I Want To Die One Day Before You - Chapter 184
“What are you doing? Are you even paying attention properly?”
Growing impatient, Roned snapped at Primrose.
“But there’s no one.”
She sighed, her entire body aching from sitting in the same position for so long.
“I’m tired. Let’s go back.”
“Go back? Absolutely not. You’ll keep looking until you see someone who’s about to die. Otherwise, you won’t get any dinner tonight.”
“I don’t want to! It’s scary seeing people die.”
But Roned was relentless.
“Scary? Stop whining and just do it.”
Trapped under Roned’s orders, Primrose unwillingly fixed her gaze on the passersby, staring into their eyes.
As she did, their deaths flashed across her mind in vivid, horrific detail. A wife beaten by her husband, ultimately driven to suicide. A shopkeeper, murdered after a fight with a business partner. A child, wasted away by illness, breathing their last breath in agony.
Death after death, again and again…
The unwanted visions overwhelmed her mind, filling her with horror.
Primrose’s lips became dry, parched like a barren field. After witnessing the deaths of dozens of people in quick succession, her head spun. It became harder to stay focused, harder to maintain her sanity.
But she couldn’t stop.
If she even tried to avert her eyes for a moment, Roned was quick to scold her, forcing her head back to face the crowd.
Every time she made eye contact with someone, more dreadful images of their deaths bombarded her mind. She felt nausea rise in her throat.
How?
How could people do such horrible things to one another?
How could a husband, who once swore to love his wife, raise his hand against her, driving her to her death?
How could a friend, once united in a shared dream, plunge a blade into their partner?
How could innocent souls, once filled with hope, meet such tragic, miserable ends?
Was this what it meant to live as a human? Were people inherently wicked, destined to despise, harm, and kill each other?
As the weight of all these deaths piled up in her mind, Primrose felt lost in confusion.
No matter how much she tried to make sense of it, she couldn’t. And because she couldn’t understand, it only became more terrifying. To live as a human being… was unbearably dreadful.
Several hours passed.
“…There’s one.”
Primrose finally muttered weakly through her pale lips. Roned, who had been dozing off while holding her head, jolted awake.
“Where? Where is it?”
“That old lady… over there.”
Primrose pointed, and Roned quickly turned to look.
It was an elderly woman with snow-white hair, her steps slow and frail. Just from her appearance, it was clear she didn’t have much time left.
“Well, when and how does she die?”
“She’ll die tonight, in her sleep, while dreaming.”
Most likely, it would be from natural causes in her sleep.
“A peaceful death.”
Roned scoffed dismissively.
He released Primrose.
“Good job. Go rest under the bridge now.”
“But I’m hungry…”
“All you do is eat and never contribute? Wait until I get back.”
Forcing Primrose to leave, Roned hurried after the old woman.
Her final destination was a small shack. Once home, the old woman scattered some dried grain to the chickens in her yard. The chickens clucked and pecked at the ground.
Unaware of Roned trailing behind her, the old woman unlocked her door and went inside.
Roned stayed hidden, watching her house carefully. Soon, smoke rose from the chimney, suggesting that the woman lived alone.
‘No family, then.’
And he was right. After waiting for hours, no one else entered the old woman’s house.
Perfect.
Night fell, cold and dark.
Shrouded in the shadows, Roned quietly hopped over the fence into the old woman’s yard. He carefully grabbed the plumpest rooster from the coop.
Craww!
The startled bird cried out loudly, its squawks echoing through the night as if begging for help.
Surely, the door would burst open, and the owner would shout, “Thief!”
But that didn’t happen. The old woman’s door remained firmly shut.
As predicted by Primrose, the old woman had already passed away in her sleep.
The next day, Roned sold the rooster for a tidy sum. It was far more money than what Primrose had ever made weaving baskets.
Elated, Roned brought Primrose back to the busy streets.
“Alright, Primrose. Same as last time. Look around and tell me who’s going to die soon.”
But each time, Primrose resisted, not wanting to witness another person’s death.
“Brother, please, let’s stop. Taking from the dead is a terrible sin.”
But Roned wouldn’t listen.
He couldn’t stop.
He could make money. And it was so much easier and safer this way. How could he stop now?
