When the fire started, I saw with my own eyes how my mom rushed into the room to wake up my sister, carrying her on her back and running outside. All I got was a single shout to “Run!” She didn’t even glance at me. I looked downstairs at my dad, who stood there holding his computer, frozen. Then, without hesitation, I ran straight into the flames. “Is there anyone still upstairs?” the firefighter shouted to the group of residents who had escaped. My mom, along with the neighbors, responded quickly, “Everyone’s out, everyone’s out…” Everyone really was out. The five-story building had ten families, a total of 28 people. Twenty-seven made it out. The other was a ghost. I watched coldly as my dad, eyes only for my sister, patted my mom on the back. “You take care of her. I’m going to see if the computer still works.” Mom nodded quickly, her focus on soothing my sister, who was just waking up from the smoke, coughing hard. Even then, she called out to me, “Lily, come help us out.” I really did answer, but my mom couldn’t hear me anymore. When I didn’t respond, she finally turned, searching the crowd for me. “Lily? Lily! Where are you?” Her voice got louder and more frantic, moving from worry to anger, then to confusion. She suddenly grabbed Mrs. Roberts, our neighbor, asking, “Have you seen my younger daughter?” When she got a shake of the head, Mom’s expression changed. She’d frowned at me plenty before, but this time, it was different. She grabbed anyone she could find, her voice rising. “Has anyone seen Lily? My daughter? Anyone?” No one could give her the answer she wanted. Her eyes turned red as she ran toward the firetruck, grabbing the firefighter handling the hose. “My daughter is still inside! She’s still in there! Please, save her!” The firefighter looked panicked, shouting back at her, “Why didn’t you say so sooner?!” Two firefighters rushed into the burning building as I watched. Only then did my sister realize I hadn’t made it out. She stumbled over to my mom, asking over and over, “Lily hasn’t come out yet?” I’d never heard her speak so loudly before, and neither had Mom. Her eyes filled with tears as she hugged my trembling sister, and they cried together. By the time I floated back over from the burning building, I tried to tell the firefighters that I was already dead—that there was no point in rescuing me now. But, of course, they couldn’t hear me. Ten minutes ago, I was alive. Twenty minutes ago, I was dreaming. I hadn’t quite gotten used to being a ghost yet. That’s when my dad finally showed up, holding his precious computer, laughing as he ran. “It still works! We got lucky!” Mom wiped her tears and yelled at him, “Lucky?! Your daughter is still up there!” “What?” Dad looked from my crying sister and mom to the still-burning windows, and then he stomped his foot in frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “What good would that do? Could you go in and save her?” It looked like they were about to start arguing again, but the neighbors crowded around, trying to calm them down. Some tried to stop the fight, while others comforted my mom or checked on my sister. For once, the neighborhood had never seemed so united. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. The fire hasn’t been burning long. Those firefighters will bring your daughter down in no time.” The neighbor hadn’t even finished speaking when the fire was finally put out amidst the chaos. Mom saw the fire was gone and quickly handed my sister off to the neighbors. Ignoring everyone’s attempts to stop her, she tried to break through the police tape, but just before she could run inside, the two firefighters came out. I felt an intense pull, and everyone, including me, turned to look at the figure one of them was carrying. But it wasn’t quite right to call it a person anymore—it was a charred corpse. When the firefighter laid my body on the ground, I nearly vomited. The crowd gasped, and some even ran away, covering their mouths. My mom started to tremble all over. She fell to her knees, hunched over like she’d never be able to straighten up again. Her hands shook just above my burned body, barely daring to touch me. There wasn’t a single part of me left unharmed. In the silence, broken only by my sister’s wailing cries, my mom looked up at the firefighter who had brought me out. Her mouth hung open, wide and broken, but no words came out. Only after a long moment did a few scattered sobs escape from deep within her throat. The firefighter’s eyes were red, too, as he stammered, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” At those words, my mom seemed to snap back to reality. The tear that had been stuck in her eye finally fell, and she collapsed over my body. From where I floated, all I could see was her shaking shoulders, just like that mother cat I used to see walking her kittens home after school.
My mom refused to let them do an autopsy, and she called a car to take my body straight to Greenwood Funeral Home. Even the funeral home makeup artist, who had seen a lot, was shaken when she saw me. My burns were so severe that there was no point in even attempting makeup. They decided to leave it until the morning, when they’d go out to buy the Funeral Attire for me. My dad was in the security office at the funeral home, smoking. I used to be so proud to tell my friends how my dad didn’t smoke, especially when they talked about how their parents argued over it. It wasn’t until later that I found out he had quit for seventeen years because my sister was a preemie with fragile health. So, when some neighbors and relatives praised my dad for giving up smoking for his daughter, I always felt ashamed—because it had never been for me. But what I didn’t expect was that he’d break his seventeen-year streak for me. He didn’t have any cigarettes of his own. The security guard had given him one after hearing how I’d died in the fire. The old man shook his head in pity, talking about how tragic my death had been, assuming I’d been alone in the house when the fire started. My dad, trying to nod along, ended up choking on the smoke, coughing hard enough that he dropped the cigarette to the ground. He stared at the ember as it slowly died, then collapsed onto the desk and sobbed. My sister was sitting quietly in the corner, folding Paper Memorial Flowers in silence. I sat next to her for a long time, just like we used to sit and watch TV together. For a second, it felt like nothing had changed, like I wasn’t even dead. But the silent tears falling onto her jeans told me we couldn’t go back. I floated over to my mom. She was sitting in front of my coffin, mumbling to herself. “It’s all my fault. You were alone in that fire. Were you scared?… I told you to run, but you stayed behind. How could you not make it out?” Maybe Mom will never know the truth—that I didn’t stay behind because I couldn’t escape. I stayed on purpose. When Mom ran out with my sister on her back, not looking back, I waited, thinking my dad would come for me. I mean, that’s not unreasonable, right? Two parents, two kids. One takes one, the other takes the other. It made sense. But I waited so long and never saw him. When I finally decided to run on my own, I looked out the window and saw my dad, standing still, clutching his computer. A wave of despair hit me like never before. I knew my parents had always loved my sister more than me, but what I didn’t expect was that I wasn’t even as important as a computer. In those few short seconds, I could already imagine how my dad would dismiss me if I ran downstairs and asked him why he hadn’t come for me. “The computer doesn’t have legs, but you do, don’t you?” And if I had asked why my sister got carried out, while I was left to fend for myself, my mom would have given me that same disappointed look. “Your sister isn’t healthy. Can’t you understand that?” In the end, if I’d just stayed silent, quietly standing by their side like I had for the past fifteen years, nothing would have happened. But I couldn’t accept it anymore. I could endure everything for my sister, but I couldn’t live in a world where I wasn’t worth more than a computer. Even if I had to die, I wouldn’t live that way. By the time I realized how terrible that thought was, it was already too late. I had stepped into the fire. I did struggle. I didn’t want to die. But by then, it was too late. I died alone, in agony. In my last moments, I thought of the ACT Exam Results coming out in two days. I remembered how my dad had promised me we’d go out for dinner if I got into my first-choice high school.
None of them—Mom, Dad, or Jessica—slept that night. At dawn, my mom finally wiped away her tears, acting like nothing had happened. She woke up Jessica, who had fallen asleep against the wall, surrounded by folded Paper Memorial Flowers. “It’s cold here. Go upstairs and get some rest.” Jessica opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she just stayed quiet and went upstairs. Once the morning light fully came in, Dad walked in with Grandpa and Grandma, who had hurried in from the countryside. Grandma took one look around and asked, “Where’s Jessica?” “She’s upstairs, asleep,” Mom replied. “We should be quiet then.” Jessica’s full name was Jessica Mitchell. My name was Lily Mitchell. But when they talked about their “precious daughter,” they were really only talking about Jessica. When I was in preschool, I used to hear other parents call their kids “baby” or “sweetheart,” and I thought everyone in my class was named “Baby.” I even believed that our preschool classes were divided based on our names. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I realized everyone else had a proper name. I was the only one stuck with just “Baby.” When I asked my mom why I didn’t have a real name, she smiled and said, “Baby is your name.” Back then, I didn’t understand why everyone else could use my name too. I wanted to ask more, to understand, but in the end, I pretended to get it and ran off. By the time I was in elementary school, my name had become my nightmare. The boys in my class started teasing me, calling me “Baby” in mocking voices. Even though I was young, I could tell they were making fun of me. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I tried to bring up changing my name at the dinner table. But my mom just said, “You and your sister together are our ‘precious babies.’ Isn’t that a great meaning?” Before I could say anything, my dad chimed in, laughing, “If you don’t want to be a precious baby, we could call you ‘Little Treasure.’” He thought it was so funny he almost choked on his rice. But I didn’t think it was funny. I didn’t want to be called “Baby” or “Little Treasure.” I wanted to ask why I had to be tied to my sister, why I couldn’t have a name of my own. But I kept quiet. Even years later, when my parents still used “Little Treasure” as a joke after dinner, I laughed along with them. Even though I didn’t find it funny. Even though I knew what it meant to be insulted. I still laughed with them, pretending to enjoy the joke. Looking back, I should have known from the start. My whole life, I was nothing more than an accessory to Jessica. Like buying a six-pack of milk and getting a free yogurt. If the yogurt wasn’t there, no one would care. And if it was, people might wonder if it was just thrown in because it was hard to sell on its own. On the first afternoon after I died, my parents had their first big argument since the fire.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “294926”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #魔幻Magic #擦边Steamy #浪漫Romance #励志Inspiring #重生Reborn #校园School
Leave a Reply