A Mother's Final Portrait

My mother was the best portrait artist in the police station. She had a strong sense of justice and brooked no evil. However, all I got was a sharp retort when I called her to save me. "You know it's your sister's coming-of-age celebration today, and you're cursing her? Kidnapped, are you? Fine, the kidnappers can kill you for all I care."

She assumed it was a prank call. So, she refused to go to the police station and do her job. I wasn't saved in time and was tortured to death. When the DNA report came out, she came to the scene all wobbly. She drew a portrait of me with my bones as reference, her hand trembling all the way.

"Jessica? It can't be her. This is a mistake!" She tried again and again. Yet, it didn't matter how many times she redid it as the portrait showed my face. My mother, who had hated me my whole life, teared up.

Dead and Unloved

I died. My dress was switched out for tattered fabric, and it hung loosely on my body. My face was a mess; knives slashed it all up. My soul was hovering in the air, not dissipating on just yet.

I followed that strong feeling that had been tugging at me. Strangely, it led me home. My mother was in the living room, grunting as she pushed a gigantic gift box over to Yvonne Hendrickson.

The box contained the gifts she had carefully picked for Yvonne. Every single one of them was worth a fortune. Me? My mother didn't even give me her best wishes when I came of age.

All these years, the one thing she often told me was, "I wished it was you who died."

When I was born, I was born a healthy baby. My twin brother, however, died before twenty-four hours were up. The doctor said my brother died of multiple organ failures, presumably because he didn't receive enough nourishment during gestation.

The dame on the next bed was munching on her fruit and spoke of her experience. "Well, we have a strong girl here. She probably took the boy's nourishment for herself. I've seen a lot of cases back when I was a midwife in my village."

She came over and looked at me. "She's going to be a survivor." The dame smiled. "Look at her, such a beautiful girl."

My mother leaned on the headboard, looking at me with hatred and confusion. My father was furious after hearing what the dame said. He claimed this was too much for him to bear and wanted a divorce immediately.

He believed that I was a dark omen. If I were to be kept around, his business would be hurt. Since then, everyone has called me a jinx or an ill omen.

Yvonne asked carefully, "It's late, Mom. Jessica's still not back. She might be abducted for real."

The mention of my name made my mother impatient. There was nothing but disgust in her eyes. hat the dame said

"She's a compulsive liar. Not a word out of her mouth can be trusted. There's no way a kidnapper would just take someone and ask for me in return instead of money. She's just trying to ruin your coming-of-age celebration. That girl is twisted and evil."

My mind went blank. I couldn't think of anything in the face of such vitriol. If I still had a heart, my mother's words would've shredded it into pieces. Back when I was abducted, I thought the kidnapper wanted money, but he didn't.

He shakily held a dagger against my neck and told me to call my mother for help. When he realized she wouldn't come, he flew into a rage. The man grabbed the metal pipe beside him and slammed it against my head. Again. And again. And again.

While I was still conscious, he stabbed his dagger into the crack between my nail and finger, and then he pried my nails off, one by one, until every single nail was taken away.

Then, he slashed up my face and left mark after mark on my body. Finally, he grabbed a beggar's clothes and draped them over me. I would never forget what he said when he plunged that dagger into my heart.

"You have a home, yet no one loves you. You're worth less than a beggar."