Rising From the Dead to Torment Me

My voice was so weak it was almost inaudible, but I still kept pounding on the door with everything I had.

I kept going until my palms were swollen, split, and streaked with blood.

I could not die yet. My paintings still had not been sent to the exhibition.

My life might have been colorless and bleak, but my work had to be hung up in a clean frame.

I did not know how long I kept hitting the door before it finally opened.

Vera stood at the entrance with a tight expression. When she saw me curled up on the floor, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes.

She quickly crouched down and touched my forehead. The heat made her pull her hand back instantly.

“You have a fever? How did it get this bad?!”

“Medicine… under my pillow…” I could barely string my words.

Vera immediately got up, rushed to my room, and found the medicine box. She poured me a glass of warm water and came back.

She carefully helped me sit up. Her movements were gentle, as though she was afraid of hurting me.

“Take this. You’ll feel better after you take it.”

The moment I swallowed the pills, Sean walked in. His face was pale white.

He looked at me and spoke in a low voice.

“Miles, why are you lying to everyone?

“I just checked your room. What you’re taking isn’t medicine. It’s just vitamins.

“You’re obviously pretending to be sick just to make everyone worry. How could you do that?”

Those words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing any sympathy Vera had just started to feel for me.

She shoved me away, her voice filled with anger.

“Miles, you’re really losing your mind. What line won’t you cross at this point?”

My mother’s expression changed instantly. Her tone was full of disappointment.

“So it was all an act just because we made you reflect on yourself? I should’ve aborted you back then!”

My father shook his head in fury. “Hopeless. Completely hopeless!”

I shook my head desperately as my eyes turned red.

“No! I didn’t… I really didn’t…”

“Enough!” Vera cut me off. Her voice was hoarse and exhausted.

“I don’t want to hear your explanations anymore.

“Miles, I’m really disappointed in you.”

After that, none of them spoke to me again.

One day, right after I submitted my painting to the exhibition, I received a message from the cemetery center.

[Mr. Garrett, your vitals-monitoring device has recently detected unusually unstable signals. Please take care of yourself.]

I replied.

[Okay.]

I never thought that the only people who cared about me would be the people waiting to take my body away.