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墨書 Inktalez
Half a year later, my parents got into an argument with Uncle's House.
Dad shouted, "You are being too bullying; your words are getting sharper and more sarcastic."
Aunt sneered, "You are the greedy ones. We help you raise your daughter, and yet you nitpick every little thing."
Dad slammed his hand on the table, "Move the second child's household registration back here; we don't need your help."
Uncle grabbed his arm, "You wish! Once she’s given to me, she’s our daughter. You want her back? No way!"
Dad's eyes turned red with anger as he yanked me over and pushed me hard to the ground.
I fell and hurt my bottom; before I could even cry, he kicked me again.
Then he turned and went back inside.
When he came out again, he was holding a plastic bag filled with several red booklets.
Those were used for changing household registrations.
He jumped onto the Agricultural Tricycle in the yard, shifted gears, and reversed.
He pressed the accelerator to the floor almost instantly, and the Tricycle charged out of the gate like a mad bull.
The Tricycle came straight at me.
I rolled and crawled to get out of the way.
The back of the truck still knocked me over, and the wheels ruthlessly ran over my chest.
It hurt so much.
But in just a moment, I stopped feeling pain.
I felt lighter and stood up as if floating.
It was somewhat amusing.
I seemed to have suddenly grown taller; looking down, everyone below was staring up at me in shock.
I looked down at myself but saw nothing except for a pair of small hands.
Had I shrunk again?
I heard someone exclaim, "A ghost!"
Then there was a thud.
A figure fell to the ground.
I strained my neck, trying to see who had fainted.
At that moment, my mother and sister rushed over, crying out.
They leaned down to look under the Tricycle.
My father and uncle also approached with serious expressions.
My father tilted his head to glance inside the vehicle and impatiently pushed my mother aside, saying, "Why are you crying? She's not dead yet!"
Then he crouched down to look inside the vehicle himself.
I floated over as well, crouching down to look inside.
In the back of the vehicle lay a girl about my age, covered in blood, her face pale and motionless.
I reached out to touch her face; it was icy cold.
She was dead.
I stared blankly at this girl; she was... me.
I was already dead.
Looking at my own corpse, I felt no fear; instead, I found it unbelievable.
I had actually died.
My mother crouched down again, wanting to touch the girl's face, but as her hand reached out, it retracted again, tears streaming down her face.
My father impatiently pushed her away, reaching out to check for breath in front of the girl's nose, then expressionlessly announced, "No breath left; let's take her back."
He then took a burlap sack and wrapped up the girl's body in his arms.
My mother cried out to hold me but was kicked to the ground by my father.
My uncle's family placed the girl's body on a wooden board; my father carried me at the front while my uncle and aunt lifted the board behind him.
I floated in the air, following behind them.
Suddenly, my uncle shouted, "Wait! I just saw her hand move; is she still alive?"
Dad didn't look back and said, "Even if we're alive, we have to carry it back first."
When they got home, they placed the wooden board by the water platform in the yard.
The movements were a bit rough, causing the girl's hand to fall again, and her head tilted to one side.
A breeze blew through, tousling her hair.
It revealed a face that looked exactly like mine.
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