I was a bright child, once. But too many beatings dulled my mind. I became the "stupid thing" everyone call ed me. Three years after my third sister was born, my mother finally had a son. My father could finally hold his head high in the village. My brother was raised like a normal child. My sisters and I were left to fend for ourselves Chores were mandatory, food was scarce, and if you got sick, you toughed it out. Thanks to nine-year compulsory education, I was lucky enough to stay in school. But my grades were never good. If it weren't for my decent looks-the village matchmaker said a higher education level would fetch a higher bride price-I probably would have been pulled out of school long ago. When I was twelve, a family visiting from the city brought chickenpox to the village. All five of us kids caught My parents focused all their attention on my brother. My sisters and I were ignored. Even now, more than a decade later, I can still remember the sheer desperation of those days. My body burned with fever, the pox itching relentlessly, but I couldn't even think about myself. My three younger siste- rs were each worse off than the last. My first sister struggled to breathe. My second scratched herself until she was covered in blood. And my youngest, she fell into a fever-induced coma the day her first spot appea- red. We were the most severe cases in the village. The other children had attentive parents and were well-fed. My sisters and I hadn't had a decent meal since my brother was born. Our immune systems were shot. My middle school was over forty miles from home. Because I had proof of poverty, my boarding was free. The school even gave me odd jobs to help cover my living expenses. So, the moment I recovered, my moth- er kicked me out of the house and sent me back to school, terrified I would eat the food meant for my brot- her. My grades were poor, but my homeroom teacher, who knew my situation, told me to stay at school more often so she could tutor me. That period of tutoring at school became the source of a lifelong guilt that haunts me. It was only when I returned home that I learned the true cost of that illness. All of my sisters were left with lasting consequences. My first sister developed a persistent, hacking cough that kept her up at night. One night, after being woken up by the noise yet again, my father stormed into our room, grabbed her by the coll- 5/12 13:54 Chapter 2 ar, and threw her out of the house. A few days later, some villagers found her body on the mountainside. 13:54 My second sister was left with numerous scars, making her "worthless" in the eyes of the matchmaker. Dec- iding it wasn't worth the cost of continuing to raise her, my father handed my ten-year-old sister over to a fellow villager who worked as a migrant laborer, sending her off to earn money for the family. I later heard she jumped from the back of the truck and ran away. No one ever heard from her again. My youngest sister's brain was damaged by the high fever. One day, frantic with hunger, she tried to snatch an apple from my brother's hand. My mother saw, shoved her violently, and my little sister's head hit the blade of a sickle. She died instantly. So, when I came home a month later, I was met with strange, pitying looks from the villagers. A sense of dread filled me. I ran home and, just outside the small gate to the backyard, I heard my parents talking. "Good riddance. All three of those damn girls are gone! Think of how much money we wasted on feeding them all these years! A total loss!" "What are you worried about? We still have the prettiest one, the eldest. The matchmaker told me that rich pig farmer's son has his eye on her. He's just waiting for her to grow up. He said the more education she has the more he'll pay. Now that we only have two kids left, we can let her finish school. We'll use her bride price to get our son a beautiful wife!" Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!