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墨書 Inktalez
Beneath the rooftop, towering pines stood tall, so high that they made one feel like flying. A gust of wind rustled the pine needles, creating a soft, whispering sound.
On the rooftop during lunchtime, the bright sunlight was somewhat blinding. I stood there quietly, gazing into the distance with vacant and bewildered eyes.
I didn’t attend the afternoon classes; it was hard for me to breathe the same air as those people and sit through the same lessons. Doing so felt like a betrayal to myself, and I didn’t want to face their mockery and humiliation any longer.
The streets in the afternoon were empty, much like my heart, which had become too shattered to hold anyone anymore. Since my arrival in this world, it seemed I was destined to endure pain, walking slowly and heavily, aimlessly wandering.
Meeting the wrong people at the wrong time felt absurd. I shook my head with a bitter smile, filled with helplessness and sorrow.
Unsure of where to go, I subconsciously walked toward home, my steps dragging and weak.
As I entered Lane, my mother caught up from behind. “Why are you home so early today?”
I knew that telling the truth would only earn me a scolding, so I remained silent, keeping my head down as I walked faster, trying to shake her off.
My mother followed closely behind, the discarded plastic bottles she had picked up clinking together in a way that sent chills down my spine. The sound was particularly jarring in the quiet of Lane.
When we reached home, she tossed aside the trash and began scolding me as she opened the door. “Are you deaf or dumb? You’re just like your father—can’t get a word out of you! With that attitude of yours, what man would ever want you?”
“If you managed to get married, what do I have to be afraid of?” I retorted defiantly, a hint of stubbornness and dissatisfaction on my face.
Smack!
The hand, still reeking of blood, landed a solid slap across my face, and a sharp, fiery pain shot through me as my body instinctively tilted to the side.
The pent-up anger that had been brewing within me finally reached its boiling point. I grabbed a flowerpot filled with scallions next to the door, raised it high above my head, and before I knew it, I brought it crashing down onto Mother’s head. The sound of shattering pottery echoed in my ears.
Blood streamed down Mother's neck as her frail body fell heavily onto the cement floor inside the room, producing a dull thud.
In that moment of losing all reason and acting on impulse, I took a moment to assess the empty lane outside. Taking a deep breath, I closed the door and gripped the doorknob tightly, leaning against the door as I gasped for air.
The small space we shared was thick with a stifling atmosphere that separated me from Mother.
When Father saw the shards of the flowerpot outside, he hurriedly opened the door and rushed inside. His frantic steps nearly tripped over Mother’s body; he stumbled but regained his balance. Confusion quickly morphed into terror on his face as his eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly open, seemingly unable to comprehend what lay before him.
He leaned closer to Mother, trembling as he used two fingers to check for her breath. Suddenly, he recoiled in horror, despair etched across his features.
“Dad, I killed Mom,” I stated calmly, more composed than when I had to inform the school about needing my parents. My gaze was hollow as I looked at Father, my voice devoid of any emotion.
Father stared at me as if I were a monster. Deep down, he embodied that Confucian trait of stoic endurance; it was true that you couldn’t provoke him into a reaction easily. His body trembled slightly, lips moving without sound.
He simply picked up a piece of transparent plastic that Mother had collected and carefully covered her from head to toe with trembling hands, as if concealing an unspeakable secret.
In my hand was the freshly written Confession Letter—my Suicide Note. My fingers gripped the paper tightly, knuckles turning white from the pressure.
“I’ve committed murder; now I’m going to turn myself in.” Though I spoke of surrendering, what I truly yearned for was to plunge into another extreme—I wanted to die. A glimmer of resolve flickered in my eyes.
Father stared blankly at the corpse, his eyes vacant as if his soul had left his body.
I sighed and said to him, "Dad, take care of yourself from now on. Your daughter is unfilial; just consider that you no longer have this family in this lifetime."
"Wait!" Father suddenly pressed against the door, stopping me. His voice was hoarse. "Without your mother, this place feels like a home to me."
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