Pitbabe S2, Chapter 9 pg2

 Pitbabe S2, Chapter 9 pg2

   Being homeless is already pathetic enough. I never expected my miserable existence to entertain anyone else. But this drugged-up gang clearly didn’t see it that way. Bullying someone weaker was probably the first thing on their minds when they woke up. Their faces were full of glee, laughing hysterically, spewing crude insults, and worse, they demeaned me like I wasn’t even the same species. I half-listened to their taunts, but one sentence stuck with me.

   “If I had to be born like you, I’d rather die.”

   The guy on the red motorcycle said it, laughing like he’d just told the best joke ever.

   Honestly, those words didn’t hurt me much. Some days, I genuinely think death might be easier. If there’s an afterlife, I hope I won’t be this unlucky again. I don’t need to be filthy rich—just enough money to buy that box of fried chicken myself would do. So, their attempts to trample my life didn’t sting as much as they thought. I nodded at his words and shot back, 

   “If I had money, I’d buy condoms to donate to your mom.”

   After that, I don’t remember anything.

   All I know is my body was in agony, completely immobile. The stench of blood was so strong I wanted to vomit up that piece of fried chicken, but I didn’t have the strength. The blood pouring from my mouth and nose left no room for anything else. The moments before everything faded were so simple—just me, a faceless woman, and Uncle Tong.

   Uncle Tong might wonder where I went, but I bet he’ll find out by the end of the day. He’ll probably search for me everywhere, thinking to himself that if he finds me, he’ll just act like he’s passing by, like always.

   Uncle Tong didn’t even hold a funeral for me. It’s a bit disappointing, but I get it. What’s the point of a funeral? It’d just be him there, a waste of time and money. He contacted the hospital to pick up my body. Even though I’d been beaten so badly my corpse was a mess, by the time the hospital came, my body had already started to “heal” in some parts (though I don’t know why I still didn’t wake up). They took my battered, dead body to use as a donation for medical study. That’s a big merit, I suppose. Not only did it count as a good deed, but it also made it easy for me to “escape” instead of being cremated. In my next life, I’ll probably be reborn as the owner of a gold shop instead of a tea stall, for sure.

   I chose to let Uncle-Tong think I was dead rather than walk up to his shop and say, “Look, I’m still here.” I don’t know why, exactly. Maybe because dying and coming back made me start seeing a glimmer of purpose in life. I still don’t know what to do with this bizarre ability, but at the very least, I’m beginning to find it kind of fun. A life where you can hit the reset button anytime—doesn’t that sound exciting?

   Honestly, I never thought Uncle-Tong cared about me that much. I always figured I was just his personal charity case, like instead of going to the temple or donating to a foundation, he gave me food and water. After I “died” (the first time), I secretly went back to his tea shop several times, watching from a distance. Uncle-Tong seemed perfectly fine, still selling tea like always. Seeing that gave me an odd sense of relief. I thought I’d be upset if he didn’t seem sad about my death, but when that scenario actually played out, I was terrified of seeing him cry because the trash-picking kid was no longer a burden.

   I was at ease—until I went back to the shack where I used to sleep.

   It hadn’t been torn down. No one, not even a stray dog or cat, had taken my place.

   But there was a plastic bag tied shut, containing a lunch box and a bottle of water, placed right in the middle. It was fresh—inside was basil fried rice with a fried egg, untouched, and the water bottle was still sealed, as if waiting for me to come back and eat.

   I felt something strange in that moment, something I couldn’t say was good or bad. For as long as I can remember, I never cared if anyone remembered me. All I knew was that I had to survive, no matter what it took. Whether I was a beggar, a homeless person, or a lunatic in others’ eyes, that was their problem. And if Uncle-Tong saw me as just a walking charity box, I didn’t care—because my life didn’t matter to anyone.

   And because it didn’t matter, I couldn’t understand why Uncle-Tong kept coming to this smelly shack, throwing out the old food and replacing it with a new bag.

   I quickly hid when I heard footsteps approaching from afar, watching Uncle-Tong sit there for so long I thought he’d left. Then I heard soft sobs.

   The sight of Uncle-Tong crying there changed my perspective forever.

   I turned and walked away, not thinking to greet him or pat his shoulder. All I could think was that before someone else cries over my next death, I’d build a house big and beautiful enough for them to sit and weep in comfort—not just a shack made of cardboard and tin, but a real house with doors and windows, like so many people have from the moment they’re born.

   I’ve died many times already.

   “Tony, the car’s ready,” a voice called.

   And each death has made me a more admirable version of “me.”

   “Thanks,” I said with a smile, setting down the wine glass with just a sip left on the table in front of me. “Let’s go pick up the kids and head home.”

   

   BABE:

   “…It’s like, superposition. Picture this: a particle of light travels through the dimension of time, a stream of photons flowing from the present to the future. That sounds normal, right? Everything’s supposed to flow from present to future. But the weird part is, there’s also a part that flows from the present to the past at the same time. Okay, it’s not like we can build a time machine right now—that’s too far-fetched—but could it be possible? Especially the idea that a particle can be in two places at once. Personally, I believe it. I believe there are millions of other ‘us’ out there in different time dimensions, versions of us that are different. Maybe there’s a world where I don’t wear glasses. No, that’s too simple—could do that in this world.”

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