The One Chosen to Die

The moment my soul drifted out of my body, I could no longer feel any pain.

My heart stopped pumping, and the ache in my chest disappeared. I simply floated upward, light and weightless, and passed through the basement door.

The same door I had just been banging on yet could not open.

In the living room, candlelight flickered. A warm yellow glow fell across my parents’ and sister’s faces.

They sat close together on a fur rug. Mom, Linda Walker, gently patted my sister Bella Roth’s back.

Dad, David Roth, kept his head lowered, his shoulders trembling. It was hard to tell whether he was crying or holding it in.

Bella was wearing that white fox fur dress, the only one in the house who had it.

The fur at the hem shimmered silver in the candlelight, making her face look even paler.

“Mom, Dad, is Clara really okay?” Bella asked softly. “I heard her saying her chest hurt…”

Linda’s hand paused for a moment, then continued.

“Don’t worry about her,” she said coldly. “She’s just pretending to gain sympathy. You know how she is.”

Pretending.

To gain sympathy.

I stood in front of them, already dead. So why did I still feel like crying?

Bella opened her mouth as if to speak, but Dad suddenly looked up, his eyes red.

“Bella, don’t worry about her,” he said. “Today is your sixteenth birthday. You just need to be happy.”

Since birth, a witch had said that Bella would die at sixteen.

Her prophecies had never been wrong. So in this house, everything good belonged to Bella.

The best venison, the warmest furs, and all of our parents’ love and patience.

I felt resentful and jealous. However, I knew Bella had done nothing wrong.

It was all because of that damn prophecy!

Bella would secretly put healing herbs under my pillow.

She would take apart the warm wrist guards our parents gave her, adjust them, and give them to me.

Every time our parents scolded me for being naughty or immature, Bella would always be the first to rush over and stand in front of me.

“It’s not like that, Clara didn’t…”

She always said, “Clara, I’m sorry. It’s all because of me…”

Then our parents would pull her away and say, “You’re too kind. Don’t speak for her.”

Linda suddenly sighed, her voice filled with exhaustion and resentment.

“She’s been jealous of you since she was little. Do you remember her fourteenth birthday?

“She threw a tantrum and overturned the altar. The whole family had to clean up for a long time.”

That time, our parents forgot it was my birthday, too.

They bought Bella a new pair of deer-hide boots, while I got nothing.

I just wanted… Mom and Dad to notice me too.

No one remembered how wronged I felt, though. They only cared about Bella.

Bella’s lips moved, and I saw her eyes turn red.

“Mom, actually, that time it was—”

“Alright, enough,” Linda interrupted, pulling her into her arms. “Today is about you. Don’t talk about unhappy things.”

I reached out, trying to grab Bella’s hand.

I wanted to tell her it was okay and that I didn’t blame her.

However, my fingers passed through her wrist. I couldn’t touch anything.

My vision passed through the walls, the hallway, the locked wooden door, and fell back into the basement.

I saw myself curled up on the pile of hay.

My body lay there, my face pale, and my lips purple.

I had forgotten that I was already dead and couldn’t touch anyone anymore.

The witch was right. Bella would die at sixteen.

It was just that no one expected mine would end first before Bella’s time ran out.

I died on Bella’s sixteenth birthday, when my mom said, “Just bear with it.”