1 Distress

The moon cast an eerie glow upon the gravestones, Anna Hendrix and her younger sister, Mia, stood side by side. It was a moonlit night, and they found themselves in a spooky and silent cemetery. It had been a year since their mother's passing, and the pain in their hearts remained hauntingly fresh.

Anna tried to be strong for her little sister, but tonight, fear gripped her tightly. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice quivered as she spoke softly, "Mom... we miss you so much."

Mia clutched a small bouquet of wilted flowers, her hands trembling as she knelt down before the grave. Her voice, filled with a mix of innocence and fear, whispered, "W-we brought you flowers, Mom. They're... they're not as pretty as you, but we tried."

A chilling wind rustled the branches of the nearby trees, as if the spirits of the night were whispering in the shadows. Anna's shoulders shook, and she dropped to her knees beside Mia, wrapping her arm around her trembling frame.

"We had so many dreams, Mom," Anna choked out, her voice barely audible over the haunting night sounds. "You were our guiding light, and now... now we're lost without you."

Mia buried her face in her sister's shoulder, her tears mixing with a shiver down her spine. "W-why did you have to leave us, Mom? Why..!

Their cries echoed through the eerie cemetery, their sorrow blending with the chilling atmosphere. The void left by their mother's absence felt even more ominous, and the pain seemed to echo through the night.

________

Six years later.

I woke up, my body aching and fatigued, a sensation I had grown accustomed to. I peeled myself off the mattress on the floor and glanced at the time, only to feel a jolt of pain shoot through me. It was 5:03 am, and I was already behind.

My weary eyes fell upon Mia, curled up on her bed. She appeared fragile, her eyes sunken and burdened with dark bags, her breath shallow and strained, as if each passing minute threatened to steal away her life.

Her once radiant skin had lost its luster, now bearing a sickly pallor, tinged with yellowish hues.

Cancer had ravaged her body, and its relentless grip had engulfed us both in its merciless clutches. The past six years had been a relentless struggle, a journey through a living nightmare. Even working two jobs barely made a dent in the mountain of medical expenses, all in an attempt to save her life.

I couldn't bear the thought of losing my sister. She was all I had left in this world.

The pain of losing our parents to the same disease still haunted me. If only Dad hadn't succumbed, perhaps Mom wouldn't have died. They left us in a world where the rich feasted upon the poor, a world of heartlessness and cruelty. Weren't they selfish? I wondered, wiping away the tears streaming down my face.

I entered our tiny bathroom, washed up, and readied myself for work. As I reached for the door handle of our old cabin, which seemed on the verge of collapsing at any moment, I glanced at my wristwatch. Dread gnawed at my stomach—I was already late.

I hastily tied up my unruly hair and sprinted, my feet pounding the pavement as I raced towards the hospital where I worked as a cleaner. I struggled to catch my breath, gasping for air, as I finally arrived after sprinting through four streets.

With a trembling breath, I greeted the doctor from a distance, mindful of his previous warnings against running. But I had no other choice—I had to keep going.

"How are you doing, Anna?" he inquired, flipping through papers on his desk.

"I'm fine, doc," I managed to utter, my breath still labored.

He paused, his gaze fixed upon me. "Anna, you ran again?" he asked, a furrow forming on his weathered face, his eyes hidden behind his glasses.

"I couldn't afford a cab, Mr. Lin!" I replied, my voice edging toward frustration, grabbing the hoover cleaner as I commenced my daily duties.

Scrubbing, sweeping, and purging—I immersed myself in the tasks at hand. I was soon drenched in sweat, my stomach growling loudly from hunger, my body trembling from exhaustion and malnourishment. I had hoped that over time, this painful existence would become bearable, but I was wrong. One could never truly get accustomed to such hardships.

"Are you finished?" the elderly doctor inquired, adjusting his glasses with precision.

"Yes, doc... I must go now. Time hasn't been kind to me," I replied, stealing a glance at my ancient, worn-out wristwatch, a relic of my lifetime.

He grumbled, clearing his throat. "Take this and promise me you won't run again. You're twenty-two, for heaven's sake, Anna," he scolded, handing me a twenty-dollar bill.

My eyes widened in astonishment as I held the money in my hands. It had been ages since I had possessed such a sum. The sight filled my heart with a glimmer of joy, an emotion long forgotten.

"Thank you, doc. I truly appreciate this," I smiled, expressing my gratitude before stepping out of his office.

With a newfound sense of hope, I clutched the bills tightly, my spirit uplifted. I no longer needed to rush to the club where I worked as a waitress.

Flagging down a cab, I provided the driver with the address of Donovan's Club. After a seven-minute drive, the car came to a halt in front of the opulent golden building that stood majestically on the street. I released a sigh and made my way towards the manager's office, mentally preparing myself for the presence of the perpetually irritable old woman. She was likely waiting eagerly to reprimand me for being late, but I found myself indifferent to her scathing remarks. Instead, they had transformed into a symphony of background noise.

"Well done, Anna," her voice reverberated throughout the office the moment I stepped inside. "How many times must I tell you never to be late? Do you think I'm joking?" she snarled.

"I... I'm sorry, Ma'am Rita. I overslept. I promise it won't happen again," I stammered, my gaze lowered, anticipating the scolding.

"You can't make promises you can't keep, Anna. And don't apologize. If this happens again, you'll be sorry when you're out of a job."

"Thank you, Ma'am," I replied, my voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and resignation.