Chapter 3
Before heading out, I rummaged through the corner of the storage room and found an old iron box.
Inside was a bracelet I'd spent two months making by hand when I was thirteen.
I had wanted to give it to Ayleen. Back then, she'd started elementary school, and her backpack didn't have any charms or decorations at all.
I went to her room with the bracelet, but she wasn't there. Daniel was sitting on the living room sofa, going through some papers.
So, I handed him the bracelet. "Daniel, could you give this to Ayleen for me? I spent ages making it."
He took it, examined it for a couple of seconds, and then set it down on the coffee table. "You made this?"
"Yeah."
"Ayleen has sensitive skin. Wearing something when you don't know what it's made of could easily cause her to break out."
"I used cotton thread."
"Alright, I got it. Just put it here."
The next day, I found the bracelet at the bottom of the trash can, cut into several pieces, the threads all tangled together.
It was Daniel who cut it. I saw the scissors tossed beside it.
I picked up the broken pieces, cleaned each segment, and put them back in the iron box.
After that, I had never crafted anything for anyone again.
Now, I opened the iron box for one last look and then closed it.
I didn't mind taking these fragments with me. At least they'd been by my side for five years.
As I was putting on my shoes at the door, my phone buzzed.
It was a notification from Michael's assistant, Thomas. [Ms. Ayleen Bolton, Mr. Michael Bolton is out of town on business today. For any household matters, please contact Olive.]
It was a group message that included Ayleen, Daniel, Trevor, and me.
My name was at the very end.
Michael was on a business trip. That meant he wouldn't be coming home tonight.
I lingered at the door, lost in thought.
Eventually, I decided to head out.
Anyway, it was the last day. I had to get everything done.
The funeral supply shop was on an old street on the west side of the city. It took me forty minutes on the bus to get there.
The shop was quiet, and the owner, a man in his fifties, didn't seem surprised when I walked in.
"Just browsing? Buying for a family member?" he asked.
"For myself," I replied.
He paused for a moment and then gave me a curious look.
He didn't ask any more questions.
I stood in front of the shelf for a long time, finally picking out an urn with a simple white base and a lily carved on it.
It wasn't the most expensive one on the shelf, but it looked nice.
I thought, if my ashes were put in there after I passed away, at least I wouldn't feel too miserable.
When the owner packed it into a cardboard bag for me, he added a lucky charm at the bottom. "Take it. It'll help you feel at ease."
"Thanks," I replied.
I walked out of the shop, holding the bag close. The sunlight outside was blinding.
People on the street saw the bag in my arms. Some avoided me, and others stared.
I didn't mind. I'd gotten used to those looks.
Whether I was alive or preparing for death, nothing ever changed.
My next stop was a pharmacy.
I searched for ages before I finally found a small pharmacy.
When I walked in, the girl at the front desk was scrolling through her phone.
"Hi, I'd like to take a photo," I said.
She looked up and smiled, "For what? ID photo or portrait?"
"For my memorial photo."
Her smile faltered, and her phone almost slipped from her hand. "W-What did you say?"
"For my memorial photo." I tried to keep my tone neutral. "I want to take a photo for my funeral."
She stood up, her lips moved, but in the end, she only managed to ask, "How old are you?"
"I turned eighteen today."
She came over and stood in front of me. I was half a head shorter than her. "Do you need any help?"
I shook my head. "No. It's just my time is up."
She didn't ask any more questions and led me to the white backdrop.
Her hands were shaking as she fixed my hair. "Your hair's a bit dry. Mind if I comb it for you?"
"Okay," I replied.
While combing, she softly said, "Happy birthday."