This Time, Don't Laugh While I'm Dying

My brother, Adrian Lupton, always says I'm the most boring person in the family. That's because every time he plays a prank on me, I always end up in tears. When he sticks chewing gum in my hair, I cry. When he pulls my chair away just as I'm about to sit down, I fall and cry, too. It leaves me with a fractured tailbone, and I spend two months lying face down in bed. But my parents always brush it off. They say he is just being playful and that I can't take a joke. And as his older sister, I'm supposed to be more understanding. Eventually, I stop crying. Even when Adrian smiles and offers me some food, I smile back. I have no idea that he has mixed peanut butter into it—the one thing I'm severely allergic to. After eating it, I return to my room. The moment I close the door, it feels as though someone is squeezing my throat shut. I can't breathe. Red hives spread across my body as I collapse onto the floor. My phone is lit up beside me. The last thing on the screen is my search: "How to stop throat swelling from peanut allergy". My consciousness slowly fades. In the next room, Adrian laughs while playing video games. Meanwhile, my parents are watching TV in the living room. No one in the house notices what is happening behind my closed door. No one realizes that I'm dying. If there is another life, I don't want to be the target of anyone's cruel pranks ever again. I just want to be loved for who I am, even if it's only once. Chapter 1 "Jenny, dinner's ready!" My mother, Gloria Chapman, called through the bedroom door, her voice laced with impatience. I didn't move, not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't. My eyes were swollen into narrow slits. My lips had ballooned so much that I couldn't close my mouth, and my throat felt as though someone had stuffed a burning lump of charcoal inside it. Every breath felt like inhaling embers. "Jenny! Did you hear me? Dinner is ready! Come out now!" Mom yelled again, louder this time. I could hear the irritation creeping into her voice. She was starting to lose her patience. "Mom, she's throwing a fit again," my younger brother, Adrian Lupton, chimed in from the living room. "I just put a little peanut butter in her food as a joke." He laughed lightly, as if talking about something completely harmless. A joke. He said it so casually, as if putting peanut butter into the food of someone with a severe peanut allergy was just a fun little experiment, like dropping Mentos into Coke. "Ade, you know your sister is allergic to peanuts. Why would you do that?" Mom's voice carried no anger. It sounded more like a helpless complaint. "I just wanted to see what an allergic reaction actually looks like," Adrian said without a trace of guilt. "The books make it sound so scary. I think they were exaggerating." "That's enough," Mom cut him off. "Jenny, come on out and eat. Don't be mad at your brother." I didn't answer, not because I was sulking. I simply couldn't speak anymore. My tongue had swelled, and the inside of my mouth felt like it was about to burst. When I forced my lips apart, all that came out was a muffled whimper, like a wounded animal's cry. "Jenny, stop throwing a tantrum," Mom warned, her voice turning cold. "If you don't eat, you're only starving yourself. Don't expect us to bring food to your room." Her footsteps faded away from the door. A moment later, the sound of silverware clinking came from the dining room. The three of them had started dinner, together as a family. Without me. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. There was a water stain up there shaped like a butterfly. I had stared at that stain countless times growing up. Whenever I was sad, I'd look at it until I stopped crying. But this time, the tears kept sliding down my swollen cheeks. Breathing became harder with every passing second. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, each thump sounding like someone knocking on a door that would never be opened. My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor. I closed my eyes. Whatever. Maybe this was how it ended. Nobody cared anyway. When my soul began to drift from my body, the first thought that crossed my mind was, "So, this is what dying feels like". Chapter 2 All the pain and discomfort I had been feeling disappeared in an instant. I hovered near the ceiling, looking down at myself lying on the bed. The young woman lying there with her head tilted to one side was Jenny Lupton. Her face was swollen beyond recognition, her lips were a purplish blue, and her arms were covered in red rashes. My phone lay on the floor, its screen still glowing. The last thing I had searched before I died was still displayed. "How to stop throat swelling from peanut allergy." I drifted out of my room, passing through the tightly shut door that no one had ever bothered to knock on. In the living room, Mom was sitting on the couch, scrolling on her phone. Half-eaten dishes sat on the table—pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes. A plate of food was still waiting for me in my usual spot, with a fork resting on it. Mom hadn't cleared it away yet. She had no idea that I would never touch that food again. My father, Eric Lupton, sat beside her, watching the news. The TV was showing the weather forecast, predicting rain for tomorrow. "Jenny still hasn't come out?" Dad asked casually without even looking up. "Just leave her alone. We've spoiled her too much," Mom replied, her eyes glued to her phone, her fingers swiping up. "Ade just played a little prank on her. Does she really need to react like this?" "She's allergic to peanuts. You should know better," Dad calmly said. There was no concern or urgency in his voice, as if he were commenting on the weather. "How bad can an allergy be? It's just peanuts, not poison," Mom grumbled. "She has always been dramatic. Ever since she was a child, she'd lock herself in her room whenever things didn't go her way. Look at Ade. He's such a cheerful kid, but she has him walking on eggshells around her all the time." Listening to them, I almost wanted to laugh. Adrian walking on eggshells around me? He didn't care at all when he used my toothbrush to scrub the toilet. He laughed louder than anyone when he shut off the hot water in the middle of winter, leaving me freezing in my shower. In that house, I was treated like a ticking time bomb, while he lived like a king who could do whatever he wanted. The truth was, our parents always took his side. "Fine. I'll go check on her." Mom finally put down her phone and stood up. I followed her back to my bedroom. Mom opened the door just a crack. The room was dark, with the curtains drawn shut. She saw a figure curled up on the bed. "Jenny, are you going to eat or not?" she asked. I didn't move. After all, I was already dead. "Alright, knock it off." Mom's voice grew more impatient. "If you don't eat now, I'm clearing the table. Don't come complaining you're hungry in the middle of the night." She waited a few seconds, but there was no response. "You're going to be the death of me." Mom slammed the door shut and walked off. She left without even stepping into the room. She never turned on the light to look at my face. If she had, she would have seen that my lips had turned purple. She would have realized that my hands were already cold. But instead, she just stood a few feet away from my body, said a few words, and walked away. I floated into the hallway and stared at the closed door. "Mom, why hasn't Jenny come out yet?" Adrian asked after taking his last bite of pork chop. His eyes darted toward the closed door at the end of the hallway. "Who knows? She's probably just sulking in there," Mom said as she cleared the table. She dumped the leftovers into the trash, then paused for a moment. She looked at my plate before scraping the food into the trash too. "Is she mad again?" Adrian sounded slightly guilty, but only for a moment. "I only added a little bit of peanut butter to her food. Does she really have to react like this?" "She's allergic to peanuts. You should know better." Mom stacked the plates together and carried them into the kitchen. "Don't do that again." That was all she said. No punishment. No lecture. No reminder that he had almost killed his sister. Just a casual remark, like telling him not to leave his socks on the couch. I watched them from across the room, feeling a dull ache in my chest. But I was already dead. My heart wasn't even beating anymore. So why could I still feel the pain? Chapter 3 "Mom, is Jenny okay?" Adrian asked, his voice suddenly quieter. "Why wouldn't she be?" Mom replied from the kitchen while washing dishes. The rush of running water nearly drowned out her words. "She's always like this, making a huge deal out of everything." She paused, then added, "Remember when you pulled her chair out? She was in bed for two months, but she turned out totally fine." I drifted into Adrian's room. His computer was still on, with a game running on the screen. He lounged in his chair with his feet propped on the desk, lazily sucking on a lollipop. Just then, his phone buzzed with a text from a friend. "Dude, how's your sister?" Adrian typed back almost immediately. "She's fine. Just faking it like always." "Your mom didn't yell at you?" "Why would she? She knows that my sister is just being dramatic." "I see. Switch it up next time, haha." Adrian grinned and swirled the lollipop to the other side of his mouth as his thumbs flew across the screen. "Sure. Next time I'll hide her homework so she can't turn it in." "LOL, savage." I stared at the messages on the screen, feeling something shatter inside me. It wasn't anger. It was something far colder—a crushing despair as I realized that, in their eyes, I wasn't even a person. To Adrian and his friends, I was nothing more than a toy—something they could mess with however they wanted because they knew there would never be any consequences. My parents would always take his side. I turned and drifted out of his room. I didn't want to hear their laughter. I didn't want to know how else they were mocking me. I was already dead. None of this should have mattered anymore. But why did it still hurt so much? Later that evening, Mom came to my room again. This time, she knocked. "Jenny, go take a shower." But there was only silence. "If you don't answer me, I'm coming in," Mom said. There was still no response. Mom pushed the door open. The room was pitch black. She reached for the switch on the wall, and the room lit up. My body was still lying on the bed in the same position as that afternoon. The swelling in my face had gotten worse, and my lips had turned a deep purple. My fingers were curled inward, stiff like claws. Mom stood in the doorway and glanced over. Her brows furrowed. "Are you still faking it?" she asked but didn't come any closer. With her arms crossed, she remained in the doorway, less than ten feet away. Ten feet. Her daughter was dead, lying less than ten feet from her. Mom looked at me for a brief moment before switching the light off and walking away. "Jenny, I'm warning you. If you don't get up, I'm taking your phone tomorrow." Her voice echoed down the hallway. She didn't look back or hesitate. She just left. I hovered above the bed, staring down at my own body. The swelling had become so severe that I could barely recognize myself. Mom... Ten feet away, and you still couldn't see me because you never bothered to actually look. Whenever you looked at me, all you ever showed was impatience. You always thought I was throwing a fit, being dramatic, or faking it. It never crossed your mind that one day, I might actually die. Even after I did, you still didn't believe it. At ten o'clock, Dad went to take a shower while Mom watched a reality show in the living room. The canned laughter blared from the television as if the whole house were filled with joy. Adrian was back in his room, gaming with his friends. His keyboard clattered as he and his friends talked over voice chat. "Damn it, that sniper's camping again!" "Come revive me! I'm down!" "Hahaha! He died again!" Their laughter drifted through the wall. I floated in the hallway, listening to it all, and couldn't help thinking how cruelly ironic it was. Everyone in the house was laughing. Not a single one of them realized that someone was missing—someone who would never come back. At eleven o'clock, Mom turned off the TV and went to brush her teeth and wash her face. As she passed my room, she paused and asked, "Jenny, what's your problem?" She pushed the door open and glanced inside. The light was still on, and I was exactly where I'd been before. She stood there for a moment and let out a weary sigh. "You really are impossible." Then she reached in, flipped off the light, and closed the door. Darkness swallowed the room. My soul stood there, staring at my own lifeless body. For some reason, I suddenly remembered a post I had seen on social media a few days earlier. It asked a simple question—"If someone died alone at home, how long would it usually take before anyone noticed?" Chapter 4 Some people said it took three days to die unnoticed. Others said a week. Some said it depended on when the neighbors started noticing the smell. Back then, I thought that it would never happen to me. After all, I had my parents and my brother. They would surely notice if something went wrong with me. But now I knew that they wouldn't. They would only think I was throwing a tantrum, being dramatic, or faking it... until I died. They would never believe me. The next morning, Mom got up and made breakfast. The sizzle of frying eggs came from the kitchen, and the familiar aroma drifted through the house. It was the smell I used to love most. "Jenny, get up. You're going to be late," Mom called out from the kitchen. But there was no response. "Jenny!" Still, silence. "Seriously, every day with this," Mom muttered as she walked out of the kitchen with a plate of fried eggs. She glanced toward the end of the hallway but didn't bother walking over. "Ade, go wake your sister up." Adrian walked out of his room and replied nonchalantly, "Why should I? She'll get up on her own." "Just go tell her to get up," Mom said again. "No," Andrian refused without even casting a glance toward my room. Mom stood by the dining table, looking at the bowl of oatmeal she had prepared for me. She picked up her phone and sent me a message. "Are you getting up or not? If you're late, don't blame me." When there was no reply, she sent another. "Jenny, you're really pushing it." But there was still no response. Mom slammed her phone onto the table. "You are really testing my patience." After tidying up, she left for work. The house fell silent, leaving me alone in the darkness of my room. My phone was on the floor. The screen cracked in one corner. Messages kept coming in—from Mom, my teacher, and classmates asking about homework. None of them knew that the owner of this phone would never reply again. At ten that morning, my teacher, Linda Andersen, called Mom. She asked, "Mrs. Lupton, may I ask why Jenny didn't come to school today?" "What? She didn't go to school?" Mom was a bit shocked. Ms. Andersen replied, "No, she didn't show up today." "That girl..." Mom's voice was filled with anger. "She was upset with me last night and locked herself in her room. I thought she'd gone to school on her own this morning." "You should go home and check on her." "Alright, got it." After hanging up, Mom didn't return home. Instead, she told her coworkers what had happened and continued with her work. It wasn't until noon that she finally drove home. As soon as she stepped inside, she called out, "Jenny, come out here. You'd better explain this." She walked to my bedroom and pushed the door open. The light was off, and the curtains were drawn, leaving the room completely dark. She reached for the switch, and the light came on. I was still lying on the bed in the same position as yesterday. I hadn't even changed clothes. The swelling in my face had gone down a little, but my lips had turned an even darker shade of purple, almost black. "Jenny?" Mom's voice trembled. She finally realized that something was wrong. I had never skipped school because I knew it would only get me into more trouble. So I always got up on time, even when I felt miserable. But this time... I never got up. Mom walked over to the bed and reached out to shake my shoulder. "Jenny? Don't scare me..." My body rolled slightly, and it felt rigid and cold like stone. Mom jerked her hand back. When she saw my swollen face, purple lips, and curled fingers, her eyes widened in horror. "Jenny!"