Refusing to Donate Corneas to Stepsister

When I refused to donate corneas to my stepsister, my mom and stepdad decided to drag me before the socalled Court of Morality.

If found guilty, I'd be thrown into the socalled Flames of Righteousness, turned to ash, with all my possessions going to them.

But at the verdict, they dropped to their knees, crying and pleading for mercy from the judge.

When I was led to the platform, I was unshaken.

The judge, sitting high and mighty, had a stern look plastered across his face.

Above his head, the large screen scrolled with live comments, each mocking me relentlessly.

[Isn't this the girl who injured her sister's eyes and refused to donate even one cornea?]

[Utterly heartless, acting all cool after such a foul deed!]

[Laughable! Saw another one like her, cocky till they tossed her into the flames—pissed herself!]

The Court of Morality was a workaround for legal loopholes, judging only those whose sins didn't breach actual laws but were deemed despicable.

It was a live broadcast, where a hundred anonymous people cast their votes on your fate.

If deemed guilty, into the Flames of Righteousness you go, to burn and then vanish into ashes, with all your belongings handed over to the accuser.

On the opposite side, my mother, tightly holding my stepsister with no blood relation between them, looked at me with scorn. My stepfather ogled me greedily.

The judge banged his gavel, asking once more for confirmation.

"Plaintiffs, are you certain you want Lexi to undergo this moral judgment? If she's found guilty, she'll face..."

He was cut off midsentence by my mother, who yelled with all her might, "Yes! I want this backstabbing brat to suffer!"

The judge shook his head, turning to me with a questioning look.

"Defendant, are you sure about using the Memory Extractor?"

The crowd gasped in shock, and even the faces of the three plaintiffs turned pale.

The Memory Extractor could pull out the most genuine memories, unlike the selective ones offered voluntarily—it would present the complete and unchangeable truth.

Yet, it was a painful process with serious potential side effects.

Due to imperfect technology, two thick tubes would be inserted deep into the brain to extract memories, and there was a significant risk of ending up braindead afterward.

In other words, I could become a vegetable once the procedure was over.

Facing my mother's distraught expression, I nodded firmly and calmly.

"Yes, I am."

The trial kicked off.

Screens encircled the platform while several technicians came forward to sanitize me for the procedure.

As the thick tubes were inserted into my brain, I managed a nod to the judge through the intense pain.

He dropped the gavel and began, "Charge one: disrespecting your stepfather, showing no gratitude, shamelessly exploiting men for money, bringing disgrace to your family."

Instantly, the screens flashed to life, displaying memories submitted by the plaintiffs.

There was fifteenyearold me, rushing at my stepfather with a furious swing. Just home from his labor job, he was unprepared for my punch that sent blood dripping from his jaw.

Cut to another memory. Me at fifteen, my face full of disdain as I knocked a fiftydollar bill from my mom's hand, yelling, "Really? This is pocket change. Are you kidding me?"

Then, me in a chic dress, and bright lipstick, hanging onto a shy, handsome boy, cooing, "Hey, Johnny, did you get your allowance? Hand over five hundred, will you?"

The comments went wild.

[What a schemer! Flirting right in the open, huh?]

[No shame, hitting her stepdad who's breaking his back to educate her!]

[Ingrate! Knows damn well the family's scrape, and still complains about money! Disgusting!]

[She deserves to be found guilty!]

My stepfather smirked triumphantly; my mom clutched at her heart in agony while my stepsister dabbed at her tears in secret.

As the jury furiously tapped on their screens, my memories played out for them.

A minute later, the live vote appeared on the big screen.

[Not Guilty!]

The comments section erupted.

[What a joke! How's that not guilty? Did the jury lose their minds?]

Amidst a barrage of insults, the judge looked at me resignedly.

[Defendant, would you like to share your memories on the big screen?]

Confronted with relentless demands from the commenters, I took a deep breath.

"I'm willing."

There I was at fifteen, holding my mom's hand, walking into my stepdad's house nervously.

He sat on the couch, scowling as he sized me up, while my stepsister devoured a cream cake beside him.

I couldn't help but eye the cake hungrily, swallowing hard.

My mom caught this and slapped me so hard that I tumbled to the floor.

"Embarrassing creature! Get down and show some respect! Look at you, drooling over cake like you deserve it!"

I stood my ground, refusing to kneel. My mom forced my head down, banging it repeatedly against the cold floor until my face was smeared with blood. Only then did my stepfather crack a satisfied grin.

That night, I was allowed to sleep in the living room.

In the dead of night, my bandaged wounds throbbed painfully from infection. Curled on the floor, I whimpered quietly.

My stepsister, on her way to the bathroom, heard me and yelled, "Get out of here!"

My mom and stepdad were also awakened by the noise. They all looked on coldly as I tried to explain, but my mom interrupted me.

With an icy tone I'd never heard before, she suggested, "Maybe you should sleep in the hallway."

Terrified, I curled up in the dark hallway, shaking uncontrollably.

I whispered to myself, "Hold on, Lexi. Just a little longer till dawn."

But I almost didn't see the next sunrise.

I was freezing, curled into a ball, my head throbbing without reason.

In a blurry vision, I saw my deceased father smiling and reaching out to me, beckoning me to join him.

Instinctively, I reached out, but just as I was about to touch him, I realized he had been gone for years.

I started sobbing loudly, "I don't want to die! I want to live! I still have school to attend!"

The next morning, as my mom was taking my stepsister to school, she discovered me lying in the hallway, convulsing, unconscious.

She knelt down and slapped me twice across the face.

"Lexi, you really play the part well, don't you? Get up, stop playing dead!"

When I remained unresponsive and started foaming at the mouth, she finally panicked.

A neighbor on his way to work saw my condition and hurriedly carried me to the hospital.

The doctor diagnosed me with a high fever from an infected wound and urged immediate hospitalization to avoid death.

Yet, hearing the upfront cost, my mom hesitated.

She tried to pull me off the hospital bed, muttering, "This much for treatment? Why don't you just rob us? Lexi, get up, if you're going to die, do it at home!"

If not for the compassionate doctor who covered my medical expenses and cared for me, I might have died.

On the day of my discharge, she gently touched my head and said softly, "Lexi, take care of yourself. Remember, if you ever face any trouble, come find me."

I nodded, still too naive to understand that she would be my lifeline.

On the way home, I reassured myself quietly, "Just obey, Lexi. If you listen, things will start to look up."

But they didn't.

I never even got the chance to obey.

When I got back home, my stepdad and stepsister still gave me the stink eye.

Whatever I did, it rubbed them the wrong way, triggering a smackdown for no good reason.

That day, my mom made roast pork. Seeing no one around, I couldn't resist; I snuck a piece. I hadn't tasted meat in ages.

Of course, my stepsister walked in just then.

With a nasty sneer, she tattled to my mom, "Auntie, look at the little thief you brought home, stealing meat!"

Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Even the family dog gets meat, so why am I a thief for taking a bite?

My mom slapped me without even asking, knocking me off balance, and my head cracked against the table's edge.

Just home from work, my stepdad saw me clutching my head and jeered,

"What now? Faking an injury to squeeze some cash out of us?"

"If you're that hard up for money, why not make it worth your while and spend the night with me?"

Blinded by anger, I charged him and landed a punch that left him spitting blood.

That night, my mom tore my clothes off and pulled my hair like she'd lost her mind, crying and cursing.

"You're so shameless, always flirting with every man!"

"You should be glad he even looked your way! How dare you strike him, you ingrate!"

"Love flirting so much? Go strut outside naked and show everyone!"

My stepsister clapped along, thrilled, "Yes! Let everyone see just how shameless she is!"

Despite my pleas, my mom and stepsister were unmoved. I ended up outside, clad only in my underwear.

That night, I sat by the door, arms crossed over my chest, face buried in my knees, and drifted off to sleep.

Around midnight, a drunk passed by and, spotting me vulnerable, started to make his move.

I woke up terrified, struggling, but he was too strong and pinned me down, about to force himself on me.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, which woke the neighbors, one of whom came out to check.

A neighbor called the police, who arrived with a social worker. They gave my mom and stepdad a stern lecture and warned them never to let me sleep outside again.

I hoped life would get better, but it didn't.

My mom dragged me back inside, pulled out a fiftydollar bill, and handed it to me with an apologetic look.

"Lexi, you've embarrassed us too much. If you stay, it'll tarnish your sister's reputation."

"I have no choice. She's more important to me. This is all I can spare. You're on your own now."

I slapped the money away, yelling, "Really? This is pocket change. Are you kidding me?"

"I don't need your money, and I'm done with you for good!"

I left home with nowhere to turn.

With no options left, I ended up sleeping under a bridge.

I used the last of my allowance to buy a knife for protection against the other vagrants there.

Fortunately, nothing happened.

Before he died, my dad had left me a little money. It wasn't much, but it was enough to scrape by if I was careful.

Still, I couldn't just live off that forever. What would I do when it ran out?

Every day after school, I hit up restaurants looking for a job, but no one would hire me because of my age.

I was desperate. One day, I treated myself to a burger in the cafeteria, eating it tearfully.

After I finished, I was about to ask the school office to drop out, when someone blocked my way.

It was the school underachiever, smiling as he looked me over.

"Hey, Lexi, how about tutoring me? Don't worry, it's not for free. I can give you 800 a month."

Desperate for any lifeline, I agreed instantly.

After school, I'd stay back to go over lessons with him.

Over time, feelings started to develop between us, though neither of us said anything.

After one session, he shyly handed me a dress and lipstick as birthday gifts.

He invited me out to celebrate, and I accepted.

I wore the dress and lipstick he gave me, and we linked arms. It was payday for him.

"Johnny, you got your allowance today, right? How about five hundred?"

"You already spent quite a bit on these gifts. I'll cut the tutoring fee this month!"

Unbeknownst to us, my stepsister was watching us from a distance, jealousy written all over her face, clutching a love letter filled with hearts.

When the memory ended, the chat went silent for a moment.

Several jurors looked skeptically at the plaintiffs' table.

My stepdad and mom were pale, my stepsister quietly sobbing.

But no one felt sorry for them, and soon the comments section was buzzing again.

[Damn, outright villainous! Even for family, to say such things! He got what he deserved!]

[Right? And her mom, only offering fifty dollars to her own daughter to fend for herself? Not everyone deserves to be a parent!]

[And that sister, always adding fuel to the fire, then spreading rumors out of jealousy—just vile!]

I stood there, expression neutral. These events were just the tip of the iceberg of my tragic life. I had long lost any hope in my family.

Some in the comments remained cautious.

[Hold on, there might be a twist coming.]

[Yeah, seen it before—big turnaround, and the accuser ends up ruined!]

The screen flickered, and the next charge against me rolled out.