"Good Listener" - (Single Ep)

The thoughts of having someone who's always ready to hear any kind of word, stories, complaints, and everything you want to share is so wonderful, isn't it?

I'm sure we all have friends whom we share various stuff about the things happening to our little life.

But is the listener always happy to hear the same thing over and over again?

Are you sure the person who listens to you can keep things 'just' between the two of you?

Don't they broadcast or share it with others? Or do they talk behind your back with the slightest stabs that could wound you entirely?

Well, that would never happen to me.

Someone who listens to everything I say is a trustworthy person… At least that's what I can say…

......................

My life as a decent living child of a twisted family could have been more terrible if I didn't have someone who would listen to my stories.

My parents are never in good terms because I'm a child born from an "accident".

My mother had me through a "drunk" man who assaulted her one night.

Then there I am. A leech that sucks off my father's money. Being someone who was just a misfortune.

My father was a married man. But specifically, he was married to another woman who is not my mother.

He had children whom I never met, and were there even before I existed in this cruel reality.

My father would often beat up my mother. Having her eye painted a purple tint. Her body always carrying swelling bruises. It's unbearable, really.

Everytime my father would visit our wretched house that is close to being a ruin, he always abuses my mother in exchange for his sustaining.

It was driving me to a corner, closer to thinking about killing that twisted man.

I was only eight, and my name was Lily, the forsaken flower is what the village entitled me.

My mother was twenty-two, and she had an illness that makes her think irrational and unstable.

I loved my mother, because she took care of me all by herself, and that she had let me explore the dark and deep scary world without bounds.

And despite not being able to get proper education, she taught me lots and lots of things and would always take my side, protecting me from everyone who would dare to hurt me.

Those days lasted until my father visited us and did all those horrible things to her which made her develop that sick mental illness.

I wasn't the all-goody girl in our village, but I was always trying so hard on everything that I do.

I always pour my blood and sweat to thank my mother by earning from helping the townsfolk with various tasks.

And that's when I met her.

My one and only friend that I met at the dumps near an abandoned place, right at the big oak tree. And that's where the strange flowers grow. But I named them my very own name, "Lily".

After finishing every single tasks to earn, I would always tell my mother before leaving and along with that, I would always go straight the place where me and my friend would always be at.

There, I would always tell her stories, my personal life, and my complaints about my problems.

Then she would only listen to me, nodding and agreeing.

But on day, when I arrived home after work.

I found my mother, lying down and beat up on the kitchen floor.

My pupils dilated, and my heart felt like it was pierced by a burning metal rod.

My lungs felt like they were suddenly closed and locked tightly, and I couldn't breathe at all.

All I could do was stare at the cold body of my mother whose blood was rushing down from her mouth and nose. Her eyes open and staring at the ceiling, with not a single movement seen from her.

She wasn't breathing.

I knew for myself that she was already gone.

And that my body was moving on its own. My body falling down and crawling away while still staring at her cold body.

All I think was that I might be next, and my mind was being flooded by thoughts of people thinking that I might be the one who did it, that I might have been the cause, the one who's at fault.

And by the next blink of my eye, I was already running away from home, terrified and shrieking.

Running to the place where my friend would be at. Crossing the cliff with my secret pathway, running into the woods and into the abandoned dumps where the big oak tree and the "Lilies" were.

My friend was there sitting, awaiting my complaints and stories that I'd always share with her.

After arriving there and catching my breath, I told her everything I saw, piece by piece.

She was just listening to every word I said. Still having the same look.

There I hugged myself and cried.

I knew it.

I was the one who has mental illness.

Because all this time, I knew that she can't even leave anyway.

Seeing her body rotting with maggots swirling around her reeking flesh.

I've been talking to myself, and she was a "Good Listener", and that I'm now all alone.

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