06
ས 76%
After abandoning her older sister, they’ve finally come to my school again.
Pushing open the dormitory door, the dust remained undisturbed.
This time, their faces weren’t filled with contempt. Instead, they quietly approached and
opened the backpack beside the bed.
Inside, besides the neatly arranged books, there was a dishwashing sponge wrapped in a plastic bag, and an apron stained with grease…
“How much has she suffered?”
Stroking the heavy, miscellaneous items in the backpack, Mom burst into tears, heedless of
the dirt, and hugged it tightly to her face.
She hoped to feel her daughter’s warmth through the old, broken bookbag.
Tears streamed down Dad’s face, and a large patch of his black hair turned gray overnight at his temples.
Only today did he bother to carefully examine my dormitory.
The bed frame was mottled and rusty, the walls were seeping, and small bugs crawled on
the floor.
How many days have I lived in this environment?
Their neglect and prejudice had tightly gripped my heart.
But their despair today is insignificant compared to the pain I endured before my death that
year.
When I was admitted to the hospital, I was nothing but skin and bones. Mr. Lewis took pity on me and paid for my pain pump out of his own pocket.
The medication offers little relief, yet the pain’s torment is endless.
At the height of the pain, I can only curl up and weep, surrounded by the cheerful sounds of
other patients‘ families at their bedsides.
It’s a constant reminder.
I am utterly alone.
I’m a jinx, abandoned by my parents.
The dual torment of body and spirit makes me long for death.
I pulled out the IV needles repeatedly, until my hands were bloody and raw, prompting the head nurse to personally handle me, this difficult patient.
Seeing me, her eyes welled up with pity.
“Don’t be afraid. Your parents aren’t here; I can be your mother.”
By then, I was delirious, only hearing her say that she was my mother.
“Mom? I was wrong, Mom, I was wrong. Please don’t stop visiting me…”
“I’m in so much pain, Mom!”
Warm hands covered my withered, cold body, gently patting it, again and again. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s always with you.”
12:35 Thu, 1 May MO.
Warm hands covered my withered, cold body, gently patting it, again and again.
“Mommy’s here. Mommy’s always with you.”
A long, drawn–out song echoed, and I fell into a beautiful dream I dared not leave.
Never to wake again.
Mom and Dad were taken to the hospital room where I had stayed before I died.
The air in the room was stifling, with four or five beds crammed together.
It was nothing like older sister’s private room.
The corner where I curled up before dying is now completely empty.
Mom sat blankly on the bed, reaching out to touch everything within reach.
༥ ཛཱ76%L
When she touched the countless scratches on the wall, she suddenly burst into tears.
Those were the marks of my struggle in agony.
Yulia, Yulia!
She threw herself into her father’s arms, finally crying with a desperate, hoarse voice, her
cries piercing the air.
That was irreversible regret!
“I was wrong, Yulia’s mother was wrong!”
“How much pain must our child have been in to scratch the walls like this? We’re animals! We actually ignored her for all these years…”
The father sobbed, unable to speak, and reached out to pat her shoulder repeatedly.
With sullen faces, they returned home and began removing items from the storage room,
one by one.
Dust coated their faces, and their hands were cut, but they continued working, heads down. The discarded diary was brought back to light, its yellowed and wrinkled pages turned over
and over.
An old photograph fluttered out from within.
In it, Mom and Dad sat upright, each holding me and my older sister.
On the back, I had drawn many hearts, heavily emphasizing them with thick strokes:
“A home to protect.”
Mom collapsed to the ground, a few strange sounds rumbling in her throat as she cried out in anguish.
07
12:35 Thu, 1 May MO
