Dear diary, from the sky,
I was an older man living in Lima with lots of enemies among the Spanish. It was 1541, the last year of my life, but i didn´t know that. My friends warned me that enemies would try to assassinate me. Sunday June 26, i got out of bed and got dressed. I went to have breakfast with my friends that were with me. Suddenly a royal and breathless knight said " I am who came to kill you!". A group of murders rushed into the room. My friends soon fell dead. I was the only one left. I defended myself with courage and skill, coming to kill myself in my own defence five of them. But on one point one of them could find the opportunity and threw me a knife to my neck, opening my artery. Blood started to come out. I felt to the floor. And dying, i pronounced the sweet name of Jesus, and dipping my finger in my own blood on the floor i painted a cross and i was killed when i tried to kiss him.

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