r expected Father like that to later become a bandit and heartlessly abandon her and Mother. He''s so small, how could he carry a long rifle? After Father left, she never smiled again.

She did not blame her mama. They were too poor, that''s why mama always got angry. When you are hungry, it''s easy to get mad. When mama got angry, she would fiercely beat her, pulling at her hair. But when they managed to scrounge up a mouthful of bread, mama would hurriedly stuff most of it into her mouth.

Fiona then recalled the last illness Mother suffered. More dreadful than the lack of bread was the lack of medicine. People had all gone off to war. No one was willing to tend to the two of them.

Mother lay half-naked on the bed, drenching the sheets with sweat, turning them a murky black. Her entire face took on a terrifying ashen hue. No matter how much her daughter shook her body, cried out her name, she would not open her eyes, or make a single movement.

Fiona watched as flies landed on Mother''s eyelids, waving her hand to shoo them away, only for another to settle near Mother''s lips, stained with coagulated blood. Mother must have suffered as much back then as she herself does now? Probably even more so than her.

Holding her mother''s hand, Fiona knew that Mother was about to die, perhaps already dead.

Death! At her age, she still did not quite understand what death meant. It wasn''t due to being too well protected, but rather the ignorance brought about by poverty. She had no fairy-tale imagination of death, but still had some vague,