A Shining Life
Chapter 1
My mom’s a complete nutjob scientist.
She wanted to “prove” that poor people aren’t
worthy of virtue.
So, she used me as the “control group,”
compared to my sister.
She shipped me off to the sticks.
I sold my blood to get a grand for tuition.
Then I ran into this woman in a wheelchair
that my mom had obviously set up.
She begged me for bus money.
I told her to get lost.
My sister, all pampered and perfect in the
city, handed over her entire allowance without
a second thought.
My mom decided I was a cold–hearted bitch.
She stopped paying my foster parents.
They married me off to some wife–beating
redneck during my senior year.
Later, Mom, thrilled with her experiment’s
“success,” hugged my sister, tears streaming
down her face.
She didn’t even remember her other daughter,
the one who was probably dead by now.
Then, I woke up staring at the same woman in
the wheelchair, the one who’d asked for bus
fare.
Only this time, I saw the hidden camera
attached to her wheelchair, broadcasting this
whole damn experiment to the world.
- 1.
“Honey, I’m lost, can you help a girl out with
some bus money to get home?”
The woman in front of me looked weathered,
all leathery skin and tired eyes.
Her legs were messed up, and she had a
beat–up disability placard clutched in her
Г
I was still reeling from the throbbing in my
head, when a flood of comments popped up
in front of my face.
[Is this the “control group” sister? She’s kinda
rough–looking, not nearly as cute as the other
one. Wonder if she’ll help this poor woman.]
[Look at her clothes, straight outta Goodwill.
She’s broke, guaranteed. No way she’s
generous.]
[The lady in the wheelchair is so pitiful! The sister is so cold. The good one already teared up!]
I blinked, then looked down at my own hands,
all calloused from farm work.
The comments felt like a bad dream.
Last time, I’d escaped my foster parents‘
watchful eyes to scrounge up enough money
for school.
I hitched rides on the back of farmers‘ trucks,
covered in dust, and finally made it to town.
Thank God the blood bank didn’t ask too
many questions.
That’s how I got my grand.
And on the way “home,” I ran into this
“disabled” woman.
She said she was stranded, needed money to
get back to her family.
She wanted me to buy her a bus ticket.
I didn’t bite.
First off, she was asking for almost a grand
when the cheapest bus ticket was around 200
bucks.
Second, she had a damn gold bracelet on her
wrist that was worth thousands.
She waved her disability card around like it
was a magic wand, shoving it in my face.
She wanted to make sure I saw that it didn’t
even have a proper official seal.
Back then, I was lightheaded from giving
blood.
My natural resting bitch face combined with
my pale skin probably intimidated ber
<
The woman mumbled something and hobbled
off.
Later, I found out that my psycho mom had
orchestrated the whole thing.
She wanted to prove that poor people were
incapable of kindness.
She decided to use me as my sister’s “control
group.”
She dumped me in the boonies right after I
was born.
Just surviving out there was a struggle.
Let alone trying to go to school.
But I refused to give up the only chance I had
<
to change my life.
My foster parents forced me to work every
day. Whenever they didn’t feel like going out
in the summer or winter, they made me skip
school and work in the fields.
I studied like a maniac whenever I got the
chance.
That thousand bucks was my lifeline.
My sister was a completely different story.
She was pampered and spoiled, sent to
dance, music, and chess classes.
She wore frilly dresses and confidently won
piano competitions.
I could only stare at her on TV whenever I got
<
…
a glimpse while I was doing errands.
I stared, longing to be like her.
