Silence please!

Chapter 1 Yuki

Childhood is often seen as a time of joy and innocence, but for some, it's far from that ideal. Yuki Tachibana, a 12th-grade student, knows this firsthand. Despite her young age, she's already lost much of her optimism. Yuki's enthusiasm has been replaced by a heavy sense of resignation. She no longer believes in winning or even living; for her, it's just about enduring each day, trapped in a cycle of disappointment and disillusionment. Her story is a stark reminder that childhood isn't always a carefree time, and for some, it can be marked by profound sadness and loss.

Yuki comes from the respected Tachibana family, known for their pride and strong values. However, she feels different. While her parents love her, their high expectations weigh heavily on her. Caught between their hopes and her own dreams, Yuki's journey is a struggle between tradition and finding her own path.

As the clock strikes 6:30 in the evening, I find myself gazing out the window, tears clouding my vision. Outside, I watch kids playing, living the carefree life I've always yearned for. Their laughter stings like a bitter reminder of what I can never have. Suddenly, my mother's voice pierces through the silence, sharp and cutting. She demands my presence downstairs, her words dripping with disappointment and disapproval. As I go downstairs, not wanting to, she starts yelling, each word a dagger to my already wounded spirit.

"It's already 6:30," she scolds, her voice filled with disgust. "When are you planning to study? Such a disgrace to our family." Her words echo in my mind, suffocating me with guilt and shame. "Stay inside until morning," she dismisses me, leaving me to drown in the suffocating darkness of her expectations.

I return to my room, shutting the door behind me, and the tears start to flow. Quickly, I wipe them away, trying to conceal my pain. Sitting at my desk, I pull out a book, but a photograph falls out. I grasp it, recognizing the image of my father and me joyfully celebrating my 7th birthday. With a heavy sigh, I whisper to myself, "What a beautiful lie I've lived," setting the photograph aside. Memories flood my mind, recalling the moment when it all began, and the weight of sorrow settles upon me like a suffocating blanket.

FLASHBACK

I was just 9 years old when I first heard those words that would alter my life forever. My father said, "If you score 90% on your next test, I'll buy you something you like." As a child, I didn't grasp the weight behind those words. I was simply excited at the prospect of getting something I wanted. But as time went on, the pressure increased.

FLASHBACK ENDS

Life feels like a living hell, worsening with each passing day. My dream of becoming an artist was crushed by my disapproving parents. One fateful day, I watched in despair as my mother discarded my paints and set fire to my paintings. As the flames devoured my creations, so too did they extinguish any remaining will to live within me. The relentless barrage of insults echoes in my mind, never ceasing: "Loser!" "Worthless!" "Never will be loved!" "Just die!" "Burden!" I struggle to find purpose in my existence, questioning why I continue to endure this agony day after day.

The memories of happier times with my father seem like distant dreams now. He used to be my hero, the one who believed in me no matter what. But even he has changed, succumbing to the pressure of societal expectations. I remember the first time I brought home a painting, a colorful depiction of a sunset. I was so proud of it, eager to show it to my parents. But instead of praise, I received a cold, dismissive glance from my mother and a forced smile from my father.

"You should focus on your studies," my mother said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Art won't get you anywhere in life."

Those words crushed me, but I didn't let them stop me at first. I continued to paint in secret, stealing moments of joy whenever I could. But as the pressure mounted, my secret hobby became harder to maintain. My grades started to slip, and the punishments became harsher. The day my mother found my hidden stash of paints and brushes was the day my spirit truly broke.

I watched in horror as she threw everything into a box and dragged it outside. She poured gasoline over the contents and lit a match. The flames roared to life, consuming my dreams in an instant. I felt like a part of me was dying along with my art.

"You will focus on your studies from now on," my mother said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "No more distractions."

From that day forward, I was a prisoner in my own home. My days were filled with endless studying, my nights with restless sleep. I became a shadow of my former self, going through the motions of life without any real purpose. The weight of my parents' expectations pressed down on me, suffocating me.

As I sit at my desk, staring at the photograph, I can't help but wonder what my life would have been like if things had been different. If my parents had supported my dreams instead of crushing them, would I be happier? Would I still have the will to live? These questions haunt me, but I know I'll never have the answers.

The pain of my existence is a constant reminder of my failures. My parents' words echo in my mind, a never-ending loop of criticism and disappointment. I try to drown them out, but they always find a way back in. The scars they leave on my soul are deep and painful, a testament to the life I've been forced to live.

In moments of quiet, I find myself dreaming of escape. I imagine a world where I am free to be myself, to pursue my passions without fear of judgment. But those dreams are fleeting, quickly replaced by the harsh reality of my situation. I am trapped, unable to break free from the chains that bind me.

The loneliness is unbearable. I have no friends, no one to confide in. My parents have isolated me from the world, believing that their way is the only way. They don't see the damage they are doing, the pain they are causing. Or maybe they do, and they just don't care. The thought of that possibility is too much to bear.

I often think about ending it all, putting an end to the suffering. But even in my darkest moments, there is a small part of me that clings to hope. Hope that one day, things will get better. That I will find a way to break free and live the life I've always dreamed of. It's this hope that keeps me going, even when everything else feels hopeless.

As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, I continue to endure. Each day is a battle, a struggle to find meaning in a world that seems determined to crush me. But I refuse to give up, to let my parents' expectations define me. I am more than their dreams for me, more than the sum of their disappointments.

One day, I will find a way to escape this prison and reclaim my life. Until then, I will endure, holding on to the hope that keeps me going. Because even in the darkest of times, there is always a glimmer of light. And that light, however faint, is worth fighting for.

FLASHBACK

I remember a time when things were different. When my parents' expectations didn't weigh so heavily on me. I was eight years old, and it was a warm summer day. My father had taken me to the park, just the two of us. We spent the day playing and laughing, free from the pressures of school and achievement.

"You're my little artist," he said, ruffling my hair. "You can be anything you want to be."

Those words meant everything to me. They gave me the courage to dream, to believe that I could achieve anything. But as I grew older, those dreams were slowly eroded by the harsh reality of my parents' expectations.

FLASHBACK ENDS

Now, at seventeen, I am a shell of the person I used to be. The light in my eyes has dimmed, replaced by a dull, lifeless gaze. The joy I once felt has been replaced by a constant ache, a deep sadness that never goes away.

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Guys, this is my first novel ever. It was really hard for me to come to this story. This story is from the perspective of every person who is or has gone through this situation and has fought bravely.