Semi Realism

Daddy brought me to Aunt Jenny’s party. As I was eating a piece of cake, I tasted a cherry between the layers and hurriedly spat it out. Once, I broke out in rashes after eating a cherry and nearly died, so I was deeply traumatized by that flavor even as a young child. However, Aunt Jenny looked heartbroken. “I hid a cherry in the cake as a little surprise, just like it’s good luck to get a bay leaf in a pie. How could you be so rude, Kenny?” Daddy did not even let me explain. He chased me out in the yard and made me stand there as punishment. Mommy said it had been more than a hundred degrees out lately, so she told me to stay home and not go out to play. Now I knew just how hot 104 degrees could be! My body was all itchy, too. I was finding it hard to breathe. I wanted to ask Daddy to forgive me, but he refused to open the door no matter how hard I knocked. He glanced at me coldly through the floor-to-ceiling window. He was not going to let me back in.

I knew that my father did not like me since I was young. When I wanted to commit suicide to end the pain caused by my illness, he was celebrating another child’s birthday. He hated my mother and me alongside her. So, when I told him that I was sick, he did not believe me. “Is this your new tactic to get money from me?” No one believed that the daughter of the Powell family could die because she was too poor to pay the hospital fees. My father did not believe it either. However, when he saw my dead body, the famous actor who hated his daughter actually went insane.

When I was ten, I accidentally overheard my mother on the phone. It seemed like she was talking about me being a switched-at-birth rich girl, and that my real last name was Gardner. The coldness and cruelty my mother had shown me all these years suddenly made sense. When I turned 11, I paid an adult to get a maternity test done for both my mother and me. The results confirmed that I was indeed her biological daughter. I kept the report to myself and pretended I was still in the dark.

Studying abroad can be incredibly lonely at times. That night, I was in my room, indulging in a little treat for myself, when my best friend suddenly burst through the door. "Doing it yourself is no fun. Come on. There's a super cool cabaret show going on. Let's go see it together!" On stage, my friend was reclining in a chair behind the curtain, with two strong-looking men on top of her. "Come on. Join us for a group dance..."

Kota Manhattan gempar. Di musim semi yang cerah, mayat seorang gadis ditemukan dalam kondisi mengenaskan. Tangan dan kakinya terikat, sepasang kakinya yang dibungkus sepatu berwarna merah hancur tak berbentuk menyisakan tulang kaki yang remuk. Tak terbayangkan betapa besar rasa dendam yang dimiliki pelaku terhadap korban hingga ia berbuat sebrutal itu. Sebuah misteri terpahat di tungkai yang tersisa, berupa angka tiga yang dibuat dari darah. Tidak ada yang bisa mengerti makna angka yang tertulis itu. Apakah korban ke-3? Atau ... tanggal pelaku membunuh korban? Atau ... sebuah isyarat akan ada korban berikutnya dalam waktu tiga hari? Kent Bigael, detektif dari unit pembunuhan langsung turun ke TKP. Pria yang terkenal temperamental itu tidak bisa menyembunyikan rasa kagetnya. Dalam 20 tahun karirnya sebagai polisi, baru kali ini ia melihat korban dengan kondisi begitu. Korban yang dibakar ada, yang tusuk dan dimutilasi pun banyak. Namun, korban dengan kaki remuk baru kali ini ia temukan. Bersama partnernya, detektif Joey, Kent berusaha menemukan pelaku. Ia mengumpulkan bukti-bukti lalu menyusuri satu persatu jejak yang ditinggalkan korban. Namun, baru saja memasuki hari ke tiga, korban yang lain kembali ditemukan. Ciri-cirinya persis sama. Kent terdiam, udara di sekitarnya terasa membeku. Ia sadar saat ini sedang berhadapan dengan seorang psycho, pembunuh berantai yang saat ini sedang melakukan permainan yang menantang penegak hukum kota Manhattan bermain adu tangkas. Lewat sikap brutal yang ia tujukan pada pemakai sepatu merah, ia ingin menunjukkan bahwa gaya hidupmu bisa membawamu pada kematian. Lewat angka-angka yang terukir ia berkata, jika kalian pintar temukanlah aku dalam waktu yang kutuliskan. Ada apa dengan sepatu merah? Mengapa pelaku hanya mengincar korban yang memakai sepatu merah?

The day after the new year, during a family gathering, my aunt sneered at me as I worked overtime, reviewing a proposal. "Why are you pretending to be so busy? It’s not like we don’t know you only make three thousand a month. Real money-makers are people like my daughter, a designer so successful she doesn’t even have time to come home!" I ignored her, but she directed her spoiled son to delete all my files while I was in the bathroom. My hands trembled with rage. "This proposal is due in ten minutes—if I don’t submit it, everything is ruined!" She scoffed dismissively. "He’s just a kid. What could he possibly know? Besides, your job isn’t even worth much. If you lose the files, you lose them. Worst case, you get fired." I chuckled coldly but said nothing. She had no idea it was the proposal her daughter had spent an entire month working on. And I was the client who held her daughter’s fate in my hands.

Half a year after our divorce, my ex-husband became a trending topic online. His current wife, who had just given birth, jumped off a building. When she jumped, she was clutching a printed, 98-page copy of the "Cloves Family Code of Conduct." The reason for her suicide? She couldn’t buy discounted groceries online. A reporter came to interview me and asked, "Excuse me, were you also given the same family rules?"

My husband promises to go to my hometown with me for the New Year holidays this year after I go to his. But before the trip to my hometown is due, he suddenly tells me he doesn't want to go anymore. I argue with him about this, and he pummels me with a bat. Meanwhile, his family eggs him on, telling him to kill me. Intense pain shoots through me as the blows land. I try my best to fight back, but I can't win against the majority. As the sky darkens, everyone heads home for dinner after giving me a good beating. When I regain consciousness in a corner of the garden, I see sense.

Due to my heightened sensitivity, even the slightest touch causes an uncontrollable reaction. My husband, concerned, sends me to the hospital for treatment. As I lie on the operating table, the attending doctor unexpectedly triggers a wave of intense response from me—right in front of my husband.

From the time I was ten until I turned eighteen, my parents made me write 299 IOUs. Every time I needed money, I had to borrow it and pay it back as an adult. Then I got into a car accident. I needed money for surgery but was still short by 3,000. With no other options, I went to my parents for help. But they just gave me cold smiles. “Clara, you’re eighteen now. We have no obligation to give you money anymore. If you need it, write another IOU.” While holding back tears, I wrote my 300th IOU. After my surgery, I saw my adopted sister’s social media post. In the pictures, she was celebrating her 18th birthday on a cruise. She was the center of attention, like a princess. My parents had given her a luxury apartment in the city and a Maserati as birthday gifts. Even my childhood friend was looking at her with love in his eyes. She said they were the ones she loved and thanked them for giving her the best of everything. I looked down at the crumpled IOU in my hand and suddenly laughed. Once I paid off my debt, I would no longer need such a family.