Too Late, Mom

My mother had hated my guts for 18 years. On the day I died, they had gone on a vacation and were happily snapping photos. The cops called her, but she got upset because the news marred her mood. So, she retorted, "He'd never take his own life. I bet this is just another one of his attempts to get my money. He can die for all I care. I'm not interested." She had no idea that I was already dead. Chapter 1 Unwanted Boy The cops called my family to inform them of my death, but they shrugged it off. They assumed the cops were calling for something trivial. My parents and my brother weren't affected at all. The tourist spot was jam-packed, but they looked happy taking photos, checking in, and enjoying the local food. My spirit hovered in the air, watching those who were supposed to be my family going about enjoying life. My heart panged, but I couldn't cry. The tears wouldn't come. I was already used to situations like these. I came to this new home when I was six, and my mother's hatred for me only grew stronger since then. When I was born, a seer told my mother I was cursed. She believed him and abandoned me in a small town. They only took me home when I turned six. My father noticed my constant low mood, so he grabbed my sister and me and took us for a ride. My mother told him not to spoil me. She said that I'd grow up a menace to society if I didn't keep my temper in check. My father ignored her and happily took my sister and me for a ride. Alas, he drove while he was tired, and the car crash killed him and my sister. They were the ones who loved me the most. I was the only survivor of that car accident. My father and my sister's bodies lay in the cold, cold morgue. I stood beside them, still ignorant of what death meant. Still, it didn't take me long to realize my mother was glaring at me with hatred, pain, and something close to madness in her eyes. "Why? Why wasn't it you?" That same question has plagued me ever since. I couldn't help but wonder whether I'd feel as sad if I were the one who had died instead. My mother forbade me from approaching my father and sister. She shivered, cried, and shoved me away every time I tried to get close. I was no longer her son from that moment onward. Rather, I was the murderer of her husband and daughter, a creature that had destroyed her family. She was on the verge of a mental breakdown. The devastated and unhinged look she shot me made me shiver in fear. I didn't have the courage to approach her. So, I pushed myself up from the ground as hard as I could, only for my wound to tear open. Tears and blood fused into a small stream, and the crimson liquid trickled to the ground. Perhaps that was when my mother's hatred for me truly grew. Our relatives showed up for the funeral. I vaguely heard my grandmother asking my mother how she expected to remarry if she still had deadweight following her around. My grandmother didn't think much of my father, and she extended that disdain to me. She never responded to me, no matter how many times I called her. My mother had no answer for the question. I was now an unwanted liability, someone that no one wanted around. My mother's brother was the one who came and held my hand. "You'll stay with me from now on, Jonah." I was about to say yes when my grandmother interrupted, "You jinx! You killed your father and sister, and now you want to curse my son?" I stood frozen in my spot. Then, I hastily shook my head. No, that wasn't it! I would never. My uncle insisted on taking me, and I stayed under his roof for three years. During my second year living under his roof, he informed me that my mother had found a new family. After that, he even tried to comfort me. I nodded quietly, but I didn't notice the redness in the edges of his eyes. My mother's new husband was a locally famous, rich upstart. It was to absolutely no one's surprise that my grandmother had a hand in that marriage happening. Two years later, my mother took me into her new family. I had wrongly assumed that her hatred for me had faded away. Chapter 2 Bullied My bedroom was right next door to my stepbrother's. Unfortunately, that boy despised me with every fiber of his being. He would cause a ruckus in my room all the time and throw my stuff everywhere. He even threw the painting my uncle gave me into the trash. My uncle was a traveling artist. He had drawn a portrait of me, my dad, my mom, and my sister. It was a family portrait of us during happier times. That was the only memorabilia I had left about my family. My mother had locked everything else away. I didn't want my memories of my father and my sister to fade. So, I picked up all the torn pieces from the bin and quietly pieced them back together, taping them together. Alas, it just wasn't the same. It was already destroyed. I wanted to raise hell and seek justice, but I suddenly remembered what my uncle told me before I left. "No mother would hate their own son. It's just hard for her to process her grief. She'll get over it in time." My uncle wanted to mend my strained relationship with my mother, especially when she showed me no hatred when she came to me. She'd even introduced my stepbrother to me and hoped we could get along. That thought stopped me cold in the living room. So, I swallowed my anger and walked back to my room. However, that boy said, "Hey, kick that ugly toy over to me. I'll show you how you're supposed to kick things." I looked down at the 'ugly toy.' It was a gift my father bought for my fourth birthday, an action figure. Yet, it was now disfigured and dismantled by scissors. I bent over and picked it up before carefully cradling it in my arms. "Hey, I'm talking to you! Are you deaf, Jonah? Kick it over!" I glared at him. He got scared and sidled up to my mother like a coward. My mother noticed what I was angry about. She said nonchalantly, "It's just a toy. You can get a new one. Don't glare at your brother." She had no idea this was the last thing my father left me. All I wanted was an apology from Yves Riverson. Sadly, Yves had my mother backing him, and he knew it. So, he started mocking me, saying, "Apology? Over trash?" I shoved him to the ground hard. He didn't see that coming, and a nosebleed happened. My mother shoved me away, and I started to shiver in horror over what I'd done in a fit of anger. Then, my mother slapped me so hard, my ears began to ring, and I tasted metal in my mouth. At that moment, it was as if that ringing sound was the only thing I could hear. When I looked up, I once again saw fury and hatred in my mother's eyes. That wasn't all, as I saw her gently wipe the blood off Yves' face with tissues. I could see her mouth moving, so I knew she was saying something to him. When she turned her eyes to me, I had a feeling she really wanted to kill me right then and there. Chapter 3 Wicked Mother "If you can't forget them, then you should've died with them!" My mother ripped that toy out of my hand and smashed it against the ground. She stomped and trampled all over it until it was irrevocably broken. All I wanted was an apology from Yves, but it was at that moment that I realized that my mother would hate me for as long as I lived. Since then, I made it a point to limit any contact with them as much as I could. I only came out for meals and would hide in my room once that was over. When high school came, I applied to live in a dorm. "Your allowance is cut from 500 to 200 starting next month. You know how much your grandmother loves to gamble. She lost five million this time, and your stepfather despises gambling. I used my money to pay off her debt. You'll have to bear with it for a bit." And here I thought she called because she missed me. I was wrong. Still, that didn't change the fact that she was only going to give me 200 dollars a month when I was a growing boy. I knew that money was far from enough, but I didn't need her to keep disliking me. In the end, I subsisted on only one bread a day. If I got hungry, I would chug my belly full of water. When I was little, she would lock me up in my room and forbid meals just because I did something she didn't like. Well, it's that, or I didn't get full marks in my tests, or I didn't get top spot in my exams. Eventually, my gastric condition worsened so much that my classmates had to take me to the hospital. The doctor gave me a diagnosis. I clenched that piece of paper tightly as I stared and stared. Late-stage stomach cancer. Wonderful. So, I crawled back to that nightmare of a house after making myself scarce for a year. My mother was scrolling on her phone. She saw me through the corner of her eye before turning her attention back to her phone. She assumed I was here to beg for money, so she swiftly blurted, "Be grateful. I had only 60 dollars a month when I was young. 100 is more than enough for you. I even doubled it." My lips thinned into a line as I mustered my courage to speak up. "It's not enough, Mom. I'm sick…" I took my diagnosis out in an attempt to gain a modicum of concern from her. My hands were trembling as I handed that diagnosis over. Alas, she swatted it out of my hands. Her eyes were filled with fury and clear distrust. "Coming up with sob stories now, are we? You were fine before the allowance cut, but now you're sick?" Based on the way she was looking at me, I would've thought that she was looking at her sworn enemy instead of her son. I felt the last bit of my bravery turn to dust, but I took a few steps forward, trying to defend myself, "I wasn't lying—" She shot up from her seat and grabbed something hard sitting beside the couch before hurling it at me. "Shut it! You're just leeching off us, you ungrateful boy!" My stepfather was hanging the clothes to dry on the balcony. The commotion drew him back to the living room immediately. When he saw what was happening, he hastily escorted me to my room. Then, he turned and smiled at my mother. "Calm down. He's just a boy." My mother still didn't let it go. "He's picked up a ton of bad habits! All I wanted was for him to learn to be frugal, and now he's making up stories about stomach cancer! I just saw a video, and the child made millions a month even though they were only college kids. "They could give their parents a life of luxury, but him? He's still leeching off my money. God, he's insufferable. It's like he's trying to suck me dry. To think he still has the audacity to show up with that long face all day. I hope he drops dead!" My stomach was screaming at me again. I curled up in my room and closed the door softly, but my mother's curses hit me like a wave of needles. Her wish for my death kept ringing around my ears like a curse that would never shut up. I could feel my heart being flayed every time her words replayed in my mind like a demented jingle. It was far from the first time I had heard her curse at me, but it still hurt. I wondered if my death was a relief for her. If that was the case… Well, the doctor had announced that I had less than three months left to live. I'm certain she would be delighted when she finds my corpse. Chapter 4 No Sympathy My allowance was cut by 300 dollars. So, I was left with barely enough for the cheapest meals every single day after spending on school necessities. Although my life was on a terribly short countdown, I still wanted to make it count by taking the college entrance exam and fulfilling my dream. Regardless, I would work part-time as a flyer distributor every Sunday afternoon. My boss paid me an extra 20 when he found out the predicament I was in. Half a day of work would net me a hundred, and I was paid on the spot. This money right here was essential for my survival. One Sunday, I was going to take a shower at home before going back to school after I finished my work. However, I saw my mother rummaging through her bag when I got home. Then, she looked at me and demanded like a dog with a bone, "I'm missing a hundred. Did you steal from me?" I had questions, but she strode over and grabbed my bag before I could say anything. There was no money inside, no matter how much she searched. That did not deter her. Instead, she started a body search on me. That was when she found a hundred in my pocket. "You actually stole from me!" she spat. I knew I was in for a beating whenever she had the crazy eyes on. That look in her eyes drew out some kind of primal fear in me, causing me to instinctively back away as I defended myself tremulously, "I didn't… I didn't steal. I worked part-time for it…" She didn't believe one word out of my mouth. Sure enough, she slapped me and screamed almost hysterically, "Lying again! Did you forget everything I taught you? Do you think I'm a fool? Do you really think a lie like that can trick me? I'm going to teach you a lesson!" She pulled her charger out of the socket and grabbed my arm. I was yanked to the ground as she cracked that charger on me like a whip. The pain was more than words could describe, but my heart was already numb to it. She had a militaristic way of handling me ever since I started attending grade school. I started off confused and then heartbroken. Eventually, I started resisting, but now I was just numb. My mother had her special teaching sessions for me handled down pat. She used the charger wire because that seemed like the perfect educational tool. She'd learned through trial and error that sticks and hangers would leave bloody marks, but the pain left by charger wires? Oh, those wiry things hurt. During her lessons, she also taught me how to pinch someone enough to inject pain but leave no traces. Sometimes, she would teach me that beating someone with a bat wrapped in a towel would be painful, but would leave the person with no visible injuries. It was cruel and almost comical, but it was something my mother found out by experimenting on me, her own son. My stomach was starting to tear again. I knew that sensation. The money I had worked so hard to save was all taken away by my mother. Now, I had less than 10 dollars to my name. I was going to be in for it for the next couple of weeks, so I thought I would try to survive on one single bun for three days. Sadly, I severely overestimated my body. One day, my vision suddenly turned black during my morning jog in gym class. I fell to the ground unconscious. My teacher carried me on his back and charged right to the infirmary. The medic checked and said it was low blood sugar. My classmates told the teacher what I was dealing with. Although my teacher couldn't interfere with familial affairs, my tale still shook him. Still, it wasn't exactly odd for students to faint from low blood sugar due to stress during their senior year. Most of the time, the student would be fine after waking up, and the teachers would send them back to class. Nonetheless, my teacher rang up my mother due to my unique circumstances. My mother was reluctant to come over, but my teacher insisted on her being here. Finally, she begrudgingly agreed to drop by. When she came, she saw my teacher urging me to eat the food he'd bought for me. My mother took it the wrong way and thought I was up to something, so she slapped me right in front of everyone. Then, she shrieked, "You failure! I thought you fainted! You seem fine to me! Stop acting already! I hope you drop dead!"