The Blood-Stained Sour Candy

Two days after I died, a strange smell began to seep from my room.

Mom paused mid-step as she walked past my door and covered her nose. "That brat must be hoarding leftovers in there again and turning her room into a pigsty! It reeks!"

I floated nearby and watched her grab a box of mothballs from the cabinet. Then, she got down on her hands and knees and shoved them one by one through the crack of my door, trying to cover up the smell of death.

The white mothballs rolled into the room and stopped beside my corpse.

"Mom, that's not the smell of garbage. That's the smell of your daughter rotting."

Did she not suspect anything at all? If she just opened the door and looked, just once, she would finally see. However, she did not.

Mom dusted off her hands, looking pleased with herself.

Just then, the delivery guy downstairs shouted up, "Layla! You've got mail!"

Mom went down to get it and came back with a thick envelope stamped with the City Culinary Association’s logo.

Getting in had been my dream. I had saved up my breakfast money for half a year and entered a competition in secret without Mom knowing.

I had won first place. Inside the envelope was not just an award certificate, but also a recommendation letter for an internship at the city's only five-star hotel.

With that letter, I could have made a living with my own skills.

I floated behind Mom, staring at that envelope with everything I had left.

"Mom, open it and look! Your daughter is not worthless. I made something of myself!"

Mom looked at the words on the envelope, and her face darkened.

"Culinary Association? More of this nonsense! Instead of focusing on school, all she does is embarrass us!"

She did not even bother opening it properly. She grabbed both ends and ripped the envelope in half.

I screamed and lunged forward, trying to save those pieces, but I could not hold onto anything.

Mom carried the torn envelope to the bathroom and dumped every scrap into the toilet. As the water swirled, the papers that represented my achievement disappeared completely down the drain.

Mom spat into the toilet bowl. "You're spending the rest of your life taking care of your brother. If you think you can leave, keep dreaming!"

That evening, my father, Brian Lloyd, called from out of town. He drove trucks for a living and only came home once a month.

"Hey, honey, has Layla come out yet?" His voice came through the phone, tinged with exhaustion.

Mom was putting on a face mask as she answered carelessly. "Oh, she's really outdone herself this time. She’s throwing a tantrum because I won't let her go learn some stupid cooking thing. She locked herself in her room on a hunger strike. It's already been two days."

Dad sighed on the other end. "If the kid wants to learn, just let her. At least it's a trade. Don't be too hard on her. Go check on her! Make sure she's not actually starving."

Mom exploded at that. "Brian! What are you trying to say? That I'm abusing her? She's my daughter too, and I have a right to teach her discipline! Missing a couple of meals won't kill her! If she gets hungry enough, she'll crawl out on her own!"

She hung up without another word and threw the phone onto the couch. "Everyone's determined to stress me out! I must have done something terrible to deserve being stuck with this family!"

I floated in the air and let my head drop in defeat.

"Dad, if you had just pressed her a little harder, or if you had driven home right then, maybe you could have seen me one last time while I still looked human."

However, there were no ifs in life.