On the table sat a few small bread rolls. On the bed lay a dirty blanket.
I didn't want to stay here.
I tried to reach the door handle and found the lock was broken. It couldn't actually hold the door shut.
After struggling all afternoon, the sky outside had gone completely dark.
By moonlight, I walked toward where I remembered the stairs being.
It was too dark in here. I stepped on something—I don't know what—and my foot slipped out from under me.
I didn't even have time to scream. Pain tore through me, and everything went black.
Then I floated up.
I saw myself lying there, my neck twisted at an impossible angle.
So dying was that easy.
I looked around, lost. With nowhere else to go, I went home.
It was dinnertime. Mom was humming while she cooked.
She was making stir-fried beef with scallions—Ethan's favorite.
Beside it sat dishes already finished: braised fish for my sister, braised eggplant for Dad, scrambled eggs with tomatoes for Mom.
Nothing I liked.
I stood next to Mom. She seemed to be in a good mood.
My leaving was apparently just a small thing to her.
"Mom."