Mum, could you love me a little more.
At the age of seven, I ran a high fever, and Father took me to the town clinic for the first time.
To the nurse, I recited the telephone number Mother had made me memorise a thousand times over.
The next day, an endless convoy of vehicles drove into the mountains.
They severed the iron chains binding Mother, using chainsaws, and shattered his limbs.
I stared blankly as Mum pushed past me and threw herself into the arms of the man in charge.
Everyone prepared to leave, leaving only me behind.
Timidly, I called out, "Mum."
But she kicked me hard to the ground:
"Don't you dare call me Mum! The sight of you makes me sick! Go and die already!"
I stood rooted to the spot. Mum, didn't you say you'd reward me once I memorised that number?