Dark Humor

In the second year after my husband took a mistress, I heard a voice:

“A man who won’t behave? Break his legs, and won’t he behave then?”

I had spent two years in the Buddhist shrine, chanting sutras day after day, trying to cleanse myself of my sins.

But I could never understand what my sins were.

Everyone in the Ling Family blamed me for being unable to keep my husband.

Being childless was a sin. Being jealous was a sin.

That voice had to be guidance from heaven.

At last, I understood. If his legs were broken, he would no longer be able to leave.

So when Ling Xu came to the Buddhist shrine once again to ask whether I agreed to let his mistress enter the household,

I snapped the candle off the candlestick and drove the copper spike into his leg.

My father was a professor at a prestigious university, and my mother held a doctorate in literature.

But only my older sister inherited their brilliant genes.

As for me, all I could do was chant “Makka Pakka,” the bitter little gourd their family tree had produced.

When my parents divorced, my sister chose Dad.

“I don’t want a retarded little sister,” she said.

I turned to Mom. “Be happy, Mommy. Makka Pakka!”

Luckily, Mom took my advice: she happily quit her job and started a company.

Years later, Dad nearly drove my genius sister out of her mind.

And I, still Makka-Pakka-ing my way through life, became the daughter of a millionaire.

The couple living across from me fought until midnight every single day, while their child wandered around scavenging for trash to eat.

Anyone who dared to give the boy food was met with a barrage of verbal abuse at their doorstep, or even targeted with malicious sexual rumors.

One day, as I was passing through the stairwell, I spotted the boy hiding in a corner, too afraid to look at me. “Hey kid, want something to eat?” I asked.

He claimed he wasn’t hungry, but his stomach was growling like thunder. “Big sister, just leave me alone,” he sobbed. “My mom isn’t a good person.”

I leaned down and looked him in the eye. “Well, neither am I.”