I was born bad. That’s what my family’s “psychic” black cat decided about me. Mom always said the cat could sense people’s true nature. Good hearts drew it close. Evil ones made it hiss and snarl. When Jasmine—the girl my parents took in—stole money from the house to tip male streamers on TikTok, the black cat would just roll over lazily, exposing its belly to her. But me? Even when I was just trying to feed it a small fish because it looked hungry, it would arch its back and screech at me, its claws leaving deep, bleeding gashes across my hands. At first, I tried to explain. But Mom would just shove me away: “Beasts have instincts. They don’t wrong innocent people! Maybe the pain will teach you something!” After countless scratches and insults, I started to believe it too. That I was rotten to the core. The day the hurricane made landfall, seawater flooded the streets. A heavy shelving unit collapsed and pinned my leg. I struggled, reaching out to Mom as she ran past: “Mom! Help me! My leg is trapped!” But that black cat just screeched at me like I was a demon. Mom glanced at me thrashing in the muddy water. Her eyes turned cold and vicious: “Playing victim to drag us down with you? You really are rotten to your core!” She picked up Jasmine and climbed onto the only life raft without looking back. As the icy seawater covered my nose and mouth, drowning me, I couldn’t help but think—Mom must be right. The cat was screaming, so I must not really be trapped. I must just be evil. I’m sorry, Mom. In my next life, I’ll be good.
When my soul left my body, I actually felt relief. The burning agony in my stomach and the suffocating feeling of cold water filling my lungs—both finally disappeared. I floated in mid-air, looking down at my own body. Nothing but skin and bones, crushed under a heavy metal shelving unit in the murky, muddy water. Strange. Even though I was dead, I could still “see” something at the location of my stomach—a dense mass of dark, ominous energy coiled there. So that black cat hadn’t been wrong after all. I really was bad. Rotten to the core. Even my soul carried filth. The hurricane lasted three days. On the fourth day, the water receded. I heard Mom and Jasmine coming home, laughing and chatting. “Mom, thank god you made that quick decision. We got to stay in that downtown hotel for three days and even bought the latest gaming console.” That was Jasmine’s voice, tinged with smugness. “Of course. When have I ever steered you wrong?” Mom’s tone dripped with affection. The door swung open. Seeing the mess and mud covering everything, Mom’s face instantly soured. She raised her voice, shouting into the empty house: “Aria! Where the hell are you?! Even the cat made it home before you!” A black cat gracefully stepped inside—Shadow, the “judge” who’d decided my fate. It avoided the trash on the floor and leaped lightly onto the only clean surface left: the top of a cabinet. I floated in front of Mom, my soul so weak it was nearly transparent. I opened my mouth and used every ounce of strength I had left to shout: “Mom, my stomach hurts so much. I’m right here…” Of course, she couldn’t hear me. She just waved her hand irritably, like she was swatting away an annoying mosquito. Just then, Shadow suddenly arched its back and let out a piercing shriek—directed at the spot where my body lay. Mom’s gaze immediately followed. She looked at the collapsed shelving and debris. Her face showed no concern for her missing daughter. Instead, she sneered coldly. “See? Even the cat can sense how unlucky this place is. That brat must have brought bad energy back home.” Jasmine chimed in gleefully: “Aria probably thought cleaning up was too much work and ran off again. She’s always been lazy.” Mom nodded approvingly. “Exactly. A bad seed like her has no conscience. We don’t need to worry about her.” “Starve her for a few days. She’ll crawl back on her own.” I watched them, their casual cruelty so natural. A bone-deep chill pierced my soul. Late that night, after they’d gone to sleep, I drifted back to my corpse and stared at that pale, swollen face. Memories flooded back—all those nights I’d been punished, forbidden from eating. I’d hidden in back alleys, fighting stray dogs for scraps in dumpsters. Spoiled buns. Moldy bread. Even rotten vegetable leaves covered in dirt. That’s when my stomach first started hurting—like a small knife scraping and burning inside me. I thought it was just hunger. It wasn’t. It was me. I was broken.
On the fifth day, the weather cleared. Once the sun came out, the smell inside the house became absolutely horrific. The heat and humidity accelerated decomposition. The stench mixed rotting flesh with the particular foulness of diseased organs. Mom finally couldn’t take it anymore and started cleaning the living room. She cleaned while cursing under her breath. “That damn Aria, who knows where she ran off to. Left the house looking like a garbage dump!” A small brown medicine bottle rolled across the floor and blocked her mop. It was my stomach medicine bottle. When the pain got unbearable, I’d secretly used money from collecting recyclables to buy it. Cheap stuff, but it helped a little. Mom read the label. Her face twisted with contempt. “More of her fake sick act!” She kicked the bottle away like it was trash, sending it rolling into a corner. The bottle disappeared into the mud. Gone forever. I wanted so badly to tell her: Mom, it really hurt. I wasn’t faking. But I could only watch helplessly. The putrid smell in the air grew stronger and stronger. Mom finally couldn’t hold it in. She covered her nose and gagged. “Did that slob Aria drag home garbage from the dumpsters?! Why does it stink so bad?!” She cursed while searching for the source of the smell. Jasmine emerged from her room, also covering her nose. That’s when she spotted something poking out from under the shelving through the mud. My swollen, purple fingers. Jasmine’s whole body jerked in fright, her face going deathly pale. But she quickly recovered. Calmly, she used her foot to kick a floating piece of dirty wood over, covering my hand perfectly. “Mom,” she whined, hugging Margaret’s arm, “This smell is disgusting. Let’s just go back to the hotel!” “When Aria gets back, make her scrub every inch of this floor on her knees!” Mom agreed immediately. “Good idea. Let’s go! Let her guard this garbage heap by herself!” Before leaving, Mom seemed to remember something. She went to the kitchen and locked all the crackers and bread from the cupboard into a metal box. Then she opened the fridge and dumped everything inside—all the leftovers, even half a carton of milk—straight into the trash. After finishing, she looked satisfied, like she’d gotten revenge. She dusted off her hands. “Want to sneak back and steal food? Not a chance!” I watched them throw away all that food, feeling nothing but numbness. Once upon a time, those things had been “delicacies” I’d searched dumpsters for hours to find. The door slammed shut. It didn’t just seal off that reeking space. It severed the last thread of possibility that they might ever treat me like a human being.
On the sixth day, the smell of death grew so strong that the entire building could smell it. The neighbors couldn’t stand it anymore. Someone finally called the police. Two officers knocked on our door. Mom opened it. When she saw the police, she froze for a moment, then quickly put on a pitiful expression. “Officers, what can I do for you?” “We received a report about a very strong odor coming from your home. There’s concern that something might be decomposing.” Mom’s heart jumped, but her face remained calm. She denied it flatly: “No, nothing like that. The hurricane just brought in some water. It’s a little musty, that’s all.” One officer frowned. “Is someone in your household missing?” Mom’s eyes flickered. She sighed and began her performance. “Don’t even get me started. My ungrateful daughter ran away from home.” She wiped at her completely dry eyes, her voice carrying just the right amount of grievance. “Officers, you don’t understand. My biological daughter has always been rebellious. This time she didn’t like the mess and just left without a word. She’s probably off with some boy!” “Biological daughter”—she said those words quickly, almost urgently, like she’d let something slip. I floated in the air, watching her coldly. She was lying again. But this time, she’d accidentally said something that was actually true. The officers were skeptical and tried to enter the house for an inspection. Mom blocked them desperately. “It’s such a mess inside. I can’t let you in! When she comes home, I’ll make sure to discipline her properly!” Eventually, the police left, fooled by her lies. The moment they were gone, Jasmine crept out of her room, her face full of panic. “Mom, the cat kept meowing just now. It says there’s bad energy here. What if Aria… brought something unclean home?” Jasmine’s words played right into Mom’s superstitions. She believed in this stuff completely. “You’re right!” Mom slapped her thigh. “That cursed girl must have picked up bad luck somewhere and brought it back here!” And so, a grand “purification ritual” began. Mom went out and bought loads of sage and incense, lighting them all over the house. Thick smoke instantly filled every room, choking anyone who tried to open their eyes. Jasmine “helpfully” went to my shabby closet and pulled out my only thick jacket. Dad had brought it back for me one New Year. It was cheap, from a street vendor, but I’d treasured it. Jasmine held up my jacket and said to Mom: “Mom, I read that burning her belongings will sever the dead’s attachment and scare the spirit away from coming home.” “Burn it! Burn it all!” Without hesitation, Mom threw the jacket into the burning basin. Flames licked at the fabric and quickly devoured it. Just then, Dad’s video call came through. On the screen was his impatient face. “How’s everything at home? Why is there so much smoke?” Mom was coughing from the thick smoke but forced a smile at the screen. “Everything’s fine. Just a little damp, so I’m burning some stuff.” Dad grunted, then asked casually: “Where’s Aria? Let me talk to her.” Mom glanced at Jasmine. Jasmine immediately understood, lowering her head to look hurt and innocent. Mom sighed and said into the phone: “Your wonderful daughter? She’s something else! Didn’t like the mess here, so she ran off with some guy. It’s been seven days and she hasn’t come home. Her phone’s off too!” “Forget about her! Better if she dies out there!” Dad went silent for a few seconds on the other end. Finally, he just said irritably, “Got it,” and hung up. From start to finish, he never asked another question. In the swirling smoke, I watched this couple—one lying, one indifferent. Together, they’d burned away the last trace of my existence.
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