and headed back to my unpaid apartment, for which I set aside a large sum of money every month to keep the bank from taking it. I had to get money to buy bread, but I also had to calm down and sit on the bed. I couldn’t. I poured myself some tea and sat on the floor. That’s when I probably fell asleep.

  Slowly, I opened my eyes and noticed I was standing. It was daytime, and I found myself in a street full of carriages and horses pulling them. People were dressed strangely, and some didn’t even look entirely human. I approached a woman sitting at a fruit and vegetable stand. I probably should have asked her where I was or what kind of place this was, or even just what year it was, but I didn’t.

  When I got closer, I realized it wasn’t a woman but a girl, maybe in her twenties, with long, unnaturally blonde hair. It was the color of the sun, the kind you only see in children’s picture books. The girl had strange, pointed ears. Maybe I should’ve asked her if she was an elf, but I didn’t do that either.

  When I approached her, I asked a single question. A question that might have sounded too strange at that moment.

  “Are there orphans here?” came out of my mouth.

  The girl looked at me and said something so quietly I couldn’t hear it. Or maybe she didn’t answer quietly at all, but my ears had suddenly begun to ring terribly. The light grew stronger, and I closed my eyes. At that moment, I heard a thud. Something had fallen next to me. Slowly, I opened both eyelids and saw a teacup on the parquet floor and spilled tea flowing toward the front door.

  What a stupid dream, I thought. Though, as is usually the case with dreams, it felt real. And what a stupid question, I thought again.

  And so, I found myself in the situation I described at the beginning. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed with an empty teacup in my hand and a puddle spreading across my parquet floor. I lived alone in an apartment with two rooms. One was my bedroom, my actual room, and the other was a kitchen. The bathroom was in my bedroom.

  My parents lived on the other side of the city in a large family house. The apartment was mine, at least on paper. In reality, it belonged to the bank, from which I had borrowed money to buy it and now paid the installment. It was small, but at that moment, the room seemed large. Maybe because of the spilled tea. Maybe the puddle gave the impression of a larger surface.

  I didn’t have a girlfriend, let alone a wife. I considered relationships a waste of time. Who would want to live with someone and change all their habits? Not to mention the arguments and problems that inevitably come.

  Oh yes, I remembered. The clock’s hand was still pointing at 12. I got up and raised the blinds.

  It was dark outside. It seemed I had slept longer than I thought.

  I worked as a food delivery driver. I didn’t hate my job too much, unlike my other colleagues who constantly complained about the low pay. True, it was quite low for someone with a family or someone who spent a lot of money.

  I went to the bathroom to get ready for work because I had a night shift that started at 1 a.m. and would last until another employee came to replace me.

  What a lousy job, I thought. At least it’s flexible, I told myself as I prepared to lock the apartment.

  Outside, it was cold. I felt the frost creeping under my skin. Why hadn’t I listened to my mother four years ago? Why hadn’t I enrolled in something to save myself from this misery? I’d be in my bed now, resting for tomorrow’s office work.

  Who in their right mind orders pizza at 1:30 a.m., I thought and sped up. At that moment, someone appeared in front of me.

  “Get out of the way!” I shouted.

  It was...