"If you drink this one, you die. If you drink this one, you live... But there are side effects that might make you regret your choice." My father smiled at me, but it was not a kind, fatherly smile. It was a sick, demented smile, and it made me scared. Why did my father want me to live in torture or die? It seemed like a bad dream.

"What are the side effects?" I asked in a small, quavery voice.

My father's smile pulled into a frown. He smacked me on the side of my head, making me see stars for a split second. "You'll see!" He boomed. "Do not speak unless spoken to!" Then he went off about something about children being seen and not heard.

"I--I don't want to die," I whimpered, ignoring his last statement. If I was going to die or live in agony, his smacks were the least of my problems.

Well, I did get another smack. And another scolding. "JUST DRINK ONE OF THEM!" My father yelled so loudly I'm sure the birds outside flew away like they did in movies.

But I kept asking questions. Maybe it was the rebel part of me, overlapping with the timid mouse part. "Why do you want me to die? What are the side effects? Father, please tell me."

"YOU ARE NO DAUGHTER OF MINE! I AM NOT YOUR FATHER!" Oh, those poor birds. They'll probably never come back now. My father's voice lowered into a dangerous growl. "You want to know why I want you dead, little brat?"

I nodded.

"Because you are a worthless little runt, and I'll enjoy feasting on your body once you are dead. You'll die anyway with the one that gives horrible side effects, if you do not kill yourself first. It is fun to watch you be tortured. Now, give me an answer! What will you chose? Death, or three years of agony and then death?"

I looked at the two bottles on the table. One of them had a blue liquid inside, and the other, a yellow liquid. The yellow one had label. 'Three years of torture.' The blue one had a label, too. 'Death.' I shakily picked up the blue bottle, which was very heavy. I pressed it to my lips, and drank it in a few swift gulps.

Then the agony came. A burning in my stomach started, making me feel as if it was dying in a fire over and over again. I looked up at my father, wanting to swear at him every curse word I had every learned. But it hurt too much to talk, and my father spoke first,

"Welcome to three years of torture," he said gleefully. "I tricked you."