Childhood

My name is Lunara, and I am 10 years old. That day, I was playing with my best friend, Anna. We laughed happily, taking turns sliding down the slide, then playing catch with a ball. Everything felt so fun—until one moment changed my life forever.

Our ball rolled onto the road. I was busy brushing sand off my clothes while Anna ran to retrieve it. When I looked up, I saw it—the horrifying moment I would never forget.

BRAK!

A truck hit her. I froze, my body stiff. Anna's blood splattered onto my face and clothes. I screamed as loud as I could, running toward her, shaking her lifeless body. People gathered. The ambulance arrived. But it was all useless.

At the hospital, the doctor said Anna was gone.

At her funeral, her family glared at me with anger. Her mother cried and shouted at me,

"Why wasn't it you who died?! Why did it have to be Anna?!"

I couldn't say anything. I just cried. I didn't want to lose Anna. I didn't want this to happen.

Two years passed. I was 12 years old. The pain of losing Anna hadn't healed, but I tried to live my life. One day, my aunt took me out for a walk to cheer me up. I felt better, even if just for a moment.

Then, it happened again.

A car sped toward me. I froze. But suddenly, my aunt pushed me aside— and she was the one who got hit.

I could only watch as her body was thrown into the air before crashing down with a horrible sound. Blood pooled on the road.

She died instantly.

I screamed. I cried. Why was this happening again?!

After my aunt's death, rumors began to spread. People whispered behind my back.

"Lunara is cursed.""Anyone who loves her will die a horrible death."

Fear turned into hatred. People started avoiding me, even my own parents. They no longer looked at me as their child. All I saw in their eyes was fear and resentment.

Until one day, they truly abandoned me.

"Get out of here! We don't want you bringing death to us too!"

They threw my clothes out of the house. Heavy rain poured, drenching my trembling body. I wandered aimlessly, alone, until I finally collapsed on the side of the road.

When I woke up, I was in a police station. They called my parents, and reluctantly, they took me home. But that house was no longer my home. They didn't hug me, didn't look at me with love. Only hatred remained.

I tried to approach them, wanting a hug, wanting them to tell me they still loved me. But they only pushed me away, and I fell to the floor. I cried from the pain, but they just walked away, leaving me there.

At school, things weren't any better. No one wanted to come near me. Everytime I walked down the hall, people would step away, as if I were a living curse that would bring death to them.

I was alone.

And I started to believe… maybe they were right.

Maybe I really was cursed.