Cursed Child No More My Parents DownfallChapter 1
According to my mother, I was a curse made flesh. She swore the moment I entered this world, I nearly killed her with a hemorrhage so massive it soaked through three sets of sheets. She hated me for it. In the dead of winter, she would leave me outside in nothing but a thin cloth until fever burned through my tiny body like wildfire.
When my father took me to see a doctor, he slipped on black ice and shattered his leg. That accident sealed his belief. I existed for one purpose only—to bring ruin to everyone who came near me. In his rage, he threw me into the pigpen. Let me eat swill. Let me fend for myself among the animals.
I would have frozen to death if not for Grandma.
She couldn't bear to watch me die. She scooped me up, pressed her warmth into my frozen skin, and spooned rice paste into my mouth until I was seven years old.
When it was time for me to start school, Grandma walked to town to buy me a schoolbag. On the way back, a car struck her.
She never came home.
When they found her, her fingers were still wrapped around the straps of that bag.
I wailed, my small legs pumping as fast as they could carry me toward her body. But before I could reach her, my father—eyes bloodshot, veins bulging at his temples—swung his leg and kicked me to the ground.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs. Pain lanced through my ribs. A metallic tang flooded my mouth, and I coughed up a splatter of bright red blood onto the frozen dirt.
He didn't even blink.
"This is all your fault." His voice dripped venom. "You jinx. You brought this on us. Why couldn't you just die?"
Later, after the funeral, I walked alone toward the icy river at the edge of the village.
1.
Earlier that day, I had returned from the mountain with a basket full of grass. A crowd had gathered in Grandma's cramped courtyard. Every face was carved with grief.
Confusion swirled through me, but a cold pit in my stomach whispered that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
The basket slipped from my fingers. My feet moved before my mind caught up, carrying me toward the house. Faith Odell caught my arm, her grip tight.
Her eyes were rimmed with red. "Don't go in there, child. You're too little. It will only scare you."
I shoved her away—desperation lending me strength I didn't know I had—and rushed into the main hall.