Watch Me Die In Your Machine

When I was eight years old, I was playing in the yard when I heard ita sharp, sickening crack from deep inside my own bones.

It reminded me of the heavy medical braces sitting on my sisters nightstand. Daisy had Osteogenesis Imperfecta. People called her a glass doll. In our house, gravity itself was the enemy, and every ounce of my mothers attention was a shield held over Daisy, protecting her from the inevitable break.

I wondered then if I had caught it too. I wondered if, by wearing the braces, the throbbing in my limbs would stop. I wondered if Mom would look at me with that same frantic, desperate devotion if I were broken, too.

I was clumsily trying to strap the heavy metal supports onto my legs when Mom walked in.

She didn't see a hurting child. She saw a thief. She stripped the braces off me with a violence that left me shaking, her eyes dark with a disappointment that cut deeper than the ache in my shins.

"Who told you that you could touch your sisters things?" she snapped. "June, there has to be a limit to this attention-seeking. I am exhausted enough caring for one sick child. I dont have room for your theatrics."

I tried to tell her. I tried to explain that my bones felt like they were splintering from the inside out, but she wouldn't hear it.

She dragged me into the living room and shoved me into the automated orthopedic traction frame Daisy used every afternoon. The cold mechanical arms clamped onto my wrists and ankles, clicking into place with predatory precision.

"You want to be sick so badly?" Mom hissed, her voice trembling with fatigue. "This is what Daisy goes through every single day. If you want her life, you can have the treatment that comes with it. Im going to 'cure' you."

The machine began to hum, the pressure building as the motorized winches began to pull. I heard the sound againcrack, crack, crackthe sound of my own internal architecture failing.

I screamed. I told her it was real, that it hurt, that I could feel things snapping.

But Mom just looked at me as if I were a bad actress overplaying a part. She reached out and turned the dial, cranking the intensity up to the level Daisy used for her severe spinal realignments.

"Daisy handles this without a peep," Mom said, turning toward the door. "Stop being so fragile."

I sat in the machine, the world dissolving into a white-hot haze of agony. Slowly, mercifully, my consciousness began to flicker out.

Mom clapped her hands together, a signal that the lesson was over. She helped Daisy into her wheelchair, smoothing her hair with a tenderness she had never shown me, and headed out for Daisys weekly hospital check-up.

The door clicked shut. The house fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

I was curled inside the machine, my body twisted at an unnatural angle. I tried to reach for the red emergency stop button, but as soon as my fingers brushed the plastic, the mechanical arm lunged, pinning my hand back against the frame.

I buckled. Tears splattered against the cold steel. The machine continued its slow, rhythmic crush. Every breath felt like a serrated blade in my lungs.

I tried to call out to our smart-home hub, my voice a wet, broken gargle:

"Call... Mom."

"Video... call..."

The hubs camera lens swiveled toward me, its blue light pulsing once, twice.

"Opening video recording mode," the AI's cheerful voice chirped. "Capturing your beautiful family moments."

No. Not that. Stop.

I wanted to scream, but the pain had finally reached my throat, choking the sound into a silent sob. The cameras ring turned a deep, blood-redthe only light in the darkening room.

The house grew still, save for the low, industrial drone of the motor. I looked down at my arm; it was bent in a way no arm should be, the wrist swollen into a dark, angry knot.

I wanted my parents. I remembered being very small, when a skinned knee was enough to make Mom scoop me up and kiss the pain away. When did I stop being worth the worry? Was I just not "good" enough? Not "sick" enough to love?

The tears on my face turned cold.

The pain reached a crescendo, a blinding flash of lightning behind my eyes, and then... it just stopped.

Maybe I shouldn't have touched Daisys things. Mom was so tired. I was just one more burden she didn't need.

Im sorry, Mom, I thought, looking at the timer on the machines display. Three minutes left. I wont be a problem anymore. Ill just sleep for a bit.

When I opened my eyes again, the red light on the camera had gone dark. The system was back on standby.

I looked at the clock on the wall and felt a jolt of panic.

Three hours? Id been asleep for three hours? My head felt heavy, like it was filled with cotton. I needed to get up. I needed to start dinner. It was almost five-thirty.

Then, the front door opened.

Daisy was in her wheelchair, a fresh cast on her leg, looking pale and exhausted. I tried to flash her a smile, the kind I always used to make her laugh when she was feeling down.

But Daisy just stared straight ahead, her eyes hollow. She didn't even blink.

My hand stayed frozen in mid-air. I felt a pang of hurt. Is it not funny today? You usually laugh.

Mom pushed the chair into the living room. Her eyes swept the space, her brow furrowed into a deep line of irritation.

"June! Are you serious? No dinner? Nothing?"

She gestured toward the traction machine. "I leave you here to reflect on your behavior, and you just decide to take a nap?"

I turned, confused. Im not sleeping, Mom. Im right here.

But as I followed her gaze, I saw it.

I saw a small, crumpled figure inside the machine.

I looked down at my own hands. They were translucent, like a memory fading in the sun.

I tried to speak, but only a sob came out.

Oh, I realized. Im dead.

I stood there, paralyzed, watching them. I tried to pat my own cheeks, but I felt nothing.

Maybe this is better, I thought. One less mouth to feed. One less tuition to save for. Now, Daisy can have it all.

Mom pushed the wheelchair right through me, the sensation like a cold draft of wind. She turned on the TV for Daisysome mindless sitcom where the laughter was canned and loud.

Daisy reached out, her fingers trembling as she turned the volume down until the room was nearly silent, save for the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of Mom chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

The smell of beef stew began to waft through the air. I drifted into the kitchen, watching Mom carefully pick every tiny shard of bone out of the meat before she served it. She filled a bowl to the brim, a look of grim satisfaction on her face.

She carried the tray to the table and called out toward the living room.

"June! Enough. Come eat."

I sat in my usual chair, trying desperately to answer. Im here, Mom. Please, stop calling.

Mom waited. When no answer came, the tenderness vanished. She slammed the spoon onto the table.

"June! Are you deaf? I said come eat!"

Her voice rose to a screech. "You ungrateful brat. Daisy and I have been suffering at the hospital all day, and youre in there playing games and throwing a tantrum!"

I watched her face contort with rage. I picked at my ghostly cuticles. Im not trying to be bad, Mom. Its just that you cant hear me anymore.

Just as Mom started to get up to drag me out of the machine by my hair, Daisy reached out and caught her sleeve.

"Mom, don't," Daisy whispered. "Let her sleep. Shes probably just exhausted."

Mom looked at Daisys thin, porcelain-white face, and the fire in her eyes died down. She sighed, shaking her head.

"You spoil her," Mom muttered. She put a piece of broccoli in Daisys bowl, but her eyes kept darting toward the living room, toward the machine.

That night, Daisy rolled her chair over to the frame. She looked at the body insidemy bodyand her eyes filled with a terrifying mix of guilt and pity. She reached out and draped a handmade quilt over the "sleeping" girl.

"Don't get cold, June," she whispered.

I hovered near her, wanting to scream Get away! Don't look! I didn't want her to see what was under the blanket.

But the room was dim, lit only by a tiny plug-in nightlight. Daisy couldn't see the details. She went back to her room and returned with her own heavy winter coat, laying it over the quilt. She did this four times, back and forth, until sweat beaded on her forehead.

Mom walked through the living room and saw the mountain of clothes on the machine. She sighed, walking over to tuck the edges in.

She went into Daisys room and squeezed her shoulder. "I wish June was half as thoughtful as you."

Daisy gripped Moms hand, her eyes red-rimmed. "Don't say that. You guys spent everything on me. June... shes been lonely. Its my fault shes like this."

I stood by the bed, shaking my head. Its not, Daisy. Im not lonely anymore. I felt what you felt today. It was so much worse than I ever imagined. How did you do it for years?

They hugged, and I tried to wrap my arms around them both, a hollow, cold embrace.

Moms voice broke. "We thought... we thought having a second child would mean you'd have someone to look after you when we're gone. Who knew youd get sick the same year she was born?"

She sobbed into Daisys hair. "I shouldn't have brought her into this world just to suffer. I owe her so much. So much..."

When Mom finally left the room, her eyes were puffy. She went to the kitchen, found a dry piece of bread, and left it on the table for my breakfast. Then, she grabbed her purse and slipped out of the house.

I followed her. It was nearly midnight. Where was she going?

I followed her old electric scooter through the winding suburban streets until she pulled up at a nondescript warehouse on the edge of town.

I thought Mom had quit her job years ago to be a full-time caregiver.

I followed her into the bright, buzzing chaos of the factory floor. She approached a supervisor with a submissive, practiced smile.

"Sorry Im late, Sarah. Things at home..."

The supervisor didn't look up from her clipboard. "You're late too often, Mary. Family is fine, but the line doesn't wait."

Mom nodded frantically, her apologies becoming more humble, more desperate. "I know, I know. I can only come in once the girls are settled for the night."

The supervisor sighed, handing her a bin of small electronic components. "That kid of yours is a bottomless pit for money, isn't she? How long has your husband been pulling double shifts at the construction site? Months since he's been home?"

She paused, looking at Mom. "And your other oneJune? At the last school meeting, she was sitting all by herself. Someone asked where her parents were, and she just stared at her shoes. Don't let one child's illness drown the whole family."

I lunged forward, hands on my hips, fuming. Daisy isn't a "child's illness"! She's my sister! Don't talk about her like that!

Mom took the parts. Her hands were covered in small, raw nicks. "Daisy is my daughter. We have to try. And as for June... Ill make it up to her. When Daisy is stable, Im taking June to the theme park shes been begging for."

I nodded, then shook my head.

Mom, I can't go. Keep the money for Daisy. Stop hurting yourself.

The supervisor softened her tone. "Finish this batch and go home. Ill make sure the pay is right. Buy the little one something nice."

Mom put on her reading glasses. I realized thenher eyes were failing. When did that happen? When I was little, she could point out a tiny bird in a tree a hundred yards away. Now, she was squinting at parts an inch from her face.

She worked until 2:00 AM.

When she finally got home, she stood at the front door, her hand on the light switch. She looked at the traction machine in the dark, and her hand dropped.

She crept over, watching my "sleeping" face in the moonlight. She reached out to stroke my hair, but stopped herself halfway, her hand trembling. She tucked the quilt in one last time and disappeared into her bedroom.

I breathed a sigh of ghost-relief. Good. Go to sleep, Mom. Don't find me yet. Don't let me ruin your sleep.

I followed her into her room. She pulled out a battered notebook from her nightstand.

Medical bills. Tuition. Mortgage. Overtime.

She wrote and erased, her face a mask of exhaustion. Finally, she took the earnings from tonight and moved them into the column labeled "Junes School Trip."

She closed the book and looked toward the door, a faint, tired smile on her lips.

I looked at the book and started to cry. You don't need that column anymore, Mom. Put it back in the hospital fund.

I lay down on the bed beside her, just like I did when I was a toddler. But this time, I couldn't feel the warmth of her body.

The next morning, Mom woke up with dark circles under her eyes.

The smart-home hub suddenly began to chime. Its mechanical voice echoed through the quiet house:

"Storage space full. Please clear files immediately."

Mom was busy giving Daisy her morning meds. "I heard you the first time," she snapped at the wall. "Shut up."

But the chime was persistent. It rang every thirty seconds, a digital heartbeat of annoyance.

Daisy set her water glass down. "Mom, just fix it. It's going to wake June up."

Mom grumbled, sliding her finger across the control screen on the wall. "I just cleared this two weeks ago. How is it full already?"

The file list expanded. Hundreds of clips: Daisy Physical Therapy, Daisy Recovery Log, Daisy Daily Brace Check.

And then, a new file from yesterday afternoon.

Moms finger froze. Her face darkened. "This system is for tracking your sisters medical progress, June. It is not a toy."

She hit the delete button, her voice thick with resentment. "That girl is getting more difficult every day..."

I paced around her, waving my arms, trying to explain. I didn't mean to! The hub must have misheard me! I didn't want to cause trouble!

I bit my lip. If it hadn't misheard... if it had actually called you...

A sob caught in my throat. Would I still be here?

Suddenly, the sound of a key turned in the front door.

Dad walked in, lugging a massive duffel bag, looking like hed aged ten years since the last time I saw him. He dropped his bags and looked at Mom, trying to crack a joke.

"Whats the matter? Picking a fight with the toaster already?"

Mom sighed, pointing at the screen. "Junes been messing with the hub. The memory is completely tapped out."

Dad kicked off his boots, playing the peacemaker. "Shes a kid, Mary. Kids are curious."

Moms voice went sharp. "Theres a limit to curiosity. Do you know what she did yesterday? She put on Daisys braces and pretended to be sick. Daisy is fighting for her life, and June is playing dress-up with her agony."

She shook her head. "Shes become so selfish. No empathy at all."

Dads expression soured. He looked toward the living room. "Daisy has suffered enough. Playing games with her illness is crossing a line. Where is she?"

Mom jerked a thumb toward the machine. "I told her to stay in there and think about what shes done. Apparently, shes been 'thinking' so hard she slept through dinner and breakfast."

She scoffed. "Im sure shes awake by now, just hiding under those blankets because shes ashamed."

Dad walked over, his face stern. He leaned down and tapped the "sleeping" figures shoulder.

"June. Get up. You need to apologize to your mother."

No response.

Dads temper flared. He reached out and yanked the quilt off the girls face.

"June, Im talking to you. When you make a mistake, you"

Dad stopped. The quilt fell from his hand, fluttering back over the body.

Mom, seeing him go still, walked over impatiently. She grabbed the rest of the blankets and the coats, throwing them onto the floor.

"Your father is talking to you! Weren't you the one crying about how much you missed him last week?"

Then, the light hit the machine.

Mom stopped.

"Ju... June?"