[ This chapter contains adult themes and is recommended for mature audiences. Viewer discretion is advised. ]
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She watched before her eyes as a memory she thought she buried deep inside her mind resurfaced when everything fell apart. [ ??? ] candles glistened and birthday songs played. She blew the candles and wished for a [ ■•■[]• ■□▪︎\[] ]
Her gaze met the interior of the room she resided in. The walls were covered with the home of dust, the air thick with age, and the shelves burdened by cobwebs and forgotten books.
Tears blurred her sight, tracing over bruises that hadn't yet learned to fade.
She sought comfort upon this very room—a place once abandoned, now something that kept the demons from barging in.
From beyond the basement door came voices—broken, jagged, and unrelenting. The kind of noise that doesn't belong to anger anymore, but to something heavier.
Despair.
Her mother's voice trembled behind the door, trying to win an argument that screamed in ghosts. Her father's rose to meet it, wrapped in liquor and something she no longer recognized as love.
[ BaNG! ]
Something shattered.
And another.
Until the sound blurred what little hope she kept within.
She folded into herself, knees drawn close, the wodden floor keeping itself intact. It was cold—almost kind.
She tried to remember what happened.
There was a man—her father, who blew his birthday candles to wish for her daughter's happiness.
[ Or perhaps she made that up. ]
Perhaps she only wanted to believe warmth had ever existed here.
He used to work tirelessly, saving what he had to give her the smallest yet biggest joys. Yet when she recalled such memory, she felt none of it's warmth.
Bacause the truth she could not rewrite was that in the end, he threw everything away.
Not to bring us to shore, but to prove to the sea that he could swim. And yet in his pursuit of gaining what he lost, he forgot what once was his priced possession.
And everything that came after was ruin. He delved into the confines of addiction, kept himself away from them to save himself from regret. He did all of this just so he could forget that he ever was a father.
After being replaced by the son of his employer, he sought to prove himself against the world that had already forgotten him.
The company itself was dying, cutting lives loose like broken branches, hoping the tree would survive the rot.
And her mother, who once braided her hair and told her tales so she could close her eyes and embrace the comfort of slumber—had let another man touch her.
After witnessing the downfall of her husband, she realize that the rope that bound him from falling had finally... broken.
And in that moment of vulnerability, she chose to find someone more capable of pulling themselves together—or yet, hadn't fallen themselves.
Her eyes only sparked when she relished the riches that came from another man.
[ .... ]
Yet even when she saw her mother break, she still clung to hope that she did it for them. She thought it was a sacrifice to set food on the table. Until she saw it wasn't love but a mere obligation. How her mother just whispered when she could've yelled. How she stood there, watching.
And when she thought silence embraced the space beyond the door, she heard it [ Creak ]—
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[ *TiRiNg* *rinG* *TiRIrinG* ]
My alarm clock rang.
I groaned, blindly reaching for the snooze button before burying my face into the pillow
"Ughh!! Such a cliffhanger--"
Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I let out a sigh.
"Should I go back to sleep and try to finish that dream?"
Without another thought, I shut my eyes again, hoping to slip back into the strange dream.
[ A few minutes passed. ]
Nothing.
I sat up abruptly, frustration visible across my face.
"Wha– it won't appear again?!"
[.....]
Unease curled in my stomach, a strange hollowness that hadn't been there before.
"That dream though....
It felt soo — REAL.
For a moment, I stayed still, my mind replaying the images that were already starting to blur. The dimly lit room. The dust. The worn-out books. My father's cold, distant expression. My mother's betrayal. The screaming.
I shook my head.
"HahA– It's just a dream... My parents are doing great, and I don't remember that in my birthday..
Pushing away the odd weight in my chest, I jumped out of bed.
Because today wasn't just any day.
It's my 12th birthday.
The moment I reached the kitchen, a familiar smell and aroma filled the air.
Fried chicken.
Crispy, and perfectly seasoned.
My stomach growled.
And I nearly reached for a piece— until I caught myself.
"I should shower first. Then eat."
Dragging myself away from temptation, I hurried to the bathroom, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of my dream.
[ .... Minutes passed. ]
After I showed, I sat down on the breakfast table.
The crunch of fried chicken—it was like I had never tasted fried chicken before.
I devoured every piece as if it were my last.
Letting the warmth of the meal fill me with an odd sense of comfort.
It was just food. Just breakfast.
But for some reason, it felt… special.
Like something I needed.
Like something I had lost and was finally getting back.
[ .... ]
Grabbing my bag ready to head out, my mom approached me with a small smile.
In her hands was a neatly packed lunchbox.
"Here," she said softly.
I peeked inside.
Fried Chicken.
The same meal I had just devoured.
I looked up at her, a flicker of warmth spreading in my chest. She didn't have to do this. But she did.
It was a simple gesture, yet it meant something.
Something that made me feel… safe.
"Thanks, Mom."
After that, I waved her goodbye.
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Before heading to school, I took my usual shortcut through a back alley—
The air was thick with the smell of rotting garbage. Puddles from last night's rain reflected the blue sky above, and broken glass scattered the ground, trying to erase memories.
It wasn't a place most people walked through.
But I always did.
[ And so did ■he. ]
There, tucked against a crumbling brick wall, lay a black-furred cat. But she wasn't the same as I've seen her.
Unlike before, bruises covered her delicate frame, her once sleek coat was now matted with blood and dirt, with deep scratches along her fragile body.
Its smell reeked of blood, with its ribs pressed painfully against her skin.
Her scent was unmistakable... The scent of pain.
She lifted her head slowly, her eyes dull.
....It was something I couldn't understand. Recognition? Fear? Hope?
Or was she simply too tired to react?
I took a slow step forward, and she tried to move.
She raised what was once her soft paw.
Now was nothing more than a brittle support for a body too broken to stand.
And yet, she tried.
She tried.
A choked breath escaped my lips as I knelt beside her.
How long had she been like this? How long had she been fighting?
I dug into my bag and pulled out my lunchbox.
I paused.
It didn't feel like enough.
Not for someone who'd been through so much.
Not for someone on the edge of breaking.
But... it was all I had.
With the last bit of warmth I could offer, I tore a piece of fried chicken and placed it gently in front of her.
She didn't move at first.
For a moment, I thought she wouldn't eat —
That maybe she had already given up.
But then, she slowly lowered her head and took a small bite.
Her frail body trembled, as if every movement drained what little strength she had left.
I forced the lump in my throat down, blinking to clear the sting in my eyes.
[ This isn't even half of reality, but maybe my last bit of kindness can heal her broken soul. ]
Or at least, I wanted to believe that.
I knew deep down —kindness alone couldn't erase suffering.
Yet, it was all I could give.
As the cat weakly ate, I glanced towards the end of the aleyway.
I hadn't just came here for her.
Someone else was waiting for me.
Someone I was supposed to meet.
A FrnEid?
[ A ■•■?■■ of mine. ]
And somehow, that thought left an uneasy feeling in my chest.
A feeling I couldn't quite understand.
Or maybe… a feeling I was trying to ignore.