“Stop pouting, you look like a makrut lime,” was a comment I used to get from an acquaintance whenever I showed any kind of displeasure. I changed it to date because I just couldn’t figure out if they had makrut limes in ancient China ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Yang Ying has heard those words one too many times already. Those are the words that follow blatant mockeries spat at his face. Those are the words that are supposed to lessen the pain of the bullying, but never do. Those are the words that supposedly wiser and worldlier adults use to justify their harassment of a small child.
This is a short story about trauma, and how it lingers.
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