About

It was peaceful. When I escaped that hellish house and opened a flower shop with my own strength, I was happier than ever. That was until I was diagnosed as terminally ill. I was born into a poor family living in a semi-basement. My mother committed adultery as if it were a routine, and my father was always drunk, subjecting me to verbal and physical abuse. I lived like a dead mouse, barely sleeping, trembling in fear while clutching a small teddy bear I found in a trash heap. My life changed even more at 14 when I was classified as an Omega. My body felt strangely itchy and hot, as if I had a fever. After the Omega diagnosis, my father began to abuse me in a different way. He would dress me in pretty clothes before tormenting and breaking me. From then on, I think I swallowed every pill I could find—sedatives, sleeping pills, anything. I still haven't been able to quit. At 20, I finally escaped that house. Even though I was battered and scarred by society, I worked relentlessly to earn money and opened a small flower shop in a neighborhood very, very far from home. I loved those beings that lived lives different from mine, showing off their beauty and emitting fragrance. That peace was short-lived. A few years later, headaches began to plague me. Since I had been weak since childhood, I didn't think much of it and endured by taking medicine, but as the headaches worsened day by day, I went to the hospital and was diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor. It was despairing. I only had eight months left to live.