Her words only meant she didn’t want me to eat.
I chased the rats with a broom, but they darted into the walls and rice jar. I couldn’t catch them.
Having not eaten since yesterday morning, I grew dizzy from hunger. I nearly fainted.
Mom only smirked coldly.
“Useless. You might as well starve.”
She always kept her word when it came to tormenting me.
So that night, I went without food.
Counting from yesterday’s breakfast, I had starved for a full day and night—my only taste of food being that half bite of chocolate.
The gnawing hunger drove me to the kitchen early the next morning.
I tried to heat up the bowl of rotten stew.
Just as I lit the stove, Mom stormed in and slapped me hard.
“So young and already greedy for comfort? You even want to eat warm food? Wasting gas!”
“You’re lazy, aren’t you? Eat it cold!”
I was crushed with humiliation, but as a child, I had no power to argue.
Yesterday she had told me to heat it up, but today she forbade it.
If I argued, she’d prick my mouth with a needle, calling me a liar.
With no choice, I curled up in the corner and forced down the icy, rotten stew until my stomach twisted in agony.
Soon I was vomiting and writhing in pain.
Mom kicked me where I lay.