Panic nearly broke me.
If they found out I had ruined a whole jar of rice, they’d beat me to death.
In those few seconds, I imagined every possible way I might die.
Just then, Mom’s furious voice came from outside:
“You little brat! What’s taking you so long in there? Want your dad, your mom, and your brother to starve?”
“With laziness like yours, what future could you possibly have?”
I froze, my hands still in the rice.
She stormed in and pressed the hot pan straight onto my hand.
Instantly, blisters erupted, and I screamed in agony.
From outside, Dad shouted impatiently:
“Shut up, jinx! Stop yelling!”
I bit back my cries.
All I could do was watch as Mom, smiling, carried the food to the table.
They ate happily, as if they were the real family.
And me…
I was nothing but a dog left at their feet.
When they were done, Mom sneered at me:
“There are leftovers in the fridge. Why didn’t you eat those?”
“Trying to live in comfort at your age? Spoiled already?”
“Until the leftovers are gone, you’re not getting any of this food. Understand? Wasting is a sin.”
Satisfied, they burped and fed the scraps of meat and fish to the dog.
The cramps in my stomach made it impossible to eat. My hands still bled freely.