Random Rant Stories

Feelings

    Despite being given everything - a home, food, clothes, a phone, anything she could want - she still hit her low. Nothing more could have been asked of her, all she had to do was do good in school and study; she was in college now after all. But for what purpose? She could have a degree in everything and still feel like it wasn't enough, that it was nothing. The beginning of her life was rough, sure, but she should've had a clear path up. So why was she falling?

    She felt lonely. It was likely already Winter when she decided to go out that night. What was she hoping to gain? Company? Advice? It was her birthday, but it didn't feel like it at all. Not with the overcrowding thoughts filled with malice plaguing her and the rough, degrading words her mother spoke. Tears welled and fell from her eyes as she bit back the urge to sob. She felt like a disgrace and no one could convince her otherwise.

    She was hungry, but she felt that it was too late to eat. The thought of food made her mouth water and her stomach grumble, but also gave her the feeling that something was rising to her throat. She felt sick. And tired. So, so tired. But for what reason? She hardly did anything, she was failing all of her classes. Even if she were passing, she felt that anything she did wouldn't ever appease her mother.

    She wanted to learn a language, so she created one. She wanted to write but not essays about politics, the world, or the terrible issues happening, no. She wants to write about the fantasy that breaches her mind when she reaches these lows. The fantasy where her creatures reside, her monsters she created and thought beautiful, her mother deemed them "ugly" and "gross". But she knew how gentle and kind these giant beasts were. They were her creations after all.

    She dreams of a family that welcomes her and helps her every step of the way, where they all laugh together and she gets along well with her siblings. She learns in these dreams, her language is all too natural on her tongue and giving her new words to write down, and the beasts she loves so much wrap their bodies around her to share their intense warmth and happiness. She loved them. She loved this dream.

    She was cold. Terribly cold. She only threw on a hoodie before going outside, not even coming close to providing her the warmth she needed to stay out as long as she had. She remembers every harsh word her mother had ever spat her way her entire life. Her only older brother always tries to convince her that their mother loves them and regrets saying those terrible things, but the damage was done. She cries almost every night as her heart aches to feel those affections her brother claims to be there. 

    She didn't want to go back inside, didn't want her family to see her leaky red nose and puffy, teary eyes; that was pathetic. Very pathetic. Weakness was always looked down on no matter where she looked. Tears burned in her eyes once more before she fought them away, determined to at least finish some part of her current drawing.

    She wondered how her mother could even picture her with children, single or not, homeless or not. She couldn't even see that future for herself at all. Not with a family of her own, not getting married, not even living long enough to reach those precious milestones. Her dreams at some point turned into dreams of pregnancy, only to turn into nightmares of miscarriage. Too young to be thinking of such things anyways. The dreams she had of her desired future have long gone now, replaced with the desire to walk with Death, hoping that he may take her to the family and life she dreamed of every night.

Too young to fantasize about death over life, so many she believed would think. Too young to be tired, to lose hope, dreams, and motivation. It seemed utterly ridiculous if she were to explain how her cherishment possibly started roughly five years prior, maybe longer. Perhaps it started when her father left them behind and never came back. Or when her mother was so fed up with her arguing children that she handed them the two largest knives and told them to just kill each other already. Now thinking about it again, maybe she should try and get a dance with Death again. Maybe he'll dance with her this time. Perhaps now that she was eighteen, Death would take her hand and guide her to the dream she considered her real life. Maybe then she'd be happier.

    Her dream is not what many would think a person like her would dream of; a world in the old days, where forest covered much of the land and walled kingdoms stood tall, proudly, and prospered. There were seven kingdoms to be exact, but she lived too deep in the forest, part noblemen and commoners would deem "Savage land." A huntress she was, and one of the best in her tribe, living the best and fullest.  An outsider from one of the closer kingdoms would breach her land, somewhat injured and she would help him. They would maybe fall for each other and trade knowledge between the two worlds. The creatures she created in her real life were thriving everywhere, and the ones she had drawn specifically stood by her side daily, protecting her from any other predator that would and could kill her. Oh, how she desired this life to be a reality. Sure, technology was cool, but nature was superior despite being dangerous. But dreams were dreams, even if she didn't want to wake up.

    She has better talents in art (often choosing to attempt to recreate her vivid dreams over homework) and singing, but these weren't anywhere near useful to the dream career she once desired as a child. Even when she was younger, a part of her wanted to be a singer or an artist, but those weren't very high-paying jobs according to her family (at least the artistic career isn't).

    She hadn't eaten for over twenty-four hours, She'd rather starve than apologize to her mother, even if she should, but what her mother had said years prior still affected her and upset her. The only reason for her existence was that her mother wanted beautiful children from her father, and she wanted sons, not a daughter. Now that her father was no longer in the picture, she felt ugly and undesirable, unwanted. She wonders why her mother hadn't given her up after the divorce, she is a carbon copy of her father after all. from the same pale skin color down to the same interests, she was nothing more than a female counterpart of her mother's possibly greatest regret. Her mother's anger and bitterness are often tossed in her direction, she was often blamed and degraded.

    Her mother was the cause of her loss of motivation, the degradation was far too much for her to handle and stung so terribly. She could never say this to her mother's face, no, that would warrant more pain and suffering she wasn't ready for. Her mother's words will always hurt so much more than that painful grip the cold night air had on this night.

    She wanted more than just school, she was so sick and tired of it. She wanted to get rid of her ridiculous fears as well, but school was holding her back a bit. She looked to the night sky but there were no stars to be seen by her hopeful eyes, only passing planes in the darkness. She trembled more and her stomach tightened in painful hunger. She needed food but still refused to return. How had life come to this? The threat of disownment and homeless looming so closely she could practically feel their breaths on her freezing skin.