Maus II: A Survivor's Tale: And Here My Troubles Began

If someone would ask if series of unfortunate event is true, I volunteer to testify. For three decades, I have been unlucky with everything - love, family, career, success. And I blame loving Albert for all these misfortunes. Until one day, I was given a chance to do everything all over again. I woke up in my eighteen-year old body... The day before I met Albert.

After my younger brother, Thomas Werther, is born, my family puts a reward and disciplinary system in place. As the older brother, I receive double the punishment whenever Thomas makes a mistake. But whenever he accomplishes something, I am rewarded too. At first, I teach Thomas how to eat and use the toilet. My dad, Ronald Werther, praises me for doing such a great job and buys me stylish new clothes and all the toys I want. But one day, Thomas accidentally breaks a vase. After watching me take the punishment for it, he claps happily, as though he has just discovered something incredible. From that moment on, my life becomes a living nightmare. Thomas starts wreaking havoc around the house without restraint. He deliberately does the opposite of whatever I tell him. Dad's punishments grow harsher and harsher. At first, he only strikes my palms. Then he makes me stand for hours, forbids me from eating, and whips me with a cane. Every time I scream in pain, Thomas bursts into delighted laughter and claps his hands. I try to expose what Thomas is doing, but Dad only looks at me with disgust. "Thomas is just a kid! What could he possibly know? You don't teach him properly, and now you're trying to shirk responsibility? How did I end up raising a son like you?" And just like that, I endure Thomas' schemes until his third birthday. This time, giggling with delight, he smashes the only keepsake Granddad left behind.

This an autobiography of a man's childhood day, the horror and the dread that he went through, it also comprises of other happenings that made up his childhood day: both sad and happy moments.

When I was three years old, my parents became infamous in our social circle as a mutually destructive couple for a misunderstanding that led them to cheat on each other. To get revenge on each other, they didn’t hesitate to hurt me just to hurt one another. Over the next five years, my mother beat me until my bones broke three times. My father “lost” me on purpose five times. And once, during one of their arguments, they threw me straight into the ocean. Eventually, they grew tired of that life, but instead of stopping, they changed the game. They got divorced, and each of them adopted a new child, showering them with affection as if it were some kind of competition As for me? I became the unwanted piece of trash. The only time I mattered was when they thought of each other, and they needed someone to take their anger out on. The only thing that kept me going was a small locket pendant they gave me when I was born. Engraved on it were the words: peace and joy. It was the only source of comfort I had. That was until I turned ten and someone tried to take this last piece of something that felt like it belonged to me away from me. I fought back with everything I had, and for that, I was beaten until my spleen ruptured. By the time my parents arrived, the ground was soaked in blood. However, their faces twisted with disgust. “Daisy, how did you end up like this? You’re just as disgusting as your father.” “What did you say? Say that again! Just look at her, dressed like that. If anything, she’s just as shameless as you!” My cries for help were drowned out by their argument. My body grew heavier and heavier, and before I realized it, the world went quiet. They finally stopped arguing, too.

It's my third day of being a ghost, and I feel like I'm going to starve to death again. The underworld messenger takes pity on me because I'm a child and secretly tells me that people like me, who suffered grievances and died with resentment, have to stay by the sides of the people who loved us most in life. Then, we survive on their "guilt". I lower my head and narrow my eyes. I choke up and say, "You might as well just leave me to starve." My mother hated me to the core. Why would she ever be guilty over my death?

My sister, Anna Hawkins, and I are twins, but I'm slightly heavier than her when we were born. Anna has always been weak and sickly since young, whereas I'm always active and healthy. When Anna was four years old, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Mom blamed me for stealing Anna's nutrients when I got born, so I needed to return the nutrients to her. When I got my blood extracted for the first time, a thick syringe was used on me. I was so scared when I saw it. Mom told me not to be scared. She gave me a magical pen, stating that whatever wish I wrote down with the pen would come true. I wrote, "It won't hurt." When the syringe was plunged into my arm again, Mom bought me a sweet lollipop. The pain never struck me again afterward. When I was five years old, I drew a strawberry cake on the paper while getting 1000cc blood withdrawn from me. That week, Anna could sit up in bed and play on her own. When I turned seven years old, I wrote down my wish that I'd like to go on a vacation. The next day, I was sent into the operating theater for the doctors to collect my hematopoietic cells. For the first time ever, Anna's cheeks became rosy. When I was eight years old, I wrote that I wanted to become the top student of my grade. But a day before my exams, my bone marrow was drawn from me. Anna finally got discharged by the hospital. She got to wear new dresses that I never got to wear. In the year I turn nine years old, my body is heavily depleted. With a trembling hand, I can only write down a line in messy handwriting. "I hope… that I won't become Mom's daughter in my next life."