After I Died in A Shipping Container

Ouch! It hurt even more than when I broke my arm! I glanced down and noticed the knife had only pierced a little. Blood seeped through my clothes, but it did not seem like I was going to die right away, as I had thought. The pain was so intense, I struggled to catch my breath. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wanted to push the knife in deeper, but the agony made me let go.

The knife clattered to the ground.

My father and my brothers, who came running after hearing the noise, had a change of expression when they saw this.

My father snatched the knife off the ground, his eyes red with anger as he slapped me across the face. "Estelle! You're becoming even more lawless! Do you think hurting yourself can get our attention?"

I curled up in pain and raised my head as tears mixed with blood trickled into my mouth. "Dad... You said... to listen to Mom... Mom asked you to take care of me... "

My father's body jerked violently as a look of pain and struggle that I could not understand flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly covered by anger. He seemed to have been hurt by my words, and his voice became even colder. "Yes! I did promise your mom! So, I can't just stand by and watch you grow up to be this evil and willful person who threatens her family with her life! If your mother saw the way you are now, she would be so disappointed!"

He stopped looking at me and shouted at Sean. "Lock her in the underground storage room! No one is allowed to let her out without my permission! Tomorrow is Cynthia's birthday party, and we must make sure she doesn't cause any trouble again!"

It turns out he still remembered my mother's last words. He remembered them, yet he still treated me like this.

Sean walked over expressionlessly and took my uninjured arm.

My wound still ached, so I struggled and cried, "Dad! I'm not threatening you... I just miss Mom... Dad..."

My father turned away and did not look back.

The basement storage room was dark, cold, and cluttered with junk, with only a sliver of light filtering through a small, tall window.

I huddled in the corner and hugged my knees, the cast on my arm and the wound in my chest throbbing.

Darkness crept in like water, cold and heavy. I heard my small sobs echoing in the empty room.

The storage room was dark and cold; I had no idea how long I stayed there.

Outside, it seemed to be getting lively with music, laughter, and footsteps. Cynthia's birthday party must have started. They must be having a lot of fun. No one remembered me in the corner.

I was hungry and thirsty, my wound ached as I leaned against the wall, half-asleep.

Suddenly, I smelled a strange, pungent odor. Then, I saw a red light flashing under the door, and thick smoke billowed in. It seemed there was a fire!

Coughing from the smoke, I cowered in the corner, gripped by fear. The door was locked, trapping me inside.

The flames seemed to be growing larger, and I heard panicked shouts and running sounds outside. I pondered, 'Was I going to be burned to death? Would that... allow me to see Mom?'

I closed my eyes, a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Bang! A loud crash echoed as the storeroom door was violently forced open from the outside.

A tall figure rushed in through the thick smoke. It was my father! He scooped me up from the ground, wrapped me in his coat, and emerged from the flames.

It was chaotic outside as many guests watched in panic.

My father lay me on the grass in the yard as I coughed violently, only feeling a little better after inhaling fresh air.

However, Cynthia's heart-wrenching cries were heard before I could even catch my breath.