1 We were having fondue at home when I felt the tingle of leaking electricity. I lunged for the cord and shut it off, saving my family from electrocution. But my sister’s next words condemned me to a fate far worse. “April,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears, “are you just jealous of my eighteenth-birthday present?” My mother’s slap sent me reeling. She screamed at me, demanding to know why I would dare covet my sister’s gift. My father grabbed me and shoved my face toward the pot, promising to get justice for his precious daughter. The scalding broth flooded my world. I spent a month in the hospital, a husk of flesh and pain, before my parents refused to pay the bills. They had me discharged and dumped under a bridge, where the stray dogs found me. This time, as I came back to myself, my father’s voice echoed in my ears. “Why does the broth feel… tingly?” “I put in some peppercorns.” 2 “I put in some Sichuan peppercorns.” At the dinner table, my face was a mask of calm, but beneath it, my hands trembled uncontrollably. A month had passed in my mind, but the memory of my death was still branded onto my soul. In my last life, it happened right here, at this very table. As my parents celebrated my sister Joy’s birthday, I was the first to notice something wrong with the fondue. A strange, numbing sensation on my tongue. I prepared all the meals in our house. I knew for a fact I hadn’t put anything in the pot that would cause that. I realized instantly: the electric fondue pot was leaking current. I killed the power and yanked the plug from the wall. When I saw the frayed, exposed copper wire, a wave of relief washed over me. I’d found the danger, we were safe. I had no idea the real danger was just beginning. My sister, Joy, lowered the champagne flute she’d been raising for a toast, her eyes instantly turning red. “April, are you just jealous that I got a birthday present?” she whimpered. “I know Mom forgot yours yesterday, but she was just so busy. If you like my teddy bear so much, you can have it. Then you won’t be angry anymore, okay?” She clutched the stuffed bear tighter, with no intention of giving it to me. But our parents couldn’t stand to see her upset. Especially not when I was the cause. A hand cracked across my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. My head struck the corner of the table, and my vision exploded with stars. “So that’s it! That’s why you’re throwing a fit!” my mother shrieked. “Who the hell do you think you are, wanting your sister’s things?” “I didn’t…” I tried to explain, but Joy cut me off. She clutched her heart, then threw the teddy bear at my face, smothering my words. “Mom, if she wants it, just give it to her,” she gasped, tugging at the collar of her dress. “I just… I don’t feel so well. It’s okay.” That was all it took. My father, his face flushed from cheap whiskey, lurched to his feet. 3 He swayed as he approached, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt. “Don’t you worry, my sweet Joy. I’ll teach this greedy little bitch a lesson for you. I’ll get you justice.” He shoved my face into the still-bubbling pot. Scalding broth seared my skin, flooding my nose and mouth, down into my lungs. The agony and suffocation were so intense I almost blacked out. I thrashed wildly, finally breaking free, but my struggle sent the entire pot tipping over, drenching my body until the pain became a white-hot nothingness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages. The heat had destroyed my vocal cords. I could barely force my eyes open. A nurse looked at me with pity. “What are we going to do with her? She’s been in a coma for a month. Her parents paid once when they dropped her off, but now they won’t authorize any more treatment or pay the bills. We can’t just keep her here.” The final payment deadline came and went. My parents never answered the hospital’s calls. That night, a masked figure wheeled me out of the hospital. We were almost home when the car turned abruptly, and I was thrown into the darkness beneath a nearby bridge. “Now, no one will ever compete with me again.” The wind blew the mask aside. It was Joy. The stray dogs, drawn by the scent of cooked flesh, rejoiced at their unexpected feast. Devoid of pain, I watched them tear me apart, my unblinking eyes staring into the void, unwilling to close even in death. Back at the dinner table, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, burying the hatred deep inside. I had waited so long for this day, for this second chance. This time, I would escape this living hell. This time, I would write a different ending. 4 Hearing my explanation, Joy skeptically fished around in the pot with a ladle. She pulled up a string of bright red peppercorns. I forced a placating smile. “I know you love spicy food, Joy. Mom and Dad don’t usually let you have it, but since it’s your birthday, I thought I’d add a little something special for you.” Joy’s tastes were the opposite of our family’s bland diet. She craved the fire and numbness of spicy food, but my parents restricted it, along with any greasy, fried snacks. My father shot me a disapproving look. But my mother, seeing Joy’s happy expression, let it slide. “Just this once. Look how happy she is. And you know what they say, a happy heart is a healthy heart.” My father’s expression softened. He began serving Joy, feeding her morsels of food as if she were a toddler. My mother, not to be outdone, produced a brightly wrapped gift. “Happy eighteenth birthday, my sweet baby girl! You’re an adult now!” It was the same performance every year. A cozy, intimate scene of a perfect family of three, celebrating their beloved daughter. Joy sat at the head of the table, the center of their universe. My own birthday had been the day before, a fact everyone seemed to have collectively forgotten. It had gotten worse over the years. Their obsession with her was absolute. Even when money was tight, her room overflowed with dolls and her closet with expensive clothes. The only air conditioner in our cramped house was installed in her bedroom. I slept in the storage room next door, a wall away, fighting off cockroaches and centipedes in my sleep. “Wow, a cute teddy bear! Thank you, Mommy!” Joy kissed my mother’s cheek and twirled around, hugging the bear. Then her eyes landed on me, quietly eating at the corner of the table. “April didn’t get a present yesterday,” she said suddenly. “Will she be angry when she sees my bear?” 5 The story goes that Joy and I were supposed to be twins. But my mother had a difficult labor. I was born the night before, while Joy held on until the next morning. Whenever Joy felt the slightest bit of emotional distress, she would clutch her chest and complain of discomfort. I knew she wasn't sick. But my parents always believed her, always accused me of upsetting her, knowing she was "delicate." Now, her question hung in the air, and all eyes turned to me. One wrong word, and my last life would repeat itself. I lowered my gaze. “Joy’s birth was difficult, which makes her birthday especially precious. She’s the princess of this family, she deserves a wonderful celebration. There’s no need to waste money on me.” I quickly deflected the accusation of jealousy. I saw relief and satisfaction dawn on my parents’ faces. “That’s the attitude a good older sister should have,” my mother said. “You need to keep that in mind when you’re at college, so you can take good care of your sister. Understand?” “We’ll be sending all the living expense money to Joy’s account. She’ll manage your finances for you, to keep you from wasting it.” If they could have, they would have swapped my college entrance exam scores with Joy’s, sending her to the top-tier university in the capital. But Joy’s scores only qualified her for a local state school. When it came time to register, my parents had already filled out my application for the same school as her. Their excuse: an older sister needs to take care of the younger one. But I had already contacted my guidance counselor and secretly changed my enrollment back to the university in the capital. In two weeks, I would be starting my new life. Of course, they would find out as soon as the semester started. And when they did, I would face an endless torrent of screaming and beatings. I have lived two lives cowering in fear, suffering their abuse. I will not fall in the same place again. Somehow, before school starts, I have to get out of here for good. And for my escape today, I have prepared. 6 I stood and went to the kitchen to bring out the other dishes. I placed a bowl of handmade fish balls in front of Joy. “You’ve always loved the fish balls I make for you. I made them for your birthday this year, too.” My father nodded, washing them down with a large gulp of whiskey. My mother sneered. “Oh, so you hear the money’s going to your sister and now you’re sucking up? So young, and already so manipulative.” Despite her words, she ate several. My cooking was good. Eat up, I thought. Eat it all, and then have a nice, long sleep. I watched them devour the food, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and excitement. But after a few bites, Joy slammed her chopsticks on the table, throwing a tantrum. “No! These don’t taste right!” “I didn’t watch you make them today! Who knows what you secretly put in them!” My heart skipped a beat. Did she know? No, impossible. She was just angry she’d missed her favorite part of the ritual. The fish balls were her special request. Every winter, she would demand I make them. I’d have to use the boniest part of a small carp, picking out each tiny spine by hand. Then, I’d have to plunge my already chapped and cracked hands into a bowl of ice water, to which she would add lemon juice. She would watch, delighted, as I winced in pain, forced to continue making the fish balls. For days after, my hands would be red and raw. If I ever showed the slightest reluctance, she would burst into tears, and my parents’ curses and beatings would follow. Since it was the middle of summer, making them was less of an ordeal for me. Naturally, she was disappointed. She needed a reason to have me punished. “I didn’t use ice water,” I lied quickly. “Maybe that’s why they’re not as firm.” My mother slammed her hand on the table. “And why not! Now Joy is upset! What if this makes her sick?” “The freezer isn’t working well. I used all the ice for the fruit punch,” I mumbled, covering my head as if expecting a blow. My cowardice seemed to amuse Joy. She let out a small, mocking laugh and finally dropped the subject, reaching for a glass of ice-cold fruit punch instead. But Joy, my dear sister, the strong, sweet flavor of the punch is so much better at hiding the taste of sleeping pills. 7 Halfway through dinner, my father started complaining of dizziness. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey beside him and thought nothing of it. He mumbled “eighteen” and smiled dreamily at Joy. “My sweet girl is finally eighteen. Daddy’s waited so long for this day. I raised you from a tiny little thing, no bigger than my knee, and now you’re almost as tall as me.” Joy smiled sweetly back at him. The alcohol had loosened his tongue. He rambled on about the hardships of raising her. He sighed, but his face was happy. “Eighteen years old. My Leo is finally…” Before he could finish, my mother quickly shoved a piece of food in his mouth, cutting him off. Leo? Who’s Leo? I was confused, but Joy didn’t seem to have heard. She was too busy enjoying being fed by our mother. My mother caught my gaze and looked away, quickly calling for a toast. Of course, it was a toast for the three of them. I raised my glass alone, clinking it against the empty air. Joy’s eyes met mine, her expression a naked taunt, mocking me for being an outcast in my own family. But my glass was raised to the heavens, and to myself—the self that was about to escape from hell. I heard a faint, crackling hum. Just then, a string of firecrackers exploded outside, drowning out the warning sound. My mother sighed contentedly. “Look at that, Joy. Someone’s setting off fireworks for your birthday. Isn’t that lovely?” Yes. It was absolutely perfect. 8 Suddenly, the electrical hum grew louder. Joy looked at the fondue pot with confusion. My father waved a dismissive hand. “It’s just the noise from outside. We just bought this pot, it’s perfectly safe.” Joy’s suspicion was momentarily quieted, but then my mother also noticed something was wrong. “Honey, do you smell that? It smells like something’s burning.” “The pot must be scorching on the bottom.” My father stirred the bubbling red broth with a slotted spoon. The rich aroma of food filled the air again, overwhelming the other scent. “See? All gone.” Joy still looked uneasy. “But I still smell…” CRASH! The bottle of whiskey on the table, "accidentally" knocked over by me, shattered on the floor. The pungent smell of alcohol filled the room. “You’re so clumsy! Can’t you even eat a meal without breaking something!” My father roared, raising his hand to strike me. I cried out and dodged, "accidentally" kicking over another bottle of liquor. The clear liquid splashed across the floor, and now all anyone could smell was alcohol. “I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean to! I’ll get you another bottle right now.” I scrambled to the kitchen. But instead of going to the liquor cabinet, I opened a small side door and pulled out my hidden suitcase. The strange burning smell meant the appliance was overloaded. The fondue pot, having been leaking electricity for a while, was about to explode in their faces. The spilled liquor would act as an accelerant. In the chaos of the fire, no one would notice one girl slipping away. It was the perfect opportunity to leave this hell forever. FWOOMP. The entire house plunged into darkness. 9 The whole street went dark. It must have been a summer peak-usage surge. The old circuit breaker for the neighborhood had tripped, a safety measure, cutting power to everyone. “Ah! It’s so dark! Mommy, I’m scared!” Joy shrieked and buried her face in my mother’s arms. My mother cooed and comforted her, fanning her and getting her water until she calmed down. With the power out, the fondue pot stopped working. The burning smell gradually faded. I was disappointed, but I never put all my eggs in one basket. Just as I was about to move to my next plan, a loud banging echoed from the front door. My mother opened it and was immediately met with a tirade. “What is wrong with your family! Always causing trouble! Now the whole street’s blacked out because of you!” “If it weren’t for that little jinx of yours, none of us would be suffering in this heat!” A few of the neighborhood women stood at our door, led by Mrs. Gable from next door, who fanned herself furiously while pointing the finger at Joy. Joy immediately shrank behind my mother. My mother couldn’t stand to see Joy blamed for anything. “You’ve got a lot of nerve! What makes you think it was my Joy’s fault? Are you blind? Our power is out too!” “If you ask me, you’re the ones doing shady things, and now the whole street has to pay for it!” “Don’t you dare!” Mrs. Gable spat. “It’s because you run your air conditioner with the windows wide open! That’s what did it!” My mother froze. “The wiring in this neighborhood is ancient,” Mrs. Gable continued, her voice rising with dramatic flair. “And that relic of an AC unit of yours has been groaning and rattling for years. We can hear it through the walls. Now you’re running it 24/7 with the windows open? Of course, it overloaded the system!” That explained why the electricity bill had been so high the last few months. “I didn’t know, Mommy, I swear I didn’t know,” Joy whined, her eyes filling with tears. “I just… it’s so hot, and if I don’t get fresh air, my lungs feel tight…” Mrs. Gable snorted. “Oh, save it. You’re a menace. First, you ruin your own house, now you ruin the whole neighborhood.” “We’ve all been polite about it, but if you want to get technical, you’re the worst brat on this whole street.”
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