You May Want to Sleep with One Eye Open
No body, no crime. Just as everything else she did, faultless as ever.
What happened that day?
How did her husband die?
Was it truly as her stated version of events?
She wielded his death over those around her, channeling her demands through his spirit with cult-like grip. Echoing that infamous family tragedy where a patriarch’s voice led to ruin.
She covered her tracks well with her elaborate ruse, but she can’t wash away the reeking stench of blood that clings to her.
How many more skeletons lurk in her closet, waiting to be buried in her backyard?
Perhaps, in a twisted irony that would make her shriek in madness, the answers lie if one only dares to follow the cat.
I’ve chosen to write parts of Mio’s story out of chronological order because her experience is simply too overwhelming, too complicated, and too difficult to articulate linearly.
I have written some episodes of her story over the past couple of years, and since it’s a developing one, I’m unsure if I’ll be able to write it all completely.
These narratives will be compiled under my Cinderella Must Die collection.
The working title, though seemingly terrible: imagine all the antagonists from famous fairy tales ganging up on Cinderella. That’s how dire Mio’s situation is.
I cannot claim this is purely a work of fiction, as it contains elements of actual events. I also cannot label it as non-fiction, because it’s Mio’s truth. I can only change names and certain details to safeguard my protagonist. For now, let’s just label these as narratives.
©Emika Oka
Thank you for reading this.
If you’d like to support my writing — you can consider buying me a coffee here. Any support holds immense significance for a disabled neurodivergent like me.
Hello, I’m Emika, the person behind the writings you’ll find here.
For me, writing isn’t just my craft; it’s my sole way of working. As someone navigating multiple chronic illnesses with frequent medical treatments at various hospitals and clinics, my routine often leaves me with little energy or capacity for much else.
As an autistic individual with a severe anxiety disorder, holding a conventional job is almost an impossible feat — a sad reality that is a stark contrast to how I used to be able to function. These days, even an unexpected phone call can throw me into disarray, let alone stepping out the door.
Despite these immense challenges, they have, unexpectedly, opened new doors. In a way, being chronically ill has been a blessing in disguise, granting me the space and courage to pursue writing.
You could say I’m an unknown and perpetually poor writer (not everyone can be J.K. Rowling!).
I juggle inconsistent odd remote jobs alongside the limited income my writing generates on different platforms.
Your support here helps me continue this work and truly makes all the difference as I explore new avenues.
Thank you for being here and for considering supporting my journey.
Previously published on Peakd
