Praise From The Right Quarters Chapter 1

I felt myself being beaten, not far from me.

That was when I was four years old, no, I was five years old.

What was on TV at the time? I was watching TV, but because the man in the next room yelled at me, "Just watch TV there, don't come over here," I was staring at the TV, not caring what was on. If I dared to glance at him, I would be beaten immediately.

Who will get beaten?

it's me.

The guy next door is already getting beaten up.

"Mom, Mom." I kept shouting in my heart, as if it was a kind of support. In fact, even if my mother was there, nothing would change.

The man yelled, "Why is there no sauce at home?" and my mother rushed out of the house. How much time had passed? If she had gone to a nearby convenience store to buy some, she would have returned long ago. Maybe the sauce there was sold out, so she went to another store.

Wasn't she just killing time? Because she didn't want to go home.

Mom is not someone I can rely on. She always pretends not to see it, and even sighs impatiently. But whenever I feel pain or fear, I still want to call my mother. It's really strange.

I don't know what the man is angry about now. I never knew.

By the time I reacted, he had already dragged the other me to the next room, started kicking and pushing me, and ordered me to "watch TV there and don't come over."

My body shook unconsciously. Was it fear or panic? I didn't know what I was feeling, I was just shaking.

"Stop fighting ---" I heard a shout, the voice came from the next door. It was me who was shouting over there, and I was shouting in my heart as well.

"Hey, you can't look at that!"

Only then did I realize that I couldn't help but stand up and stare over there.

I was struggling in the next room. He was twisting his body to get away, but the man held him down and rode on his tiny body. Because of the huge size difference, it looked like he was tearing a doll apart. Me, I was going to be torn apart? My arms were going to be ripped off?

The house began to shake. I kept staring and was scolded again. I couldn't hear what he said, but I just succumbed to his high-pitched voice and returned to the room where I was watching TV.

I looked at the screen, my mind went blank. I wanted to cover my ears, but I couldn't move.

If this continues, I'm doomed.

Help!

I was praying. I was thinking of the superheroes I had seen on TV, who looked like ordinary people at first, but once they or someone else was in danger, they would strike a pose and shout "transform". As soon as they finished shouting, they instantly turned into a righteous partner and neatly eliminated the enemy for me.

This doesn't happen in reality.

There are only my family members at home, no one can "transform" or help me.

I don't know why I did that.

I don't know when I'm in the kitchen, standing where my mother usually stands, looking through the cupboards. I open the spice drawer and pick up the salad oil. I take off my clothes and smear the oil on my body.

When I got to this point, David in front of me asked, "How did you know that?" I had warned him not to interrupt before I finished speaking, but maybe he couldn't help himself? He and I are about the same age, both in our twenties, but he looks very mature. I glanced down at the business card on the table, which said "TV program production company." He called himself a "freelance director" from Sendai, usually living in Tokyo and traveling back and forth between the two places. He seemed to have a good brain, and there was a sense of arrogance in his words and deeds. Maybe he was not satisfied that I was taking the lead in the conversation?

"what do you know?"

"I know salad oil is slippery."

"Of course I know that."

"Can a five-year-old child recognize Salad oil?"

"Who knows? Childhood memories are subject to many alterations in the days that follow. Indeed, I don't know if those memories are true."

"Is the salad oil thing true?"

"Well," I reminded him, "I just said that my story not only distorts and embellishes my memory, but also contains some deliberate fabrications. It's best not to take it too seriously. However, the oil incident is absolutely true."

"Oh?" David responded while giving me a cold look.

I continued to speak, and the content was roughly as follows. The reason why I say roughly is that oral expression cannot be detailed after all, most of it is just a rough outline, and the punctuation is not clear. Anyway, I continued to speak.

When I was applying the oil, I had only one thought in my mind, which was to rescue myself in the next room, or to be more precise, to exchange myself with the me in the other room.

If I got close, I would be scolded, beaten, or kicked. I simply thought that if I was covered in oil, the man's hands might slip and he wouldn't be able to catch me. At that moment, I heard a sound.