Gonna be real here, this isn't much of a story. It's literally just me venting, I barely had access to electronics but I still needed to do this and had no ideas. And what's the best thing to write about when you have no ideas? An exaggeration of real life! So yeah lets pretend this is a first person POV of an unnamed character and not just me trying to get something written down before I get my laptop taken. Don't worry if all goes to plan, I'll have actual longer stories here in a few days.
A parent. By definition it's a father or mother. Someone who either gave birth to a child or adopted one. That is the only criteria yet parents are expected to do more. To nurture their child, care for them, protect them and love them unconditionally. Parents are supposed to be proud of their children for their achievements no matter how small. Parents are supposed to pick their kids up from school and ask them about their day. Parents are supposed to do anything to make their child live their best life, like their own parents were supposed to do for them. Yet even if these things are just simple tasks, a "good morning" and "good night", a "good job" on your test, some parents try to see how much they can fuck up their kid. Those are my parents. That kid is me.
That's an over exaggeration, I'll admit that much. My parents bring me to school, they say they love me and work to support me and my siblings but sometimes "I love you" means nothing. Actions speak louder than words afterall. My parents, you could say what they do is abuse, even though it's not as bad as what other children experience. I'm lucky I know that but I'm allowed to feel mad. I'm allowed to feel mad that they expect the best from me even when they do nothing to help. I'm allowed to feel mad that they yell at me for the most minor things. I'm allowed to feel mad at their backhanded insults, I'm allowed to cry because of their words. I'm allowed to get pissed when they say hitting a kid is discipline. I should be allowed to hate them.
But I can't. Why can't I say those three simple words? Not to them at least. I can say I hate what they do, I hate what they say. But I can't say it out loud and especially not to their face. Maybe it's because I'm lucky. My parents aren't drunkards that beat me for no reason other than bottled up anger. They don't turn a blind eye to the mean things others do. They allow me to participate in activities and hang out with friends, something some might not be able to. They do the bare minimum, way more than that I'll admit, even if the other things they do make it feel like they're worse. So I can't say it. I can't think it. I'm lucky. I know I am.
Even with that I have to say, all children deserve parents, to teach, protect and love them. Not every parent deserves a child.
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One month writing challenge!
Short StoryI'm writing a story everyday for the month of July, to see if giving myself a challenge to complete will stop me from procrastinating. If I miss a day hold me accountable and me what to write, and remember I'm always open to any feedback. Let's see...
