The Flood Within

Torrential rain swept through the city, submerging neighborhood after neighborhood. Fortunately, I had always been an extreme prepper. My stockpiles kept my cousin and me from starving to death while we were trapped in the apartment. Yet her self-righteous savior complex kicked into overdrive. She insisted on opening the door to shelter our neighbor—the very man who had brutally bullied me when I was a kid. "You said it yourself, Zoey, that was years ago when we were kids." "Everyone deserves a second chance, don't they?" That very night, that neighbor assaulted and violated me. After the trauma, I grabbed a knife and forced both of them out into the storm. A few days later, my cousin led a mob of desperate refugees back to my apartment. They battered down the door. They looted everything in sight. In the chaos, I was trampled to death. Meanwhile, my cousin was hailed as a local disaster hero. When I opened my eyes again, I marched straight into a self-defense store and asked the clerk: "Do you have a heavy-duty stun baton? The kind powerful enough to drop a wild boar?" "You can't blame me for this, Zoey." "I was just looking out for the community, wasn't I?" "This is a noble sacrifice. You'll have good karma in your next life." As she spoke, my cousin Faith brought her heavy boot down on my hand—the hand that was desperately trying to dial 911. More and more boots trampled over me. Through the chaos, I heard the sickening crunch of my own bones shattering. Agonizing pain tore through my entire body, sending me into violent spasms. Mercifully, the torment didn't last long before my soul detached and floated into the air. I looked down at my own mangled corpse, internal organs crushed into a bloody pulp beneath their feet. Around my body, the crowd popped bottles and cheered, celebrating their feast. I couldn't fathom what sins I had committed in a past life to deserve being torn apart like this. For days afterward, that pack of animals survived entirely on the food and water I had meticulously stockpiled. When it was all over, Faith became their celebrated savior. Local news channels and social media raced to cover her heroic deeds. As for me? They had tossed my broken body straight out the window, letting the floodwaters sweep me away into oblivion. Facing the camera crews, Faith offered an embarrassed, humble smile: "I just did what anyone would do." "When disaster strikes, even a college freshman like me should do her part." The second the words left her mouth, she put on a fragile, tear-streaked expression. She wept directly into the lens: "I just hope the internet can help me find my cousin Zoey." "None of us blame her. Even after what she did..." In her narrative, I was painted as a shameless, selfish monster. She claimed I tried to seduce our neighbor, and when he rejected me, I ran out into the storm in bitter humiliation despite everyone trying to stop me. Overnight, I became public enemy number one, universally reviled. At first, my mom went to every news station she could find, begging them to investigate the truth and clear my name. Before long, broken by the vicious cyberbullying and death threats, she locked herself in her apartment and died of carbon monoxide poisoning. I remember screaming and weeping in front of my mother's spirit, desperate to pull her back. Nobody could hear me. I could only watch helplessly as she slipped away before my eyes. "Seriously, Zoey?" "Why on earth did you buy so much stuff?" "Isn't it a total waste if you can't eat it all?" "Do you have any idea how many families across the country don't even have food on the table right now?" When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my rental. My cousin Faith was dragging her suitcase around the living room, snooping through every corner. In my previous life, she had just started college. My aunt heard I was working in the city and repeatedly asked me to look after her precious daughter. The very next day, Faith showed up at my doorstep, swaggering in without asking. She complained constantly, whining about how awful the dorms were and how she couldn't stand living with roommates. Right now, she was standing with her hands on her hips, arrogantly judging the emergency supplies stacked along my walls. Even though I had explained multiple times that I was a prepper and these were non-perishable emergency rations with a long shelf life, she still preached her moral nonsense. "People like you should be sent to work in impoverished mountain villages," she scoffed. "Then you might actually learn what real suffering feels like." This time around, I didn't bother wasting my breath. The fact that I didn't snap her neck on the spot was already the peak of my mercy. "Shut your mouth," I snapped coldly. "Do you know how many innocent people die every single day?" "Why don't you go drop dead in their place?"I glared at her viciously, then slammed the door behind me and walked out. I left her standing there, completely dumbfounded. Pulling out my phone, I checked the date and time. There were only two days left before the storm hit. In forty-eight hours, the entire city would grind to a halt. First, underground parking garages would flood. Then the storm levees would breach, submerging the streets under feet of murky water. More than half the residential complexes in the district would be cut off. Countless older homes would collapse entirely under the deluge. To avoid repeating my gruesome fate, I hurried to the nearest tactical security store to find reliable weapons for self-defense. "A stun baton?" The clerk eyed me warily after hearing my request. "That's right," I replied with a bright smile. "Preferably heavy-duty. The kind powerful enough to drop a wild boar." Perhaps my grin looked a little unhinged, because the clerk immediately shoved me toward the exit. "We don't carry that." "Even if we did, I wouldn't sell it to you." Having no choice, I toned it down at the next tactical shop. I claimed someone had been stalking me outside my apartment recently and that I urgently needed tools for personal protection. I legally purchased a high-voltage stun baton, high-grade pepper spray, and several other self-defense tools. To make my home impenetrable, I went straight to a custom security door and reinforced window contractor. "That'll run you fifteen thousand dollars," the contractor said after hearing my insane specifications. He immediately showed me the catalog for their highest-rated, bank-grade vault doors and blast-resistant windows. Looking at my bank balance—just barely enough to cover the quote—and remembering the agonizing pain of my bones being crushed in my past life, I didn't hesitate. I secured my landlord's written permission, swiped my card, and signed the installation contract. In this second life, I was going to sit back and watch every single one of those demons rot in hell. By the time I returned home, dusk had fallen. As soon as I walked into the courtyard of my complex, I saw a crowd gathered around the pavilion, fighting over boxes of supplies stacked in front of Faith. In the center of the crowd, Faith was perched on a concrete table, her eyes glowing with self-congratulatory pride. "Don't push, everyone!" she called out gracefully. "There's plenty for all of you!" Noticing someone filming her with a phone, Faith flashed a camera-ready smile. "Please don't film me! We're the younger generation—it's our civic duty to share and give back!" Fury surged through me. I marched forward and bellowed at the mob, "Put my stuff down right now!" "This is theft! Put it down or I'm calling the police this second!" The crowd looked at me with open sneers. "Call them, then! See if we care!" "The sweet girl here gave it to us out of the goodness of her heart. What does that have to do with you?" "You think the cops are gonna arrest all of us for taking free handouts?" Seeing that I was about to expose her, Faith quickly grabbed my arm, feigning innocence. "Zoey!" "I'm doing this to build good karma for you!" "If you hoard food and let it go to waste, you'll be reincarnated as a beast in your next life!" I nearly burst out laughing from pure rage. How generous she was with someone else's property! In my previous life, she kept repeating that everything was for my own good. Her favorite line was: I'm your cousin, would I ever hurt you? And in the end, she had me trampled into mincemeat. It wasn't until my final moments that I realized true malice is rooted in the bone. It needs no rational motive. Especially when survival is on the line. When monsters walk the night during a flood, some humans smile wider than the demons themselves. Before I could tear into her, Faith yanked my sleeve and shouted toward the crowd, "Run, guys! Take the boxes and go, quick!"Watching the neighbors scramble away with my goods, Faith grinned ear to ear. She even called after them, "Watch your step, everyone!" She completely disregarded the murderous rage in my eyes. Seeing me pull out my phone to dial 911, she smirked smugly from the side. "Zoey, they can't arrest an entire crowd." "I don't know if the law can punish a mob," I said coldly, "but I know for a fact it can arrest a thief." The smug grin vanished from her face instantly. "What thief?" I gave her an indifferent smirk. "My belongings vanished from my home." "If a thief didn't steal them, did they sprout wings and fly down here on their own?" Faith immediately caught my drift. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You're calling the cops on me?" "I just borrowed a few cheap boxes of groceries! Are you really turning on family over some junk?" She used the word "borrowed" with astonishing shamelessness. Only when the dispatcher's voice crackled through the speaker did she panic. She slapped the screen to end the call, her voice cracking. "How much was it? I'll pay you back, okay?!" "Fifteen hundred dollars." Hearing that number, Faith nearly jumped out of her skin. "Are you insane?! That's extortion!" I spread my hands nonchalantly. "Then by all means, call the police on me. We can share a holding cell and keep each other company." Faced with jail time, Faith bitterly unlocked her phone and transferred the money to my account. I didn't demand that specific amount because I was broke. In my past life, while mooching off my resources, she had bragged non-stop to her college friends on SnapChat that her family sent her fifteen hundred dollars a month in allowance. Now, her checking account was down to zero. I wanted to see how she planned to survive once the flood hit. That night, I curled up on my bed, staring happily at my updated bank balance. I resolved to hit the wholesale warehouse first thing in the morning to restock. The thought of sitting safely in my fortified room, grilling steaks and singing along to music while the rain poured outside and they froze and starved in the dark, brought me pure satisfaction. Just as I was debating whether to have hotpot or barbecue the following night, a knock sounded at the front door. I checked the peephole. Seeing it was Mrs. Gable from across the hall, I breathed a sigh of relief and unlocked the door. Ever since I moved in, Mrs. Gable had always looked out for me. Whenever she saw me coming home late from overtime, she'd ask if I had eaten. Once, I casually mentioned missing my mom's homemade pasta, and the very next evening, she brought over a fresh batch of baked ziti. She always told me I reminded her of her granddaughter and insisted I treat her like family. Right now, she held a plate of freshly baked rolls, wanting to share them with me. "Do you have company over, dear?" Mrs. Gable noticed an extra pair of sneakers by the shoe rack and turned to fetch more bread. "No, please don't trouble yourself, Mrs. Gable," I stopped her gently. "We just finished dinner. These are more than enough." "Is it a boyfriend?" She gave me a playful wink. "No," I smiled sheepishly. "Just my cousin." "That's lovely." Though slightly disappointed, her warm smile didn't fade. "It's good to have company." After some brief small talk, I lowered my voice and urged her seriously: "Mrs. Gable, make sure you go to the grocery store tomorrow morning and stock up on as much non-perishable food and bottled water as you can." Seeing her nod repeatedly like a cheerful little bird, I couldn't help but chuckle. "Aren't you going to ask why?" "If my sweet Zoey tells me to do it, I'll just do it." She patted my hand fondly. "My favorite girl wouldn't steer an old lady wrong, would she?" With a warm laugh, she turned and headed back to her apartment. Watching her frail silhouette, I called out once more, unable to shake my worry: "There's a storm coming. A catastrophic one. Please remember to stock up!" Unbeknownst to me, Faith had stepped out of the bathroom just in time to witness the conversation. She stared at me with utter bewilderment, rolled her eyes in disgust, and strutted back into her bedroom. A little later, just as I was getting ready for bed, muffled noise drifted through the wall. I pressed my ear against the plaster and realized Faith was live-streaming. After scrolling through local TikTok streams for a minute, I found her channel. Her stream title was blatantly provocative: My Cousin Is Spreading Disaster Rumors—Should I Expose Her for the Greater Good?