COPYRIGHT © 2017 Miu
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All pictures and multimedia used are not the author’s work and doesn’t claim any legal rights.
MATURE CONTENT and VULGAR words not suited for young readers below eighteen (18) years old.
Panting heavily, I woke up to find darkness and the feeling of sticky dampness. My pajama and hair glued on my skin as the sweat tickled in all parts of my body –– it was uncomfortable.
Still half-asleep, not aware of what happened, I got out of bed and turned on the lights. My eyes adjusted to the brightness, jolting my consciousness awake.
I was in a twelve square meter room, painted in sky blue and white –– piles of books nestled on the bed, taking half of the space. There were game cards scattered on the bedside table. Near the table was a little cabinet stuffed with children’s books neatly arranged in alphabetical orders. Alongside it was a small size closet with a dresser and full-length mirror.
It took me a while to realize that I was in my childhood room!
I stumbled to get in front of the full-length mirror.
True enough, what I saw was my ten-year-old self!
A tall, young girl with a round face and chubby cheeks, prominent brown eyes, thick long lashes, small nose, and thin cherry-like lips. Her waist-length mahogany hair fell like gentle flowing water, a cute contrast against her skin that was smooth as silk and white as snow.
What happened? Was it all a dream?
I pinched myself and it stung. Not enough, I bit my right hand and felt the gushing pain.
It was all a dream . . .
. . . But it felt so real.
Droplets of warm water flow from my eyes against my will. The next thing I knew, I was crying and sobbing, shoulders racking with relief.
I’ve . . . I’m . . . actually . . . alive . . . *sob . . . *sob . . .
I cried and cried my heart’s out. All the suppressed emotions of more than seventy years, I let it all out.
I never returned to sleep after that. Afraid that if I did, I’d go back to that nightmare.
It was five in the morning when I prepared breakfast and hot water for me and the twins. After I bathe and put on my school uniform, I went to the twins’ bedroom. When I saw the two marshmallows curled up with each other, my tears rolled down on its own.
I was not the emotional type, but when it came to the people I love, I turned into a teary-eyed granny.
Thinking of the dream, the twins’ life in seven years changed for the worse. Some drunkard youths who only knew how to play computer games were going to associate themselves with the twins.
In time, these two marshmallows turned into alcohol crazed, computer game addicts who aggravated my mother to no end. And then one day when they fought, mother suffered a heart attack and died. My father was depressed with my mother’s untimely death and soon followed after a year.
Lawrence, older than a minute, was diagnosed with liver cancer and died after long years of agonizing struggles. Lance, the youngest, soon followed after someone stabbed him in the back at a brawl between his drunkard friends.
I clasped my chest to ease the pounding pain. My breathing, ragged as the air turned thin and suffocating.
I took sharp intakes of air and released it through my mouth, calming myself. I repeated the process until my mind was clear, and my heart regained its usual pounding.
My hands balled into fists, determination flowing in my veins as I stared at the peaceful sleeping marshmallows.
I must not let that happen at all cost!
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