radicalducati Chapter 71 Happy Birthday, Ranran
Chapter 71 Happy Birthday, Ranran
Ranran remembers that home.
She has a happy family.
The seaside town is small; it only takes five minutes to walk from her house to the beach.
On summer evenings, her father would take her to collect seashells, while her mother would stand on the balcony and call them back for dinner.
Her brother, who was six years older than her, liked to lift her over his head and let her ride on his shoulders.
Her two older sisters, one four years older and the other three years older, often argued about who should do her hair.
The house isn't big, but it's always lively.
The sounds at the dinner table never stopped: Mom served food, Dad told jokes, older brother and sister bickered, and Ranran sat in the middle, her bowl always piled high with food she couldn't finish.
That was what she saw every day for the first five years of her life.
When she was five years old, she got a mark on her right hand.
At first, it was just a small dark red spot, like a mark left after a mosquito bite.
Mom glanced at it and said it might have bumped into something.
Dad said it's nothing, it will go away in a couple of days.
But it didn't disappear.
The mark deepened day by day.
Ranran didn't feel any pain.
Sometimes it itches so much that she wants to scratch, but her mother won't let her, saying that scratching will leave a scar.
She obeyed and didn't scratch.
The family members gradually began to notice the unusual nature of the mark.
The older brother said it looked like a character, while the older sister said it didn't, that it was a pattern.
Dad searched online for a long time but didn't find any results.
Her mother took her to the clinic in town, but the doctor couldn't figure out what was wrong. He just prescribed a tube of ointment and told her to apply it twice a day.
I applied it for a month, but there was no change.
Life went on as usual.
Ranran goes to kindergarten, plays at the beach after school, and the whole family sits down for dinner in the evening.
The mark was like a quiet guest, residing on the back of her hand, silent and unobtrusive, simply there.
Sometimes I forget that it exists.
Sixth birthday.
Mom said she's going to hold a bigger one this year and invite all the kindergarten children to come.
My brother said he was going to give a very big gift, and my sisters said they were going to make a cake by hand.
But it rained from morning that day.
Mom closed the windows tightly and drew the curtains. Dad moved the flowerpots from the yard into the house.
The older brothers and sisters were blowing up balloons and hanging colorful ribbons in the living room.
Ranran, wearing the new dress her mother bought her, sat on the sofa, swinging her legs, waiting to eat cake.
She chose the cake; it was strawberry flavored and had a little cream bunny on top.
The cake shop said it would be delivered at 3 p.m.
It's past three o'clock, and the cake still hasn't arrived.
It's past four o'clock, and the cake still hasn't arrived.
Dad called the cake shop, and they said the rain was too heavy and the roads were flooded, so it might be a little late.
Mom said it's okay, it's okay if it's a little later.
Around 5 p.m., the rain intensified.
The wind blew a branch off a tree in the yard, which fell to the ground with a loud thud.
Ranran is a little hungry.
Ranran is very hungry.
Her mother gave her a cookie to eat first.
She ate the biscuits, drank half a glass of milk, and then continued to wait.
It got dark earlier than usual.
The living room lights were on, and the balloons swayed back and forth under the lights.
My older brother and sister are playing cards, my mother is preparing dinner in the kitchen, and my father is standing by the window, watching the rain outside.
Ranran sat on the sofa, looking down at the mark on her right hand.
The mark was darker than usual that day.
She stared at it for a long time.
She rubbed her eyes, then opened them again, and the mark was still the same.
Dinner is ready.
Mom brought the dishes to the table and said, "Let's eat first. I don't know when the cake will arrive."
The whole family sat around the dining table.
Ranran sat between her mother and sister, with a bowl of rice in front of her. The dishes were spinning on a rotating plate, and everyone was picking up food.
Everything is normal.
Ranran ate a piece of braised pork, a bite of green vegetables, and a few sips of soup.
Her mother picked out a piece of fish from her bowl, removed the bones, and placed it in her bowl.
As she was eating the fish, the mark on her hand became visible.
She stopped eating.
The whole family stopped too.
Ranran had no idea what had happened.
She only saw that the expressions on those familiar faces had changed, becoming something she had never seen before.
The lights went out.
Only the light in her hand was still shining.
The dark red light illuminated the dining table, the plates and bowls, and her family.
Ranran called out "Mom!"
Mom didn't answer.
Ranran reached out, wanting to grab her mother's hand.
The moment her hand touched her mother's fingers, her mother's body disintegrated.
Mom is missing.
Ranran stared blankly at her empty hands.
dad.
Dad stood next to the chair, one hand on the edge of the table, the other outstretched towards Ranran.
Dad's body also began to disintegrate.
Ranran stood up, wanting to run over and hug her father.
She had just taken a step when she tripped over a chair leg and fell to the floor.
Her knee hit the ground, and the pain brought tears to her eyes immediately.
She lay on the ground, raised her head, and saw the last part of her father.
His face dissipated in front of her.
Brother, sister.
The dark red mist rushed directly into Ranran's mouth, like a hot current flowing down her throat.
Ranran lay on the cold floor, surrounded by nothing.
The dining table is still there, the chairs are still there, the plates and bowls are still there, the balloons are still there, and the ribbons are still there.
But the person is gone.
She called out "Mom!"
No one answered.
She called out "Dad!"
No one answered.
She called out to her brother, her eldest sister, and her second sister.
Still, no one answered.
She got up and ran through the dark room, into the kitchen, into the bedroom, into the bathroom, and onto the balcony.
There was no one anywhere.
The only sounds in the room were her footsteps and the whistling of the wind blowing in through the cracks in the window.
She ran back to the living room and stood next to the dining table.
The dishes on the table were still steaming, and there was still half a bowl of rice left.
Ranran's tears fell.
When she cried, there was a strange smell in her mouth.
It has a sticky, gooey smell.
There's something on the floor.
Small clumps were scattered on the ground.
She crouched down and touched one of the clumps with her finger.
Hot.
She put her finger in front of her nose and smelled it.
The flavor is even stronger now.
Her stomach churned, and a wave of acid rose in her mouth.
She opened her mouth and spat it out.
What she vomited was exactly the same as what she saw on the ground.
Mom, Dad, Brother, Sister.
She knelt on the ground, put her hands in her mouth, and tried to pull them out.
She touched her throat with her finger, gagged, and vomited up some dark red mucus.
She reached her hand deeper, her throat constricted violently from the stimulation, and she vomited all over the floor.
The vomit contained more dark red clumps, some the size of a fingernail, and others smaller fragments.
She lay on the ground, poking at the clumps with her fingers, trying to find something inside.
Found a face.
Found a hand.
Find anything that she can recognize.
But those clumps were too small and too fragmented to be discernible.
She started vomiting a second, a third, and a fourth time.
Each time, the vomit comes out smaller, more fragmented, and stickier than the last.
The color changed from dark red to deep red, and then from deep red to blackish red.
By the fifth time, the vomit was no longer recognizable; it was just a dark red, pasty substance stuck to the floor.
Ranran lay beside the pile of things, crying.
She didn't know what to do.
She wanted them to come out, go back to how things were, sit at the table, and continue eating, talking, and laughing.
But she vomited more and more, and those people never came back.
She vomited until there was nothing left in her stomach, only yellow acidic liquid mixed with dark red residue, which dripped from the corner of her mouth onto the floor.
She cried herself to sleep, then lay down next to the pile of things and fell asleep.
When I woke up, it was already daylight.
The rain stopped, the wind stopped, and the sun came out.
Sunlight streamed in through the window and fell on the dining table.
Ranran stood up, went to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and washed her face and hands.
She looked no different in the mirror than she had yesterday.
It was the same face, the same eyes, and the same six-year-old girl with two little braids.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time, then turned and walked out of the bathroom.
The living room is exactly the same as it was yesterday.
The food on the table had gone cold, and a thin film had formed on the soup noodles.
Ranran walked to the dining table, picked up her chopsticks, and put a bite of food into her mouth.
It was cold, salty, and tasteless.
She put down her chopsticks, walked to the door, and opened it.
The outside world is the same as yesterday.
The streets are still the same streets, the houses are still the same houses, and the sea in the distance is still the same color.
But her world was different now.
The house was taken away quickly.
A group of adults arrived, dressed in uniforms and carrying documents.
They went in and out of the house, moving furniture, clothes, and everything else away.
Ranran stood at the door, watching them carry her family's belongings out one by one, load them onto the car, and drive away.
No one explained to her why she was moving these things, and no one asked her where she would live after they were gone.
A woman walked over, squatted down, and said some things to her.
Ranran didn't understand much; she only caught a few words.
"Temporary," "placed," "awaiting further notice."
The woman led her to a place with many beds, many people, and it was very noisy.
Ranran slept in a bed by the window, which was just a wall, so she couldn't see the sea.
She stayed there for a while.
I don't remember how long ago it was, maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks.
Then she left.
Because in that place, that same thing happened again.
That night, everyone was asleep, and a dark red light illuminated the entire room.
Dark red mist surged toward her.
She covered her mouth.
She remembered what happened last time.
She doesn't want it to happen again.
But the mist doesn't go in through the mouth.
It comes from the nose, from the eyes, from the ears, and from every pore on the skin.
She covered her mouth, but the mist seeped into her nose, into the corners of her eyes, and into her ear canals.
She ran out of the building, to the open space outside, knelt down, and stuck her fingers down her throat, desperately trying to lick them out.
She lay on the ground and vomited for a long time until she couldn't vomit anything anymore.
Then she stood up and left.
She did not go back.
Over the next year, she traveled to many places.
From one town to another, from one city to another.
She didn't know what she was looking for. Maybe she was looking for a place where such a thing wouldn't happen, or maybe she was looking for someone, someone who could tell her why she had become like this.
Occasionally, someone would help her.
A kind old lady gave her a bowl of hot soup noodles.
The grocery store owner let her spend the night outside the store. A young woman bought her a new dress.
Every time, she could smell a certain scent on those people.
She didn't know what it tasted like.
But she knew that once she smelled that scent, it wouldn't be long before that kind of thing would happen.
The mark will light up.
A dark red light would emanate from the back of her hand.
Those who help her will turn into dark red mist and flow into her body.
She tried to stay away from them.
When she smelled that scent, she ran away, ran far away, to a place where she couldn't see them.
But the light of the mark will follow.
She vomited more and more, more and more fragmented, and less and less recognizable.
She stopped crying.
Crying won't help.
Crying won't bring those people back, won't erase the marks on her hands, and won't prevent those things from happening.
She just kept walking.
Later, people began to know about her.
I don't know where the news came from; perhaps it was from people who lost loved ones who called the police.
Perhaps it was the descriptions of her by those who saw her running out of the scene.
Perhaps it's just a rumor that a little girl with a mark on her hand causes people to die wherever she goes.
No one helped her anymore.
People will walk around her when they see her coming.
She stood at the shop entrance, and the shop owner would come out and chase her away.
She sits on a park bench, and the old lady next to her gets up and moves to a more distant spot.
She became something that shouldn't exist.
Hungry, she went to the trash can to look for food.
The contents of the trash can were very dirty.
Rotten vegetable leaves, moldy bread, and leftover food were mixed together.
Flies crawled on it, and maggots thrashed about inside.
Ranran reached in and pulled out something that was still edible.
She tore off the moldy crust from a piece of bread that was as hard as a rock and stuffed the relatively clean part inside into her mouth.
She picked out the part of the fried rice that had been half-eaten and thrown away, and ate it with her hands.
She no longer cared about being dirty.
She only cares about being hungry.
Hunger is much more uncomfortable than being dirty.
Dirt only makes you feel nauseous, hunger makes you dizzy, makes your legs weak, makes your vision go black, makes you unable to think of anything but where the next bite is.
Winter is the hardest time to get through.
She huddled under the bridge, wrapped in cardboard she had picked up from the garbage dump, her body curled up in a ball.
It's telling her.
Go find them, then you won't be hungry.
She put her right hand into her pocket to block out the light.
She did not listen to the mark.
She would rather go hungry.
She sometimes thinks about that home.
A seaside town, a beach in summer.
Those images became increasingly blurry in her mind.
But there is one thing she remembers very clearly.
On my birthday, the cake was strawberry flavored and had a little cream bunny on top.
She didn't get to eat that cake.
She crouched under the bridge arch, burying her face in her knees. The wind blew in from outside the arch, making the cardboard on her body rustle.
Fireworks were being set off in the distance, their booming sounds echoing through the night sky, illuminating half the heavens with colorful lights.
Ranran looked up at the fireworks.
Her eyes reflected those lights—red, green, yellow, and purple.
Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.
No one heard it.
She was the only one in the underpass.
She lowered her head and buried her face back in her knees.
Home, a happy home.