Shatter

I was seven when I first found the forest. My mom had forced me outside to get some fresh air. After ten minutes of kicking a ball around aimlessly, I realized that I was mind numbingly bored. So, I searched for something interesting, something I'd never done before. That was when I saw the forest. I'd never considered exploring it before. My mind was filled with other things to do, like playing a sport or plotting out fantastical battles in my head. At that moment, though, something about the forest's mystique drew me in. One step in and I was entranced. It was much different than my house or the yard. It was free, with nobody telling it what it could and couldn't do. My mom saw me, though, and dragged me out of the forest before I could explore it more.

Since then, I have always been one with nature. The way the golden-brown leaves blow across the ground in Autumn, the way the pure white snow falls gently down when Winter comes. The flowers of Spring grown by the falling rain and bright sun, accompanied with the smell of the ground. Every fish, bird, or bee has a thousand hidden secrets, hidden from the judging eyes of man. Every bug, how irritating it may be, has beauty hidden behind the ugly mask they put on.

All this wonder, however, is taken away as I return to the city where I "live". A dreary mush of rusting brown and pitch-black streets, with an odor I can never place. Nature is gone, and all that is left is the industrialization of a beautiful place I used to call home. The scarce pockets of nature are covered with winding sidewalks, benches, or machines. Every animal in the city is domesticated, the shackles of society dragging them away from their freedom. The humans that live in the city aren't better either. They don't listen or understand. They watch with disgusted faces, judging you if you don't conform to their idea of normal.

Parents, teachers, and authority figures judge you by numbers on a page and not who you are. Perfect A pluses on every test. Another report card, another useless paper lined with 90s telling you how fantastic you are. They act proud. The cycle repeats. Then the first report card of 7th grade comes back. All perfect A's except one. One singular grade sticks out like a sore thumb. A B. It's over. Your perfect angel isn't perfect. Not the best anymore. They feign pride but are disappointed. They defined me so much by a paper that their perception and love of me was harmed by the single imperfect mark. A small part of me shatters.

So, at night, I leave the house. Away from the bustling busy world, I walk through a small trail I've crafted for myself into the woods behind the house. I used to go here to think. To ponder life's mysteries. To watch the stars dance in the night sky. To listen to the crickets chirping at night. This time, it is to talk to myself. They just want me to be the best, but they'll love me whatever grade I get, my mind tells myself. My heart tries to argue that they only love me because of my perfect grades and not who I am. It takes some time, but my mind wins over, and I fix myself up and I go back to the house to prepare for the next day's challenges.

It's fine for the next few months. Then the second report card comes back. Two Bs this time. They try to act proud, but you can see the disappointment on their faces. The wound opened by the first report card shatters open, larger this time. Again, I go to the forest to talk to myself. They don't understand, my heart says. Nobody does. No matter how many friends I make or how many teachers praise me, none of them will truly understand me. My mind responds that they just want to see me be the best I can be. They just want me to have a prosperous future. It takes longer, but just like last time, my mind wins over. Even if my parents and teachers are disappointed, I remind myself that I always have my friends, even if they don't truly understand me.

Months pass. The third report card. I tried my best, but I now have Two Bs and A-. This time my parents aren't trying to act proud. Before going to the forest, I go to my friends to talk. They're too busy. They have better things to do. When I go to the forest to think this time, I feel like shattering into a million pieces. I have nothing, my heart says. My parents are disappointed. My friends don't think I'm good enough to care about me. I cry all night and I'm ready to end it all, but part of me still wants to be a part of society. That wants to be accepted. It's not that bad, my mind argues. I can find new friends, friends who see my worth. I can study even harder. I can make my parents proud. After a while, this convinces my heart to keep going, but I still want to shatter. I dry my tears as I leave the forest. I won't do it. Not yet. Time to give life one last try.

A few months pass. No person wants to be my friend. I can see why. I now have two Bs and a B- scarring my fourth report card. I don't want that to matter, but my parents make it matter.

"YOU'RE JUST NOT WORKING HARD ENOUGH!" They yell.

I wait until night before leaving society again. This time it's not to cry. It's to act. I stare into my reflection and ponder. What does society hold for me in the future? No matter how hard I think, the answer I get is nothing. So, I do it. I fall into the lake, shattering into a million pieces, never to rise again. It's not that deep, but it's enough. My mind and instincts are yelling at me to save myself, for I have so much to live for. My heart knows otherwise. As I'm blacking out, I'm sure of two things. One, this is how I want to die. Surrounded by the indifferent unjudging eyes of nature. Two, nobody will miss me.