Banana Is My Second Life

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After I died, my soul latched onto a mother monkey at the city zoo.

My days became a simple, blissful cycle of picking fleas and peeling bananas. Honestly, it was a hell of a lot more peaceful than my time as the Hawthorne familys long-lost daughter.

After all, in the zoo, my biological parents couldn't spit on me with their words.

My own brother couldn't tell me to cut my wrists deeper next time.

Yeah. I was born to be a monkey.

I was perfectly content with my new life, right up until that perfect family of three strolled into the zoo with the girl who had taken my place.

"Mom, Dad, Ethan, look!" she chirped. "That monkey is so ugly! Doesn't it look just like Chloe did right before she died?"

The three of them froze.

I, on the other hand, let out a sharp "Ooh-ooh-aah-aah!" toward the gorilla enclosure next door.

The mighty Chuck, without missing a beat, whipped out a lump of his own special delivery and launched it. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc, landing with a wet splat right across the fake daughters face.

Victoria Hawthorne got a face full of crap.

A wave of laughter erupted from the surrounding crowd as she stood there, covered in fresh gorilla dung, trembling with rage while dry-heaving.

I cackled with glee, perching on the highest rock of Monkey Mountain and slapping my belly. I made sure to shoot Chuck a big thumbs-up.

Chuck, short for Chuck the Gorilla, had a reputation. As his name suggested, he loved flinging his poop at touristsa little trick I had taught him.

I remember when I first became this monkey. The zoo was nearly bankrupt, visitors were scarce, and we animals were starving. We were all skin and bones, a truly pathetic sight.

This couldn't go on. So, I took matters into my own hands.

First, I dismantled the alpha monkeys reign of terror with three swift strikes. I went straight for his family jewels, beating him until he was whimpering and teary-eyed, forcing him to abdicate his throne.

Just like that, I became the new queen of the monkeys.

Next, I dispatched Piper, our blue macaw and resident gossip, to fly across the park and spread my new revenue-generating philosophy.

The bottom line was simple: our zoo needed an act.

We needed a little bit of zen, a little bit of chaos, and maybe a little bit of butt-scratching for good measure. How could tourists resist throwing money at that?

In just two months, the zoo came roaring back to life.

We had Chuck the poop-flinging gorilla, a raccoon who looked like he was meditating, a swan who fed the fish, and a Siberian tiger who sprawled out on his back like a housecat.

And then there was me, the Monkey Queen, who loved to wear a flower crown and wiggle my butt on the highest peak of our mountain. If I was in a particularly good mood, Id even bust out a TikTok dance.

I was the star attraction!

And what happens? This little brat, Victoria, who has no appreciation for true artistry, has the nerve to call me ugly.

She was just begging for a taste of Chucks signature "special delivery."

Victoria, it turned out, was not a fan of flying feces.

"It's disgusting!" she shrieked through her tears. "That monkey! It was her! I saw her point at me!"

She shot me a venomous glare, demanding my parents and brother do something about me. They tried to soothe her, but she only cried harder, wailing about how it was bad enough being bullied by her sister when she was alive, but now even a monkey was tormenting her.

At her words, my familys faces tightened. A complex, silent understanding passed between them.

The other tourists were getting fed up. "Who does this princess think she is?" one of them snapped. "Chuck is famous for throwing things. Ever heard of an umbrella?"

Ever since Chuck went viral, the zoo was packed. Most visitors came prepared, holding umbrellas while they taunted him, squealing with delight whenever he launched a projectile.

"It's none of your business!" Victoria screeched. "Did I say anything about the gorilla? I'm talking about that stinking monkey! I can't stand the sight of her!"

She snatched a rock and hurled it at me. But her aim was as weak as her character, and the stone plopped harmlessly into the moat.

Chuck, seeing his chance, let another turd fly. This one, too, found its mark, smearing across Victoria's face. He was gentler this time, though, using a runnier consistency so it wouldn't sting.

Victoria completely lost it, vomiting until she was spitting up bile.

My mother, her heart aching for the girl, turned on the zookeeper who had rushed over. "This gorilla is a menace! What kind of training do you people do?"

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," the keeper stammered, bowing repeatedly. "Chuck hasn't thrown anything in weeks. I don't know what's gotten into him today."

"It was her!" Victoria pointed a shaky, bile-flecked finger at me. "She's the one who told him to do it! Ugh... That damn monkey! I want her skinned alive!"

A chorus of gasps and angry murmurs rose from the crowd. People started shouting at Victoria, calling her a psycho with a black heart.

My parents and brother exchanged a look, then, without another word, helped the sputtering Victoria to her feet and led her away.

As they left, something strange happened. Green bars materialized above their heads, with words floating inside: Regret Meter.

My father's Regret Meter was at 20%.

My mother's was at 30%.

My brother's was at 10%.

My eye twitched. Damn it, System. Get out here!

When I was fifteen, the day I was returned to the Hawthorne family, I was bound to a system.

It was called the "Love Value System."

If I could get my parents' and brother's Love Value for me to reach 100%, I would truly become a part of the family and finally feel the warmth of the home I had craved for so long.

But in ten years, their love for me never hit 100%.

When I got sick with cancer, they all decided I was faking it, convinced it was just another one of my schemes for attention. Their private doctor had, after all, given me a clean bill of health.

In that moment, my brothers Love Value for me plummeted to zero.

My parents dropped below 10%.

I knew then that it was over. I was so, so tired.

I gave up on my dream of having a family. All I wanted was to leave this world.

So, before the cancer could consume me completely, I took matters into my own hands.

I tried to end it all. Twice, they found me. My parents told me to do it outside, not in their house. My own brother, Ethan, a surgeon, mocked me. "You call that a cut? You'll never succeed with a scratch like that."

He was right.

So the third time, I made sure. I filled the tub, and with one final, decisive act, I severed the line that tied me to that life. The warm water turned crimson as I sank into the quiet dark.

Finally, I was free.

The System crashed on the spot, but somehow it managed to preserve my soul. I drifted, a formless spirit, until I floated into the zoo near our estate. Just as I arrived, an old mother monkey passed away, and my soul slipped right in.

Then came my glorious revolution to save the zoo. I had built a kingdom here. I could have been a happy Monkey Queen forever.

But no, the long-dormant System had to rear its ugly head again.

What the hell was a "Regret Meter"?

I mentally summoned the System, and it shimmered into my consciousness.

My apologies, Host. I didn't anticipate you turning into a monkey. It fried my CPU. I've only just completed repairs.

"Cut the crap. What are these regret meters over their heads?" I asked, crossing my legs with a flick of my tail.

It's quite simple. Your family regrets what they did. Deep down, they still care about you. To put it bluntly, now that you're dead, they're finally starting to love you.

I wanted to puke.

"Get rid of it. I just want to be a monkey in peace," I protested.

But Host, think about it, the System wheedled. If their Regret Meters reach 100%, I can resurrect you. You'll not only get a second chance at life, but you'll return to your family and bask in the affection you've always deserved!

Ugh!

Are you trying to make me gag?

"No. Go away. Don't interrupt my monkey business," I said firmly.

Host, don't you miss your mother's embrace? Teasing your father? The way your brother would ruffle your hair? the System continued, its voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

My eye twitched. "Keep talking, I'm morbidly curious."

When you play the piano, your mother will applaud. When you achieve something great, your father will nod with pride. When you cry, your brother's heart will ache for you... Don't you want that?

I mimed a violent gag. "Ah, much better," I wiped my mouth and scratched my butt. "You can go now."

The System fell silent. Seeing I was about to go to sleep, it blurted out in a panic: Host, if you get their Regret Meters to 100%, I will not only resurrect you but also reward you with a billion dollars!

I stopped in my tracks. "For real?"

For real. You can be reborn, cherished by your entire family...

"No, I mean, for real about the billion dollars?"

...Yes.

"Well, why didn't you say so!"

With that kind of money, I could feed every animal in this zoo until they were as fat as pigs!

Alright, I was in.

But there was a problem. I was just a monkey, trapped on Monkey Mountain with no way out. How was I supposed to get my familys Regret Meters to 100%? They didn't even know it was Victoria who drove me to my death.

It was Victoria who bribed our private doctor to fake my medical reports. Without her interference, they would have known about the cancer.

Clearly, if I wanted them to feel true remorse, Victoria was the biggest obstacle. I had to make them see that she was the one who killed me.

But how?

As I pondered, I saw a woman approaching in the distance, carrying a bag of fresh mangosteens. My favorite.

But the woman was no favorite of mine. It was my mother.

She walked to the edge of the enclosure, right up to the fence, and stared at me, unblinking. Shed been watching me earlier, too. If Victoria hadn't been in such a hurry to wash the filth off her face, my mother probably would have stayed even longer.

I dropped down in front of her. We stood there, separated by the bars, my heart a placid lake.

She offered a mangosteen through the fence, a sad smile on her face. "Hello, monkey. You have such beautiful eyes. They remind me of my daughter's."

Oh, really?

Which daughter would that be?

I glanced up at her Regret Meter. It had climbed to 40%. It was only 30% this afternoon. Did looking into my eyes stir up some old memories?

I took the fruit and bit into it, a bitter laugh echoing in my mind.

Mother, didn't you used to hate my eyes?

After I returned to the Hawthornes, I was enrolled in a prestigious prep school. It didn't take long for some of the wealthy heirs to start pursuing me. They all said the same thing: my eyes were beautiful, bright and pure. I'd never been the center of attention like that back in the countryside. I thought I was finally climbing out of the abyss of my own insecurity.

But then Victoria started a rumor. She said I'd followed a boy into the bathroom. She claimed I'd shamelessly written love letters to five different boys at once, asking them to meet me at a hotel.

The letters, of course, were her forgeries.

But my parents were furious. Especially my mother. She was a refined, cultured woman who flinched at the mere mention of sex.

That night, it was pouring rain. She made me kneel on the doorstep, asking me over and over again why I had to be so cheap, so slutty.

I sobbed, repeating that I wasn't, that I had been framed.

But she wouldn't listen. She pointed at my face, her voice sharp with disgust. "Look at you, you have the eyes of a hussy! I should just gouge them out and spare our family the shame!"

She didn't gouge my eyes out. But she didn't let me in, either. She made me kneel in the rain for half the night, to "wash the filth off."

I developed a raging fever from the ordeal. The physical and emotional trauma scarred me. My eyes lost their sparkle, and I became timid and withdrawn. A voice in my subconscious whispered that my eyes were bad, that I was a hussy, that I couldn't look at boys anymore.

I spent the rest of my school years walking on eggshells, and my eyes never shone again.

And now, here I was, a monkey, and my mother was telling me my eyes were beautiful.

Suddenly, the mangosteen tasted like ash. I hurled it to the ground, the shattered shell splattering against her shoes.

She stared at me, shocked. She had probably never seen a monkey so violently reject a piece of food.