The double blow led to me being labeled a “misfortune” from the moment I entered the world. From then on, I was the unwanted child, unloved and unnoticed.
Seeing how my family handled my death, I lost any desire to come back to life. What was the point? No one cared when I was alive and no one cared now that I was gone. I might as well disappear completely.
However, the King of Hell had other plans. A restriction was placed on my soul. Until the game was over, for the next seven days, I would be confined to a fifty-meter radius around my closest relatives. I couldn’t leave, no matter how much I wanted to.
This was the second day of my death. I had witnessed my hasty cremation and was still waiting for a single tear to be shed in my honor. So far, I have collected zero tears.
Twenty-eight more days until this game ended.
After they returned from the crematorium, my mother and father spent the rest of the day meticulously searching through the rubble of the old house that had burned down, looking for something to salvage.
Then, after they finished, they acted as if nothing had happened. They left the house and went to the next-door neighbor to play chess.