Se connecterMy father, Terence Locke, is covered in mud. He grabs my shoulders desperately, and his eyes are bloodshot. He says, "Emma, my company has gone bankrupt, and I accidentally killed a business rival. You have to run away with me." I believe him. Suppressing my fear, I follow him deep into the untouched mountains. To find food for him, I eat bugs and drink dirty water. When a pack of wolves closes in on our cave, my first instinct is to stand in front of him. "Dad, I'll lure them away. Run!" I look back at him one last time before finally making up my mind to trade my life for his. But after I leap off a seemingly bottomless cliff and fall to a pulp on the rocks below, I somehow "see" him inside a slowly descending helicopter. He is popping a bottle of champagne in celebration. At that moment, I finally understand everything. The whole desperate escape over the past few days that ultimately pushes me to sacrifice my life is nothing more than a reality show staged by him. He is merely putting on a performance, while I am truly dead...
Voir plusDad started drinking and talking to himself. He went off the deep end.A week after my death, he brought my urn back to the cliff where we'd filmed that reality show. He now looked like a homeless man—unshaven, clothes wrinkled and dirty, and reeking of alcohol. There was nothing left of the high-flying man from the helicopter that day.He set my urn down on the big rock where I'd fallen to my death. Then, he laid out a whole spread of strawberry mousse cakes. He'd gone all over the city, hitting every bakery he could find to buy them."Emma, it's time to eat."Dad sat on the ground, grabbed a piece of cake with his hand, and shoved it into his mouth.I watched him.He ate fast, almost ferociously, as if he were trying to make up for every moment he'd failed me in this life. Whipped cream clung to his beard, mixing with the blood from where he'd bitten his lip without even realizing it.Red blood and pink cream churned together in his mouth."It's so sweet. You always liked swe
Dad's finger stopped on that line, and his tears finally fell. I couldn't tell if the grief was genuine or if this was just an act for the cops standing beside him.He kept flipping through the pages, reading all the way to the last one. That last entry had been written that morning. The handwriting was messy, like it had been scribbled in a rush."Those people caught up to us. Dad hurt his leg and can't run fast. If we really can't get away, I'll go distract them. I put all the money I have in this hidden pocket. It's only a few thousand, but I hope it's enough for Dad to buy some food."P.S. Dad, if I make it back alive this time, can you buy me a strawberry mousse cake? You always get black forest cake for me, but I'm actually allergic to chocolate. Every time I eat it, I break out in hives. But you look so happy when you're buying the cake that I just can't bring myself to tell you. Still, if I end up dying to save you this time, I guess I'll never have to take allergy meds agai
Dad froze.The director was right. He had indeed said that.He was the one who said, "If Emma finds out, the acting won't feel real. I want her to really think I'm going to die. I want to feel that despair and sacrifice."For this so-called "authenticity", he'd taken away my right to know the truth. With it, he'd taken away my chance at survival.If I'd known it was all an act, I would've run to the left. I would've jumped onto the safety cushions.However, I'd thought the wolves were real. I'd thought Dad was really going to die. That was why I'd chosen the road that led to my death instead.Dad was the one who'd personally forced his only daughter into a dead end.His mouth hung open, but he couldn't make a sound. Sheer absurdity and terror wrapped around his heart like a giant hand and squeezed hard.He suddenly started patting his pockets, fumbling to pull out his phone. I thought he was going to call 911 or the cops, but the first thing he did was open the livestream app's
My limbs were twisted at impossible angles, and my whole body was covered in blood. My face, which Dad always complained was "so depressing" was now so pale that it was almost translucent.A jagged tree branch had pierced straight through my chest, pinning me and the mud beneath me to the ground. Rain beat against my face, but it couldn't wash away that gray pallor of death.Dad stood there, frozen. Then, he laughed. "This prop looks insanely real."He took a couple of steps forward, crouched down, and reached out. His fingertips brushed my cheek. It felt slick, like skin washed clean by the rain. My flesh had lost all softness, leaving only a cold, rigid touch.He was still smiling, but his eyes were nothing but two dark, hollow pits."Wayne, where'd you get this prop made? It's so realistic. Even the wound…"Dad reached toward the blood on my chest. "Why isn't this paint dry yet?"He scrubbed at it, harder and harder. The more he wiped, the more there was. The blood smeared ac






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