I Rolled a Two and Lost My Life

"Forty dollars. That's all the inhaler I needed to breathe cost. But in our house, nothing comes easy. 'Fairness first. Roll the dice — highest number wins.' I've rolled my whole life. I've never won. Not once. Tonight, lungs burning, vision blurring, I rolled for my medicine money against my sister. She got a six. I got a two. 'You lost, Hazel. Now go to the attic and think about your selfishness.' The door locked behind me. My chest is closing up. And no one is coming to check."

——

"Hazel, in this family, fairness comes first. Since both you and Sloane want the money, we'll do it the old way—roll the dice."

My mother, Victoria, stood by the living room table, holding that fancy red velvet box in her hands.

Her voice was gentle and composed, sounding just like the perfect mother from around the block.

My father, Edward, sat on the couch, flipping through the newspaper, nodding in agreement. "That's right. That's how democracy works in this house."

I clutched my chest, my lungs wheezing like a broken old bellows.

My asthma was acting up, and I desperately needed to get to the pharmacy for a new rescue inhaler. It only cost forty bucks.

Meanwhile, my sister Sloane sat across from me in a brand-new designer dress, fussing over her freshly done nails.

She wanted the money to buy a ticket to ENTRAPEN's 7th anniversary limited concert.

That cost five hundred dollars.

"Mom..." I gasped, struggling to breathe, cold sweat soaking through my old t-shirt. "I really can't breathe... I just need forty dollars for my meds... Sloane gets her allowance next month, she can just—"

"Shut up, Hazel!" Victoria's brows furrowed, a flash of disgust crossing her eyes. "Why are you so selfish? Sloane's been looking forward to this concert for six months! Are you saying her dream matters less than yours? Since resources are limited, rolling the dice is the fairest way. Whoever gets the higher number gets the money."

I stared at that box in despair.

Ever since I was ten, this had been the family rule.

The last slice of cake, who does the dishes, even who gets to go to summer camp—it all came down to a roll of the dice.

And I had never won. Not once.

Sloane giggled, pulled a white bone dice out of the box, and tossed it carelessly.

The dice spun across the table and landed squarely on a six.

"Wow, what a lucky roll," Sloane said, smirking as she tilted her chin up.

Victoria immediately flashed a doting smile and slid the other dice over to me. "Your turn, Hazel. Don't say we didn't give you a chance."

My hand trembled as I reached out and picked up the dice.

My vision was already going blurry from the lack of oxygen. I prayed in my head, just roll a six, just this once.

I threw the dice with all my strength.

It rolled twice and landed on a two.

"What a shame." Victoria didn't hesitate for a second, sweeping all the cash on the table into Sloane's bag. "You lost, Hazel. And by the way, that selfish little stunt you just pulled, trying to steal your sister's chance? That really disappointed me. Go up to the attic and think about what you did. You're not coming down without my permission."

"But Mom... my medicine..." I tried to grab onto her sleeve.

Edward shot up from the couch and yanked my hand away, snapping at me harshly. "Can't handle losing, so now you're throwing a tantrum? Is this how we raised you? Get up to that attic, now!"

I was shoved roughly, stumbling and tripping my way up the narrow wooden staircase leading to the attic.

The door slammed shut behind me and locked.

This place was just for storing junk—no AC, and the attic was stifling, like being trapped inside an oven.

Dust swirled through the air. Every single breath felt like inhaling shards of glass.

I curled up on an old, moldy mattress, my mouth gaping open like a fish thrown up on the shore, desperately trying to suck in even a sliver of air.

"Mom... please help me..." I used the last of my strength, crawling toward the door.

In the darkness, I didn't see the old, discarded wooden shelf on the floor.

I tripped hard, my body pitching forward, and a rusty, sharp nail pierced straight through my throat.

The pain only lasted a second. Blood gushed out like a fountain, staining the filthy floor red.

I could hear Sloane's cheerful laughter downstairs, followed by the sound of a car starting—the three of them were off to celebrate with a fancy dinner.

And I was left lying face-down on the cold floor, my body slowly going stiff.

I stared at my own corpse—eyes wide open, refusing to close even in death.

I felt my body suddenly grow weightless.

I floated up above, looking down at the girl who was still bleeding out below.

So I guess I'm already dead.

If I were still alive... would they even bother buying me my medicine this time?