Short Story #2

Good afternoon, everyone! Minah here~! 😉 🙂 *smiles happily & waves hello* Today, I have a BRAND-NEW short story to share with you all! YAY~!!! 🙂 😀 *smiles excitedly* This short story is called “What’s So Special About Them?” 🙂 *smiles* I REALLY hope that you will enjoy~! *hopeful face* Warning: This is a VERY saddening story, so if you get sad easily, PREPARE YOURSELF!!! Anyway, let’s get started, shall we? 

“What’s So Special About Them?”
Short Story written by:
Minah H. AKA Mimi14Senpai

What's So Special About Them? (Story Picture)

I sit here, on the sofa, watching my mother praise my younger brother and my younger sister on their “splendid” report cards for school. A halfway crumbled up as well as wrinkled paper is clenched in my right hand: my report card for this semester. I impatiently tap my converse-covered foot loudly on the hardwood floor of the living room. With my arms crossed across my chest and a sarcastic smile plastered onto my face. My mother finally turns around, to face me. With an equally sarcastic as well as fake smile on her face, she reaches out her hand, waiting for me to give her my report card. She already knows my grade, considering the fact that she checks my grades daily. I smile falsely at her, thrusting my report card into her hand. She raises it up to her face, to examine the paper.

I start to exit the room, hoping to manage to snag an after school snack. My mother automatically snaps her head up to look at me, and motions for me to come over to her. I inwardly groan, my mind already thinking of the speech I will most likely receive. “This will probably be just like every other time I’ve disappointed her. Looks of disappointment, sighing, and a long lecture of how I need to do better,” I think quietly to myself. My mother asks my little siblings to exit the room, with sweet and sugar-coated words, but not until after she gives each of them a warm hug and promises to get them ice cream as a reward later on.

Once my siblings exit the room, happiness expressed clearly on their faces, my mother sits down on the sofa, patting the seat beside her for me to sit down. I slowly sit down across from her, distancing myself from her as much as I can. My mother scans my report card with her stern and calculating eyes.

She turns to me, with an obvious look of disappointment on her face. “Why, Minah?” She inquires. I just look down at my worn converse sneakers, not responding. “Minah.” My mother says, sternly. “Yeah, mom?” I reply, raising my head slightly. “First of all, you do NOT respond with a ‘yeah.’ It is ‘yes.’ How many times do I have to tell you?” I roll my eyes, the sarcastic personality of me revealing itself. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Especially since you told me yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the entire WEEK before that.” I respond, my lips forming a straight, emotionless line. My mom sighs, obviously irritated. “Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted… Second, look at me when I’m talking to you. And third… Why are your grades so low?” My mother asks me. I just keep my gaze directed towards my feet. My mother shakes her head, scoffing.

“Why, Minah? Why can’t you be more like your younger brother or your sister?” My mother asks of me. My eyes blaze with anger. I shoot my head up, to look her straight in the eyes. “Because maybe, oh I don’t know… Maybe because of the fact that I am NOT them. I am MYSELF. I am NOT perfect, and YES, I WILL get bad grades from time to time!” I state angrily. My mother glares harshly at me, anger clear in her face.

“What have I said about attitude, Minah? How many COUNTLESS times do I have to remind you? Now just for that… Go to your room. I’ll call you down, when you’ve calmed down and are BETTER behaved.” My mother states, pointing upstairs. I struggle to resist the urge to scream at my mother. Instead, I swiftly exit the room and stomp up the stairs. Once upstairs, I shove my door open and kick it closed. I throw myself onto my bed, face smothered in a pillow, just laying there for a moment. In a rush, my emotions come flying at me.

Spite. Wrath. Irritation. Disappointment. Self-pity. Sadness.
But most of all… Envy.

“Why must I always be compared to them? To my siblings?”
“They’re younger than me, yet… They have more privileges than me…”
“Why does Mom… Why does she… love them more than me?”

I reach for my stuffed plushie, Batman Domo, and bury my face into the plushie. Crying silently, tears streaming off of my face and sinking into the plushie’s soft fabric.

“I hate them. I despise them. No… I envy them…”

What's So Special About Them? (Story Cover)


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