A Personal Plea for Help

Chapter 1

One and Only Chapter

Fourty years ago, there was an innocent girl with a dream.

Fourty years ago, she stepped into the garden.

Fourty years ago, she lost her ability to walk.

Why?

As this story is also vague to me, I am a person limited in being able to talk about it, but this is a bunch of recollections I can write: When she was in the garden, a worm, I think, bit her. But maybe there was already a wound there. That worm -I'm not sure if it's a worm- crawled inside her legs and affected her inner flesh.

I don't think they took her to a hospital. My other aunt said that all my grandfather and grandmother did was bring her legs on a basin and squeezed her leg to get the blood and bloody worm out. The aunt that didn't walk anymore told me a story about my dad helping her getting the metal boot type thing out of her feet.

Well, I think her bones -since, you know, fuses together as you get older- rearranged into something different than normal as my grandfather forced her to wear this hard metal boots. She said she was whimpering every night, and my father helped her take it off.

She never was able to walk again.

This person raised me. When I started kindergarten, she was all alone in the house; there was no one for her. One time, I catched her crawling on the door, staring out, as if she was dazed in a daydream. Days passed onwards and the same cycle continued, until she started to talk to herself. At first, I was so scared about what's happening. I was seven then.

Today, it's even worse. She's unable to walk and schizophrenic. She talks bad about everyone, calling us clones and bisaya's. (Bisaya is called for people who live in a certain province I don't know and speaks in a funny accent. She deems them unreliable.)

Someone is always speaking with her, even if there is no one. Every day, we hear laughter coming from her sole room, a room only she occupies.

This past few weeks, lots of rats, cockroaches and rodents infested our house. They're munching away on everything. Everything.

Those rats bit her on her feet.

Now, as I've said, the bones on her feet are arranged queerly. By the way, after all those years, she started not to care about her looks. Hmm, let's put it this way; think of your teeth as soul mates. Once a teeth, bottom or upper -it doesn't matter- paired with another teeth, doesn't have a partner, it will continue to grow. But once a tooth on the upper part of your gums is pressed on your bottom gum, that bottom teeth won't grow. Like what happened to me; but hers are the complete opposite. She didn't brush her teeth throughout - she didn't care. And so her teeth started to rot and give out. She is unhygienic. She doesn't take a bath or brush her teeth or comb her hair. Her front bottom teeth is thin, and it grew until it reached her upper gum. Imagine that; thin and long, like an icicle on your freezer. Only pointer and yellow. On the front row of your mouth. Now isn't that unflattering?

Well, she only has, I don't know, three or four teeth. And it's not pairs of teeth, and if it were, there's only two, and they're not even in the same row. They're all rotten.

Well, yes, back to the topic; she was bitten by a rat.

She's unhygienic, and, as a result, looks like a crazed woman. Even worse than Mr. Rochester's bride - and I haven't watched one Jane Eyre film.

Now, she has a cold. She can't sit up properly. When my other aunt tried to make her sit up so she could drink medicine, she put a hand on that aunt's back, and, even with the support, she toppled backwards. She's not eating either.

And my other aunt saw the rat mark; she described it like the one on my deceased grandmother who had diabetes; the flesh were showing up.

Please, please, pray for her.

That aunt raised me, fed me, gave me a bath, changed my diaper when I was younger. And though she now thinks I'm an evil, manical robot who's out to kill her, she was the one that took care of me. Not my mum, not my dad. Her.

Earlier on, just before my entrance exams, I watched my grandfather. His wife died. I watched my aunt, other aunt and father. Their mother died. I didn't watch my mother - but her mum died. (My mum and dad dropped by to pick my brother and I up. I was going to take an exam while the three of them spend family time together at the mall beside the school.)

I have never really experienced serious death; it's mostly about animals and all that stuff.

But if she dies, I don't know what to do. And my negative emotions always overpower my positive ones.

I'm gonna be a mess if something bad happens to her, like an infection or something. She will refuse to go to a hospital, and my grandfather and other aunt has pride on themselves. They won't take my deranged looking aunt to a public place. People will cringe just by looking at half of her figure, imagine looking at the top half.

Please pray that she'll get better. Please.

I know I've been asking for you to pray that I pass on that high school, but I think this is more important.

It's my future or her hardship in life and our joy with her continuing it.

I know you probably won't pray for two things for me, but if you would choose one, please choose my aunt. But if you could do two, I'm really grateful for that. Please pray that nothing bad happens to her.

Pray.

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