The alarm shrilled in the small, cluttered room, a mechanical bird screaming into the thin morning air. Yumi jolted awake, tangled in her blanket, heart stuttering from the sound. Before she could fumble for the clock, a fist hammered the door so hard the frame rattled.
"Hey!" Ayaka's voice rang sharp as glass. "It's already morning, you lazy pig! Stop pretending you're asleep—trying to be late again, huh?!"
Yumi's stomach clenched. She scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over her bag, and rushed to the door. She pulled it open to reveal her younger sister standing there in her perfect uniform, hair already glossy and neat, expression twisted with disdain.
"I—I'll be ready," Yumi whispered, bowing her head slightly, her voice small and careful like always.
Ayaka crossed her arms. "You better be. Don't embarrass us again." She huffed, spun on her heel, and strutted down the hall, her socks making no sound against the polished wood.
Yumi lingered for a moment, staring at the space her sister had vacated, before retreating back into her room. She dressed quickly, slipping into the school uniform that had faded from too many washes, its seams fraying at the cuffs. In the mirror, her face looked back at her—flat brown hair, bangs hacked unevenly to hide the small scar at her temple, glasses that magnified the permanent shadows under her eyes. She touched her cheek as though she could rearrange her features into something more acceptable, but of course, the reflection didn't change.
By the time she came downstairs, the house smelled faintly of grilled fish and steamed rice, but the table was bare. Plates stacked in the sink, chopsticks already drying. Ayaka sat on the sofa scrolling her phone, her lips curled in a smile at something on the screen.
Yumi's stomach growled. She approached the kitchen slowly, her voice careful. "Um... Mom, was there... was there any breakfast left?"
Her mother didn't look up as she rinsed a plate. "You should have woken earlier. It's your fault if you missed it."
"But—"
"Enough." Her father folded his newspaper with a snap and stood. "Stop wasting time. Get to school before you're late. You shame us enough already."
The words fell with the heaviness of ritual. Yumi's lips trembled, but she said nothing. Ayaka's smirk widened at the exchange, her snicker sharp as a pinprick in Yumi's ears.
She slipped on her shoes and left the house with her stomach hollow, the front door closing behind her like the lid of a box.
The school gate buzzed with voices, students clustering in groups, their laughter spilling into the cool morning. When Yumi stepped onto the grounds, eyes followed her. Some smiled with too much sharpness in their teeth; others whispered behind hands, the hissing of snakes.
At the shoe lockers, she slipped out of her outdoor shoes, but when she reached for her indoor slippers, her breath caught. They were smeared with mud, dark streaks pressed into the fabric as though deliberately stomped.
A giggle rose behind her, and another, until it was a chorus. Yumi's cheeks burned as she bent to wipe at the filth with a tissue from her bag. Her hands trembled, the mud smearing darker as she tried to clean it. The sound of laughter grew and faded as classmates drifted past, satisfied with the performance.
When she opened her locker, the stench hit her first. A sour, rotting smell. Her books and bag were splattered with something slimy, the paper sticking together, the stink clinging to her hair. Her throat tightened, bile rising.
"Morning, Goyumi." The sing-song voice behind her carried mock cheer. Before she could turn, a hand shoved her head forward. Her face slammed into the mess inside the locker, the filth smearing across her cheek and glasses. The laughter that followed shook the hallway.
Her hands shook as she pulled back, wiping at her face with her sleeve, but the laughter followed her all the way into class.
By lunch, hunger gnawed at her insides. Her wallet was nearly empty, her part-time pay already earmarked for bills. She slipped quietly to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and bent to drink the cool water to ease the ache in her stomach.
The relief lasted only seconds before a sudden shove sent her face crashing into the stream. Cold water filled her nose and mouth, choking her, drowning her in the sink. She flailed, managed to pull free, coughing and sputtering, water dripping down her chin.
The sound that followed wasn't concern. It was laughter. A group of students walked away, chuckling, not even looking back. Yumi clung to the edge of the sink, gasping, her face wet with more than just water.
The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzzed overhead that evening, harsh and white. Yumi stacked boxes carefully, but the manager's voice cut into her.
"Wrong stickers again? Do you even look at what you're doing?" His sigh was theatrical, meant to be overheard. "This is coming out of your pay."
Behind him, her coworkers giggled, trading looks. She knew the labels had been swapped on purpose. She also knew protesting would only make her sound like she was lying. She bowed her head and whispered, "I'm sorry," her pay already shrinking in her mind.
Her shift dragged until he arrived. The man who always came during her hours: overweight, glasses fogged, sweat darkening his shirt under the arms. He shuffled forward, each breath heavy and wheezing. His eyes latched onto her and did not let go.
When he reached the counter, he leaned too close, his panting loud. "You..." he wheezed, words tumbling raw. "You wanna fuck?"
Yumi froze, her hands trembling on the register. Her face burned with disgust, but she forced herself to scan his items, ignoring him.
He grinned, wheezing between each word. "Bet you... you're tight. Nobody... touches losers like you. I will."
Her throat closed. "Your total is five hundred yen," she whispered, eyes fixed on the register screen.
He dropped the coins into her palm, fingers damp and lingering too long. "Cute face when you're scared," he muttered, chuckling before shuffling out of the store.
Two teenage boys waiting behind him snickered, elbowing each other. "Disgusting old virgin," one muttered. The other smirked. "Even she looks good to him."
Their laughter followed her as she handed them their change.
When she finally returned home, her parents were waiting. They sat in the living room, Ayaka perched beside them, her posture perfect, her expression smug.
Her father's voice was flat, final. "Yumi. We can't bear this anymore. You've become a failure. A burden. Always embarrassing us."
Her mother's sigh was sharp. "Your sister works hard. She shines. You drag us down. We can't tolerate it any longer."
Yumi's heart pounded in her chest. "But I—I'm trying, I—"
"Enough." Her father's voice cut through her like a blade. "Pack your things. You're out."
Ayaka's voice was syrupy sweet. "It's for the best. You'll finally learn to stand on your own. Independence will do wonders for you."
The decision was already made. There was no room for argument.
Yumi packed in silence: her hoodie, her notebook, her toothbrush, the wrinkled bill, the photo where she stood half-out of frame. The bag was light, absurdly so. When she stepped outside, Ayaka shut the door behind her with a deliberate click.
She wandered the streets, neon lights glaring down like cruel eyes. Couples walked hand in hand, laughter spilling from restaurants. Businessmen strode past with purpose. Every direction she turned, life continued without her.
Her vision blurred as tears spilled hot down her cheeks. She stumbled, clutching her bag. "Why?" she whispered hoarsely. "Why is everyone... so cruel... just because I'm not what they want?"
No answer came. Only the noise of traffic, the buzz of electricity, the laughter of strangers.
Her steps carried her to a small park, empty beneath the flicker of a streetlamp. She collapsed onto a bench, wood cold and unyielding. Hugging her bag to her chest, she lay down, tears still streaming.
Her final thought before sleep claimed her was fragile, desperate, childlike.
'If there's a miracle out there... please, let it find me.'