"Being - or pretending to be - offended to not only ruin creativity's immersion for others, but also deepen your misery like a kitchen knife stabs human flesh is not the world where I want to live in. No one wins. We all lose. We each were given life to serve Jesus if we are willing. Life is similar to a trial, but not a free trial because it is constantly dragging your restless soul from integrity to ignorance and repeats until your time is finally out. No matter if you wind up in the land of good or the land of sin, your spirit exists for eternity. So why blow up your reputation and future impact over something minor?"

I lowered my paper and smiled awkwardly at my sister one year older than me and our parents.

"Do not keep me in suspense. What do you think? Will my peers and my teacher get a grasp of it?"

My parents smiled back. Dad flashed me a thumbs-up. "Superb job, Cyril. Everyone in your class will like your report. Perhaps shed a tear."

"Daaad."

Mom was clapping. "Absolutely perfect. The words and sentence structure do get your topic's point across, and I am in love with the title. 'Offended: How the Humans Have Become Stupider Than Ever.'"

I nodded to them. "Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad."

Ostara was sitting between them and studying me. Her leg was over the other. Her hands were on her knee. "A pretty good research paper."

My eyes grew big. I was not expecting her compliment. Usually, she gives me a hard time because according to her, she wants to see my full potential. I should not get lazy or hold back my potential. While I am blessed that she keeps me up rather than tear me down, I definitely would appreciate it if she backed off a bit. No, a bunch. Why is she more concerned with my future than hers?

"'Pretty good'? Nothing more than pretty good?"

"And nothing less. When you read the title, I was quick to assume that we were in for some hot garbage. Lucky for you, I was wrong."

It is rare for her admitting how wrong she is, but when she does, I am even prouder of my work - and her. I no longer need to waste precious time convincing her that my way is better because it is my way. Duh. If she has a solid idea, I acknowledge it and sometimes incorporate it. We sound stubborn, do we not? Whenever Dad is in a sour mood, he is pretty stubborn. It is in the family, I guess.

"A couple parts did make me cringe," Ostara continued as she switched legs. "But everything else was precise." Her hand played with her short, curly hair. "Like Mom said, your words and sentence structure get your point across, which is the most vital thing in a story."

"It is not a story. There are no characters."

"Your reader is the main character. The narrator. Also, your paper is written less of a boring essay and more of a story. The story of the offended people mostly known as the real worlders. Hey, that is what your title should be. 'The Offended People.' It is shorter - not too short - and will catch your peers' attentions."

I gazed down at my title. Darn it. Hers was better. Why did I not think of it? No way was I telling her.

"I will take it into consideration. What else should I do to make my paper more than pretty good?"

"Rewrite the cringy parts, or your peers - and teacher - will be too busy cringing to listen and understand your point."

"Which parts do you think should be rewritten?"

"I will show you after dinner."

About a couple hours after Ostara gave me suggestions - which I did not incorporate any - Dad declared that it was bedtime. I had already brushed my teeth, used the bathroom, and changed into my pajamas.

Dad poked his head in my room. "Ready for lights out? Your mother cannot keep her eyes open."

I was standing next to my rolling chair occupied by my bag. I had brought out my seven-pocket folder and was checking that both my paper and blank sheets of paper - lines and no lines - were inside. "Close. Just checking my backpack."

"How do you feel about your paper?"

"Great after you, Mom, and Ostara gave your opinions. When Ostara was sharing advice earlier, she remarked that my topic is pretty strange. Why our world is easily offended." I closed the folder and slipped it back in the bag. "But it is a topic barely talked about."

"I wholeheartedly agree. Your mom and I are siiiiick of real worlders getting offended left and right, especially when they see no issue discriminating against whites."

"And how they blame their issues on white supremacy. And how nonwhites will be always oppressed thanks to us whites."

He slowly nodded. "Forget the real worlders. Until you present tomorrow, at least. You will be outstanding."

"I will once I watch some cat videos on my phone. And thanks."

After my parents kissed me goodnight - and I wished a goodnight to Ostara - I enjoyed one more cat video and put my phone on my stand. I then bounced on my side, my back facing the stand, and relaxed. Soon, I was fast asleep.

Creak!

A loud, sharp creak pulled me out of my sleep. Because I had awoken, I could not pinpoint where the heck that noise came from. But I was confident that it came from in my pitch black room.

Thump! A loud thump. Something must have fallen on the carpet. Something hard.

As I was rubbing my eyes, I noticed a glimpse of bright light. Not my lamp. It was not on. My light is not green anyway.

"Cyril," a booming voice spoke. Sounded like a guy, but it was not Dad's.

I opened my eyes. "You."