An essay on the worst day of your life for tomorrow, says the English teacher. Seems simple, I thought, everyone has had bad days. So I realized that the hardest part of writing this essay would be searching through my memory palace. Then I would choose the worst of these dark, cold, false, endless days. The math, chemistry and literature teacher was unaware of my English writing project, which was due the next day. Since that was the case, they didn't worry or doubt about filling giant blank spaces on their messy boards with assignments that supposedly were the simplest there could be. And they were supposed to be delivered the next day. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an original essay After school, I started thinking about my essay for English class. No good ideas came to mind. Sure, I've had bad days, but at that time my mind was occupied elsewhere; it was in my uncle's house. I almost forgot! My family and I were visiting Uncle Lazaro that afternoon. Regardless, I continued to search 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 decreased, the shadows of the people in the streets grew longer. I wasn't deeply worried about homework but I noticed that I unconsciously began 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, 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 mind much, nor did my youngest brother, who happily joined in this fantastic celebration. In the backyard garden, which seemed to be the only available and quiet place in my uncle's circus, I struggled to graph the simplest parabola that could exist. Suddenly the hands on my watch started to hurt. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, I couldn't believe it! It was one of those days where everything seems to conspire 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 be annoying while solving math). I took off my watch, tick, tick, tick, and looked at his round face with a pitiful feeling of guilt. I stared at it for a considerable time, and for a moment I thought the batteries were dead. Tick, tick. I thought wrong. I slowly opened the closet door, tick, I could almost feel the frightening trembling of the three little hands, tick tick tick. My left hand slowly pulled the door open as an almost imperceptible moan came from it. I felt the moan as a warning. Don't open up to me, I could hear in the distance in my imagination. But I took advantage of it, I was sure that the watch was suffering and begging for forgiveness, asking me to have pity on it. No more tic, my friend, I said out loud. Then I realized, too late, that the closet wasn't specifically for storing watches. All kinds of crystal bottles and bags full of dust fell to the floor after hitting me, getting wet, dusting me. At home, more homework and, of course, tomorrow. Les Misérables, from page 13 to 169. I finally understood what irony is. If this day had been..