The Monster They Made Me A Family's Reckoning

Without the slightest hesitation, I swallowed all of them.

When I finished, I curled up quietly on the bed, waiting for the monster to die.

But I felt so awful. I couldn't breathe. My heart seemed to shatter—it couldn't beat anymore.

Powerless, I clawed at the wall, leaving streak after streak of blood.

In the final moment before my consciousness scattered, I wished so desperately that Dad and Mom and my little sister would come see me. I wanted to tell them I had finally killed the monster.

Could they take me home?

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in midair.

On the bed below, a thin, small body lay curled up, spine arched.

It was me.

So ugly.

My face had turned bluish-gray. Dried white foam crusted the corner of my mouth. My eyes were open—two dead glass marbles coated in dust.

Was I dead?

The monster was dead, and I was dead too.

When I realized it, I wanted to cry. I felt so lost.

Would I never get to eat Mom's braised pork again? Would I never go home?

My soul wailed. I tried to rush out of the room, but I couldn't get out.

I said to the moon: could you let me go home? I want to see Dad and Mom and my little sister.

The moon agreed. It took me through the thick concrete walls of the psychiatric hospital, through the barbed wire. Wind howled past my ears, city lights turned into flowing streaks, and then it set me down at The Golden Dome Theater downtown.

I panicked. The place I wanted was home, not here.

The moon didn't speak. It just yanked me inside.

Tonight it was packed. The main stage blazed with light, and every seat below was filled.

Under the gaze of hundreds, a girl in a white gown stood on the awards platform.

It was Rose.

She was so beautiful.

Did she win an award? She was always this amazing.

I flew over proudly.

Then an image appeared on the big screen.

I stopped cold—how could the rainbow little snake I drew appear here? Wasn't it the monster? Why would the monster appear openly in front of people?

Next to the little snake, in large gilded letters:

Annual Overall Champion, Emerging Fantasy Art Competition—"The Serpent of Eden"

Designer: Rose Donaldson.

All at once, I seemed to understand something.

I flew to Rose and stopped in front of her, wanting to reach out and touch her.

Rose won an award using the little snake I drew. I was so happy. Did this prove the little snake wasn't a monster? That I wasn't crazy? That my illness was cured?

But I still didn't understand—why would she use the little snake, while still saying it was a bad thing?

Where were Dad and Mom? Where were they?

In my confused gaze, the host happily handed Rose the trophy and asked, "Miss Donaldson, this work has been praised by the judges as 'a beautiful dream from God.' What was your inspiration?"

Rose took the trophy. Her eyes reddened.

She held the microphone, voice choking: "Actually, the inspiration for this piece comes from my love and redemption for the world."

She paused, as if steadying herself.

"I have an... older sister who is sick."

"She's mentally ill. We sent her to a psychiatric hospital."

"As her younger sister, I have never given up on her. I visit her often, listening to her say those incomprehensible, crazy things."

"I often wonder—in my sister's eyes, what kind of world does she see?"

"I thought about it for a long time. 'The Serpent of Eden' is my answer."

Rose cried. "I want to tell my sister, and everyone in the world trapped in a mental prison: don't be afraid. Love can grow flowers. Love can nurture life. Walk out bravely. We have always been here."