School Prompt: Write something that you will be proud of in a month.

This is a rant in the form of a short story. And I am definitely proud of myself for getting this out of my head.

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I woke up to the sound of my Monday alarm, startled by how loud it sounded that day. I stretched and yawned. Today was going to be another day of sitting at home and doing classwork the whole day all because of Covid-19. The virus was spreading quickly through many countries, and the United States, where I lived, was the country with the highest cases of the virus. Students like me had to do work at home until the school decided that it was safe to go to school. The set date for the reopening of classes was May first.

I missed my teachers and friends greatly. Though many were exceedingly happy because school went on hiatus, school was the place I had the most friends in. Standing up, I walked to our family's bathroom and looked at my disheveled hair. I remembered how people would tell me to put my hair down, since they do not see it often. I told them many times it was bothersome to have hair in the way of my vision during classes, but they kept asking. Maybe I should have done so before school went out. It was too late now.

"Shivani! Hurry up, you need to do schoolwork!" That was my mother's voice. I grabbed a comb and brushed my brown hair while walking down the steps of my house. When I looked up, she had her hands on her hips.

"When will you start to wake up earlier? Breakfast got cold, and it's already nine in the morning." She pointed at the cereal bowl before going back to her computer.

I shook my head. "Sorry mother, but I actually prefer my cereal cold." But not mushy. I sat down and used my spoon to swirl the mushy substance I could barely call cereal. Closing my eyes in disgust, I shoved spoonfuls of the food into my throat until I knew it was gone. It was a trick one of my friends had told me once, to swallow everything whole quickly and try to forget the taste. It worked most of the time, but never to mushy cereal. I always hoped it would.

I went to the living room, where my desk was. My parents made sure it was in a place they could see, since they didn't trust me with working in my own room. I opened the computer and entered the schoolloop website in one tab and Google Classroom in another. Yawning again, I looked through all of my work for that day and sighed. It was another long day ahead of me.

After staring at the amount of work for a long while, I got up to eat lunch. Then, I took my textbook and did math homework, scanning it when I was done and submitting it online. I almost fell asleep doing my science homework but I managed to finish some of it before dozing off. When my younger sister noticed, she shook me and yelled, "You have homework to do!" That woke me up.

When I had to exercise with my younger sister, she usually slacked off and did not do the exercises correctly. I followed the instructions provided by my physical education teacher before going back in. It was tiring like always, and it made me miss my friends that I would talk to during P.E. The teachers were also fun to talk to, and had really nice personalities. Sighing once again, I went back inside.

I went back to my desk and worked until dinner, putting lots of effort into every paragraph I typed. "Shivani, stop working so hard! You write too much!" my older sister said, putting rice and mushrooms in her mouth. I just shook my head.

"No, it's not too much. Too much would be about five pages."

"Too much for that assignment would be three! And look, you passed that a long time ago."

"Really?" I walked to my desk and looked at the computer. Sure enough, it was at eleven pages. The assignment was where the teacher gave us a sentence and told us to continue the story.

"Oops."

"Don't "oops" me!"

"What's going on here?" That was my dad's voice. He just walked into the dining room. We quickly got silent and looked at each other in understanding. Normally, he would accuse us of arguing, even though we weren't.

"Did you fight again? Stop it." There it was.

"Sorry," both of us said. We held our breath without noticing until he started whistling and playing on his phone. I let my breath out. Our father could be scary sometimes, so we never risked talking back to him. There was a time we did, and we got yelled at for a whole hour. I silently walked back, finished my food, washed the dishes, and went back to work. We couldn't show him we were scared of him either, or else we would get in big trouble and he would get sad.

Occasionally looking at my phone for small breaks, I decided to end the story quickly. I cut it short with the death of the main character and checked everything I had to do once again. Somehow, I had managed to finish all of my work for the day. Freetime at last, I thought. Opening a new tab, I started a new story I wanted to start typing for so long. It was about my life that day. Coincidentally, the same teacher wanted us to type it and turn it in to him.

I checked the clock. It was twelve in the morning of the next day. Sighing, I closed the laptop and walked to my room. My younger sister shared a room with me, so it was always messy on her side. I avoided all of her things on the ground and made it safely to my side without kicking anything. Relief washed over me as I changed and got in bed, but little did I know it would take a while for me to fall asleep.

I stared at the ceiling. Somehow, I couldn't sleep. I was really tired, but it didn't seem like I was going to fall asleep for a while. These nights would come to me occasionally, so I was pretty used to them. I closed my eyes hoping for me to sleep quickly this time. I didn't want to remember bad things again.

As if to reply to me, I suddenly remembered something that had happened in my kindergarten days. There was a bully that picked on me many times because she saw me eating paper once. I couldn't blame her though; I was really weird those days. She continued to do so throughout most of elementary before moving away. Her rumors about me still shook me. My eyes flew open. I didn't like this. I wanted to sleep. I believed that one day I would forget about her.

Then another memory hit me. It was in fifth grade. When I saw a girl sitting against the wall, I reached out my hand and asked if she was okay. Instead, she hit it and said she didn't want help. She said she didn't want it, didn't need it, and didn't deserve it. Confused, I held out my hand once more, saying that nobody didn't deserve help. She finally took my hand and stood. Making me promise that I wouldn't tell anyone, she walked away. That was the first time I had seen someone depressed.

As days passed, I saw the girl more and more often. Sometimes she would be in the same place, other times I would see her during recess. I learned quite a bit about her after a month. She was sitting against the same wall and said her parents had divorced. She apparently never had a friend after that. I told her it was because of how she was behaving, but she just blamed it on her parents and herself. I felt bad for her. I told her I would be her friend. She smiled in front of me for the first time, crying. "Thank you," she had said.

I was happy I was able to help someone, since the bully was still in school at that time. Apparently, she was also spreading slander about her to the school. Opening my eyes, I realized I was crying. Tears fell from my eyes, and I tried to stop them. They just kept coming. I reminded myself of a poem I had seen the day before, trying to reason with myself to stop.

"You never weep. Weeping would make you look weak. Weeping would prove them right.

Weeping won't get you anywhere.

You have dreams you wished upon the bowing stars. Dreams you would chase to the bitter end if needed.

So you smile. Smile so you would lower their guards. Smile so no one would know what you're scheming. Smile so you can fake your way into the light.

But that fateful night, as you were dragged away from these cherished halls burning to ashes, you felt the dreams you fought for slip through your fingers. And you wept.

Oh. Dear child... That's why you never weep.

The stars, they fall from your eyes..."

Rubbing my eyes furiously, I tried once again to fall asleep. Somehow, I prevailed this time and landed in a dream. I was back at school with my friends, taking classes normally and talking to teachers. It really seemed like a fantasy now; going back to school seemed too far from now. Finally noticing this dream where I was looking at everything in my perspective, I forced myself to come out of my body as a ghost and followed my body to first period, English.

I peeked over Mr. Yue's shoulder as he was projecting things, realizing that this was a day in the past. This was a very particular day. Someone proposed to me for the third time, but this time it was pretty serious. He was my closest and best friend at the time, but in the present? Probably not as much anymore. I tried to grab my backpack on my body that was walking out of the classroom after the period ended, but my hand passed through it. Then I decided to float back to the English classroom. I couldn't pass through the area between the multi-purpose room and the thirties and fifties wings for some reason, and no matter how far along the invisible border I went, I couldn't pass through.

Sighing, I resigned and sat in the chair closest to the clown in the corner of the classroom. The dream felt like a long dream, so I would probably be forced to see the confession. I didn't want to. Didn't want to see my face when it happened. Suddenly, the ground cracked. It was a large, black crack that broke the floor of the world. I was falling. Falling somewhere I didn't know. Falling down, falling faster, falling somewhere. Falling headfirst. To my death. I shook my head. I was thinking like the negative personality I had buried long ago. Or was it back? I saw my destination, a sea of lava. Sighing, I closed my eyes.

I hit the lava, and my eyes flung open. This time, I was back in my room, panting. Another lucid dream? I thought, shaking my head and stretching. The clock read six o'clock in the morning. I got off my bed and snuck down the stairs the quietest I could. I reached the computer, my destination, and started it up. I did some homework that I had forgotten to do the day before and continued on my story, this time writing about my dream and struggles at trying to sleep. It seemed rushed, but what could I do? If someone were to hear the quick clacking of the keyboard this early in the morning, they would get mad at me and either make me go sleep or give me extra homework. After saving my work, I hurried back into my room, avoided obstacles, and got into my bed. I was safe from the extra work. But not from my thoughts.

Why did the ground crack up? I was confused, but even more confused at the fact that there was lava. Why would there be lava in a dream world my unconsciousness created? I pondered for an hour before getting back out of my bed and greeting my parents, which were whispering to each other outside. Trying to walk by them quickly, my father stopped me. "Why were you crying in your sleep?"

"What?"

"Don't "What?" me. What were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing again."

"Tell me." As soon as I heard that, I knew he was angry. Ever since I tried reaching out to people, I could tell what others were feeling, whether they were lying, and how they felt about something with the tone of their voice. It was like a sixth sense that would ring each time I heard a voice or saw someone. My friend once made me take an online EQ test and said it was because I had a high EQ.

Deciding to avoid his question, I turned, went back to my room, changed my clothes into something more casual, and rushed past him on the way out of my room. I ran down the stairs and out of the house without realizing it and stopped myself right before stepping onto the road. What was I doing? It was stupid to be scared of my own father, so why? Uncontrollable tears came out of my eyes, flowing without permission. What was wrong with having nightmares or having thoughts that opposed my parents'? It was always like this; I could never voice my own opinion because they wouldn't let me. I went to the closest park and sat down on a swing facing a fence. Nobody could see my face here. Nobody would bother me here. This was something I could not tell anybody.

A few hours passed. I managed to calm down and walked to another park, this time with gnarly trees that shone underneath the sun. It was really beautiful, especially at this time of day. I sat down on one of the roots and took out my phone. 10 a.m. I had to leave soon, or my parents would scare the life out of me. Not that they would let this incident go if I went back now. I stood up and started walking back.

Why had I run away? I couldn't really understand that either. I probably had so much bottled inside me that I couldn't hold it in anymore. I knocked on the door to my house. Nothing. I knocked again. "It's me, Shivani."

My father answered the door. Great, now he's really mad. "Why did you run off? Corona hasn't died off yet."

"Sorry."

"Sorry? Is that all you can say?" His voice was rising. Fear consumed my thoughts, and I panicked.

"Sorry for saying sorry?" He sighed heavily and just walked back into the house. Relief washed over me as I felt him calm down. Running in, I climbed up the stairs of the house and washed my hands. I couldn't risk getting the virus now, or else my parents would just say how bad of a decision it was to take a walk.

After showering, I ran to the computer and started again on my homework. I didn't want to fall behind during the pandemic, or else I'd stay behind forever. I worked my back off the rest of the day, finishing thirteen pages of math, two essays, and more of my story. I felt like a Joshua tree in the middle of Death Valley, working hard to survive yet getting nothing in return. Well, I guess sleep could count. I finished my homework around twelve in the morning of the next day and ran under my covers.

Another night passed. It was sleepless. I kept getting nightmares of the same thing and waking up, except I didn't know what I was dreaming about. I got a decent sleep around four in the morning, and slept until...

"Shivani! It's eleven o'clock! You need to do homework!" My younger sister had the worst ways of waking people up, so I quickly sat up before noticing a cube of ice in her hand.

"Aww, I wanted to do it," she giggled.

"We both know I don't like that."

"But it's fun."

"You're crazy."

"I am." I sighed and jumped off of my bed. Another tiring day awaited me. I worked the whole day and fell asleep.

A few weeks later, I felt like I was going insane. "I have to play flute in front of a lot of people during a Zoom meeting?"

"That's right," my mother said.

"You didn't tell me anything about this!"

"It's a good experience you will have. Also, the conductor will like you more if you do it. Then you can be transferred into the better band. Win-win situation!" I sighed. I rarely made any decisions for myself anymore, with my parents obsessed over my future and university. They thought I could do some amazing things and surpass my older sister, which was apparently a failure to them. I looked up to my older sister, and it nagged me every time they said, "Even your older sister can do it." Whenever they said that, they meant that someone "worse" than me could do that. I didn't know how that was supposed to motivate me, but I did it to make them happy.

Much of what I did then was to make my parents happy. I was sad for them; my father had already lost his father to cancer, and my mother's parents always gave things she didn't want. I always felt like if it weren't for me, they'd have easier lives. I sighed and nodded. "Not like I have a choice," I mumbled, making sure nobody could hear what I said.

I did as I was told, and she showered me with obviously fake praise. Each time a new complement came out of her mouth, I wanted to cry because I knew it wasn't genuine. That night, I let loose and cried my heart out. I couldn't keep it in anymore. Quarantine was driving me completely insane. I looked at my phone, seeing nobody talking. My classmates didn't seem as lively anymore. I missed them. I wondered what they were doing now. Were they like me, being forced to do many things that they didn't want to do?

I couldn't take it anymore. The next day, my mother asked me to take part in an online instrument contest. My thoughts skyrocketed, and I tried to calm down. "Shivani, what's wrong? You're super good at your instruments; probably one of the best in the country at your age. After all, you made the California All-State Band!" I felt like throwing up again. Her fake praise was here again.

"No," I said, "I don't want to."

"Why? You're not going to convince me." I felt like crying again. Memories came crashing down, and I stopped paying attention to my mother that was droning about her reasons. Elementary. Rumors. Being kicked. Being left out. "The world is probably better off without helpless people. And guess who's a helpless person?" I shut my eyes and kept my tears from falling. I didn't want to remember.

"Hello? Shivani?" I snapped out of it and looked at my mother. She looked worried on the outside, but she felt nothing towards me at the moment. I stood up and walked back to my room, mumbling a "Fine. Sure. Whatever."

Why couldn't I say anything to my mother? I sat on my bed, looking at my hands. I didn't have homework, and I had a little free time, so why couldn't I? Was I scared of my mother now? Probably. I started shaking and let out a sob. There was nothing I could do.

Suddenly, my phone shook. I picked it up. My friend had asked me if I was doing fine during the quarantine, but it wasn't a close friend. I lied, saying that I was doing okay when I was miserable. Then I saw those words again. "If you ever need help or need to talk about something, I'm always here."

Some people say it helps. No, not really. It just makes me feel worse because I can't tell them anything. Sure, it comforts me a little, but it makes me feel even more helpless since I can't tell them. They'd probably think I was weird, or just say "I understand how you feel" when they really don't. I sighed and tried to continue the conversation, but it was short-lived. Whenever I came up with something to talk about, it would be short and, most of the time, end the conversation. My friends had said many times that I needed to start more conversations, but I can't even conjure things to talk about on a regular basis. I sighed and willed myself to sleep.

I woke up with a start, realizing I was crying again. What had I been dreaming about? It was 5 in the morning, and I wasn't going to sleep again. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. The sun was rising behind the hills to the east. I resolved to share my opinion with things I opposed for the rest of my life.

Or so I thought. A week passed, but I couldn't even say anything without being cut off or crying. Why couldn't I? I sat in bed. Was there something bothering me to the extent that I couldn't tell anyone my own thoughts? I pondered a bit. What could I do? An idea popped into my head.

I ran to the computer I used for homework, bluffing to my parents that I had forgotten to do an assignment. Though it may seem like a bad thing to do, I needed to do this. My fingers moved quickly and typed many things, including what I was thinking. It felt like I was talking to someone that I didn't know, and they understood me. I typed and typed, having the main character use a different name than mine. Many things in the story were changed, but it was fine enough; I was satisfied. I read over it and earned my own approval. Then I realized that I had actually forgotten to turn in something; the teacher that wanted us to turn in a free-write had said it was due today. I panicked and quickly pasted all of my thoughts onto the assignment before turning it in digitally.

It only took a second to realize what I had done. I opened the story I had turned in in horror, knowing now that someone might think the protagonist was me; something I never wanted to happen. Freaking out, I quickly hit the unsubmit button and revised much of the plot so the teacher wouldn't think it was based on me. I sighed and pressed the button again, calmer this time. Something hit me. I checked the time. 12 in the morning of the next day. Great, the assignment would be late now.

I stood up and walked to my room. At least the teacher wouldn't know it was me in the story. That was better than having a 100% but being asked what the protagonist was based on. I jumped onto my bed, finally resting after throwing everything I had kept inside me at the computer.

Jumping out of bed, I opened the window to my room the next morning. A breeze caught the curtains and made them mimic the rays of light you can see underwater. I ran down the stairs, although I stumbled a bit, and made myself breakfast the fastest I could. Today was the day that I would tell my parents what I truly felt about things they wanted me to do. My mother called me, and I prepared a small speech in my head. "Coming!"

"What is this?" she asked. She was pointing to the computer I used last night. The screen showed my piece of writing.

"It's my homework assignment," I said plainly. I had forgotten to close the tab, so I really didn't want her to say anything about my story.

"That's not what I'm asking." She motioned me to come closer and scrolled to the part where I mentioned running out of the house and thinking for a while at a park. "Why is this in your story?"

"I thought it was fitting?" I replied, the words sounding unlike my own. I had lied yet again.

"Remember to turn off the computer next time." She sighed and, thankfully, walked away. Wait a moment, I thought, I couldn't even tell her what I wanted to tell her. I exhaled and retreated back into my room. "What am I doing?" I asked myself. Of course, there was no reply.

I ran down the stairs a second time and ended up panting in front of my mother. She raised an eyebrow. "What is it now?"

"I wanted to say that I want to make my own decisions." I looked away. "Though you may think you're letting me decide many things, you always limit my decisions. Even if I do speak up against the choice you chose for me, you always say you aren't going to change your mind. You may be wondering why I'm so horrible at making my own decisions." Breathing in, I released something that I should have never said. "It's because I never got to decide on my own!"

My mother looked at me in false shock. "Really?" I could tell right away; the look in her eyes, the way she said it, how her voice rose a little at the end of the word. All of that meant she was lying.

I felt hurt. Whenever someone lied to me, I was hurt. It had always been this way. If I told them they lied they'd just brush me off and lie again, saying "What are you talking about?" or "How did you know?". Tears fell from my eyes, and I looked at the floor. Why was my mother lying to me yet again?

My mother asked me what was wrong. "Nothing at all. I guess I should have known." Why did I give her a false answer? I was just doing the same thing she just did. Okay, I thought, now's the time to voice myself. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

"I lied."

"What?" That word was false concern that pricked me in every way possible.

"Everything is wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Why can't I keep secrets? Why can't I do what I want? Why do you think that everything you decide for me is what I want to do?" My voice was shaking, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get the thoughts, my thoughts, out of my mouth quickly. I felt like a volcano, ready to burst. Looking at my mother's eyes, I continued.

"Why is it that I can't choose things for myself? You've always told me to do things that I never wanted to do. You always say I have a choice, but you're always inconvincible and never listen to what I have to say! Please tell me why you're doing these things." My voice cracked at the end. My mother had a truthful look of surprise on her face, something that I had seen only three times throughout my whole life. She sighed heavily.

"We only want the best for you." All of my emotions cracked after that single sentence.

"How is this," I pointed to myself crying, "the best for me?" I could feel like I was losing control over myself. "How is this the best way for me to live, to live without deciding anything? I have my own thoughts, my own emotions, my own decisions. And what do you do with them? You ignore them and throw them into the trash!" I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself down. That was it. It felt like a huge amount of stress disappeared. I awaited her reply.

She didn't answer for a long time. When I reopened my eyes, my mother looked sad. It wasn't fake. Then I heard something that I would have never anticipated. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I never knew you felt this way."

"It's okay." Even though I thought it was pretty obvious, maybe my mother was oblivious to how much she forced onto me and my sisters. A loud silence followed. It was really awkward. Then my mother walked away, since she needed to make lunch. I sighed. I just really hoped she wouldn't say anything to my father.

The rest of the day was just me doing homework. I finished it fairly quickly and managed to get some free time before being called out to practice with my instruments. Then I went to bed. What was I to do? I just told what was on my mind to my mother without thinking of what would happen afterward. I buried my face into my pillow.

That night I had another dream. I was falling down another pit, except this one didn't seem to end. Why was I falling? What did this dream mean? I shook out of it and pulled the strings of my dream, making myself fall on some sort of fictional cloud. It soon disappeared and left me to fall down further into the depths of who knows where.

I woke up with a start. The clock read nine in the morning. Swinging my legs off the edge of my bed, I walked to the bathroom and noticed that we were running out of toilet paper. Continuing with my morning activities, I walked down the stairs and noticed there wasn't any food on the table. "What would you like to eat?" my mother asked me while washing the dishes.

"Just because I told you that I wanted to make my own decisions doesn't mean you have to spoil me. I'll make my own breakfast like always." I sighed. Wasn't I being a little harsh? I grabbed a piece of bread and quickly spread jam all over it. Shoving it in my mouth, I ran in front of the computer and started my homework right away. That's when I heard footsteps.

"Shivani, I'm sorry about not letting you decide many things." Was that supposed to be a joke or an actual apology?

"Sure."

"Are you still mad?"

"Was I ever mad?"

"I don't know." Sighing, I turned to face my mother.

"All you need to do is let me decide a little more. I don't want to be treated like a baby, nor a robot." I went back to typing. "I'm sorry for snapping yesterday. Please let me focus on my homework."

"Okay." I finally got my silence. Were things ever going to resolve between me and my mother?

"Wait, I forgot! We're running out of toilet paper. Can you go out and buy some for me?"

"Sure, though it's not guaranteed that I'll get any with the hoarding going on." I stood up and went into the garage. Grabbing the handles of my bike, I made my way to the door leading outside of the house. The usual beep sounded as I opened the door, cloth bag in hand.

I rode to the nearest store. Sold out. I went to the second furthest store. Sold out. I went to stop by a pharmacy for masks. Out of stock. Then I went to a super large store that seemed like it would have toilet paper. "Finally," I mumbled. I saw a few rolls left on a shelf. Next to them were two adults arguing about who would buy them. I took the liberty of waltzing in, taking the toilet paper, and walking out. With them yelling after me, of course.

The cashier looked very nice. If only I could get to her. Sadly, I was at the end of a line of five people waiting to check out their items. After what seemed like hours, I reached the front and paid for the toilet paper. I could hear the two adults venting out their frustration at each other.

"If only you hadn't gotten in the way!"

"That goes the same for you!"

I sighed. They'd probably go on forever. Leaving the store, I got on my bike and realized that I didn't know the way back. Great. Taking a few turns after riding along the main street, I immediately got lost. What was I going to do? I took out my phone, and then put it back in my pocket because I remembered I didn't have mobile data. I took it out yet again, deciding to call my mother. She answered.

"What is it? No toilet paper found?"

"I actually found some. The thing is, I got lost..."

"Really? Sorry for revoking your mobile data rights." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm on a street that has no name. I'll try to find one that does and send you the name."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye." I sighed heavily. The road seemed like it didn't have an end, so I turned back and tried to find a way out. My short term memory decided to hit me, and I got even more lost. Good for you Shivani, I thought, clearly regretting my choice. I should have called her in the store. The store might have also had free wifi. I biked some more.

Suddenly, I heard cars. Where was it coming from? I biked toward the noise. It sounded like a well-known street that many cars were driving on. If I got out, I could contact my mom and get back home. I pedalled faster.

"Hey, watch out!" What? I stopped my bike. There was a woman on the sidewalk. "Don't stop there!"

"Why?"

Beep. I looked towards the noise. A car. A car was driving toward me, who was in the middle of the road.

Next thing I knew, I was on the ground. My vision was blurry, but I could make out my bike, now broken, the woman, and some stranger I had never seen before. It seemed like I had blood coming out from my side. Everything felt light. Well, if I died, at least I could tell my mother what I felt.

At least I could tell someone what I thought.

---

The main character, Shivani, is a realistic-fiction character I made, not someone in real life that I know. I think a lot of people are struggling like that though, and feel like this problem should be addressed more. Which problem, you ask? Parents' neglection towards their children's feelings. They think they know, but they do not know. Even if we tell them, they cannot always understand. Most of the time they gain false understandings and make everything more complicated.

(The death in the end was just to end the story as soon as possible so I didn't write too much. The word count is around 6000.)

Alright, that's enough. I hope someone out there got the message. Thank you.