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(TL : TRRGHTACFZ)Parents are Enemies
🕑 Added 2024-03-01 21:03:12 +0000 UTC--AN) Translated novel: Novel Name: The Reincarnated Refugee Girl Works Hard to Achieve Citizenship from Zero!. This is a ML and human editing, so there might be some mistakes.--
Please, let me tell you my story.
One day, out of the blue, I, a ten-year-old, remembered my past life.
Suddenly, as my consciousness returned, I recalled the vague memories of my previous life. I was a regular office worker, leading a life devoid of joy, simply going through the motions every day without any attachment to them.
But that was all I remembered. What happened after that, how I died, remains unknown. All I knew was that I had lived a pointless life before.
Lying on a bed made of nothing but a layer of straw spread over the ground, I wished I hadn't remembered.
With a deep sigh, I lamented recalling a life lived in vain. The disparity between then and now was too painful. After all, my current life is the very bottom of the barrel.
First, let's sort out my current situation. Who am I? A refugee. There are various kinds of refugees: those displaced by war, those chased away by a rampage of monsters, those forced out by disasters, those evicted for failing to pay taxes, and so on. In my case, it was due to a stampede.
By the time I became aware, I was living in a refugee settlement. Perhaps I was born here, but the details are unclear. All I know is that my parents were driven out of their homeland by a stampede, ended up in this settlement, and we've been living here ever since.
Why do I know this? Because my parents often complained about it to me. Sometimes, in their frustration, they would hit me, making life both mentally and physically taxing. I understand their despair over our situation, but I wish they wouldn't take it out on me... how unfair.
Life in the town destroyed by the stampede must have been good. I understand why they've become so bitter, living in the absolute worst conditions without even being able to enter a proper town. But after all these years, haven't they thought about changing our situation? Our family's circumstances haven't improved at all.
But things will be different from now on. Until now, I've been living in fear of angering my parents, either staying quiet at home or killing time outside. Consumed by despair, I haven't taken any action, but remembering my past life has made me determined to change my circumstances. The difference in living standards is just too much to bear.
I don't have a grand goal yet, but I can set small ones—like improving our living conditions.
I sat up from lying on my back and took a good look at myself. Covered in dust, wearing tattered short-sleeved shirts and pants distributed as aid, with brown hair reaching just past my shoulders and brown eyes. This is what I look like now.
Clothes only come with distributions, so I can't do much about them. Earning them myself is the only option, but that's not a priority for now.
My bed is just a thin layer of straw, barely different from the ground, but at least it's something. Next to me, there's a bed with noticeably more straw—it belongs to my parents. The difference in treatment is infuriating.
Maybe I should try making a wooden bed. But knowing my parents, they'd either destroy it or take it for themselves. If I want my own bed, I'd have to make theirs first. I don't want to put in that effort for them, so adding more straw seems like the best solution for now. It's something I can do right away.
Lastly, food. We're given food twice a day, in the morning and at noon, but we can only receive it once. The women of the refugee settlement prepare it, and they watch closely to ensure no one takes a second portion. If you try, other refugees will beat you up, so no one dares.
Food supplies are distributed once a month by the lord. Yes, we're not abandoned. Food is brought from nearby towns and stored securely in the settlement's warehouse. Stealing it would result in more than just a beating.
But once a day isn't enough. Those who need more venture into the forest to gather or hunt, or they go to the river a thirty-minute walk away. I'll have to find food too. I don't want to end up helpless like my parents. I'll act early to solve our food problem.
As I thought about this, my parents returned to our one-room hut (our home), each holding their portion of soup and a small potato, but nothing for me. Their eyes, devoid of warmth, glanced my way.
"Thought you might've died by now."
"Wish you'd just die already."
Yes, that's the kind of welcome I get. They click their tongues and look at me with disgust. No parental love here, just endless annoyance.
It wasn't always this bad. My parents used to be indifferent, consumed by a profound sense of loss. They'd sleep, wake up, eat their distribution, and then just sit around blankly.
But a few months ago, they started berating and hitting me. I don't know what changed. Maybe something happened in the settlement that I'm unaware of. The only allies I had became enemies, and life turned into hard mode.
My parents sat in a different room and began slurping their soup. Luckily, I wasn't hit today. Probably because they were holding their meal.
Watching their backs, I stood up. If the distribution for lunch has started, I need to hurry or there won't be any left. I grabbed the bowl from the corner of the room and quietly moved to the entrance.
"Get out if you're leaving. You're an eyesore!"
"Don't bother coming back. You're such a nuisance."
Just moving around triggers this reaction. I wish I didn't have to come back here, but I have nowhere else to sleep. I held back my desire to retort and stepped outside.
