I played this game a lot. Whenever I had to split food with my siblings, I always played Rock Paper Scissors with them to determine who would get the bigger portion. There were always tricks involved, they would switch their moves midway after reading your motions, they would try to convince you to play one move, without your brain even acknowledging it, they would remember the games they played with you, memorizing which move you played marginally more through thousands of rounds. It’s all fun and games though,fond memories lie in this simple hand motion.

We weren’t ever rich. Five years ago when I was eight, we were barely getting by. Every winter, we felt our time slowly run out, but then replenished by the gleam of yellow sunlight in March when we got to plant our crops. This year is different; all the food ran out, our parents lost their jobs, the water is scarce, there’s no rain, but the air is freezing cold.

We gather around the dinner table tonight, we all know what’s happening. I lift my trembling hand towards the center. My parents are dead silent. My sister whispers in my ear: “Paper always wins”. Breaths are heavy as we count one, two, three, go. 

Tears fall, I crawl onto the floor, and my parents put a scissor into my neck and heart.

Dinner is served, children.