Here’s a short story I wrote: “Burden.” This was an interesting story to write, as I was able to explore themes of family and independence further (all against the backdrop of a dystopian world — which may serve as an inspiration for future stories)!

The soapy water spanned the surface of the kitchen floor, emulsifying a week’s worth of grime in a matter of seconds. I continued to scrub until the floor’s shiny surface peeked through – revealing the frown plastered on my face and the dark circles beneath my eyes. Perhaps the biggest weight pushing down on me, suffocating me in that moment was the envelope in my sweatshirt pocket, and my mother’s reaction to it when she arrived; the synergy between those two forces would seal my future, my path forward. 

The weight that kept me awake the past few nights, causing me to fixate my eyes on the ceiling above, as if there were an answer waiting there: how I don’t have a say in my own fate.  

“Don’t open it until I get home!” My mother hollered on her way out the door to work. It was one of many desires that she thrust upon me. I usually didn’t mind listening to my mother; Yet, today was different. I wasn’t going to wait for my mother. I had already carried so many of her desires that I had no space remaining for my own. 

We both knew that Indy University decisions were being released today. I opened the envelope with trembling fingers, my hands rubbing against the cream-colored parchment folded neatly inside. Inhaling a deep breath, I pried out the letter, conflicted as to whether it was even worth looking at. If I get into Indy University, the shadow of my mother will continue to tower over me. But as much as I didn’t want to get in, an equal force wanted me to be accepted just as badly; it would validate all my hard work, all my efforts, all my risks, all my sacrifices. The dim kitchen light cast a view on the largest sacrifice: family. 

A framed image of my mother and father was hung up on the wall opposite the kitchen. I bounced on my mother’s knee; my hair was short and curly, complementing my gleeful smile. I was naive to the world around me. I never knew that it was an offense to be different, divergent. Likewise, I had no idea that my mother’s unequivocal rejection of this truth tore my parents – my family – apart. My mother is ambitious to say the least; she founded a bookstore, providing high-quality literature to the residents of Egaltaria, the world we live in. In reality, she earns a lot; on paper though, she earns the same as everyone else. Usually, bold ideas like the one my mother had would have been prohibited by the government; but clearly, she was making a contribution. So, following in the footsteps of a handful of other visionaries, my mother reached an agreement: she would continue her work, and whatever income she made would be disposed of. I guess the motto was image didn’t matter. What we did really didn’t matter since we would all end up in the same place. No one would be upset; no one would be jealous. Peace would prevail.

As for me, following in my mother’s footsteps would maintain the peace, or what I thought was peace. My mother channeled her ambition for me to become exactly like her. Always working, always studying, letting her mind rise high above the medium-sized, light blue houses that we – including government officials – were required to live in. Rising above the notion that true equality was worth sacrificing diversity and imposing conformity. In the eyes of my mother, climbing this intellectual hill was worth sacrificing everything else, including friends… and time with my father. 

“Other people distract you,” My mother had lectured me when I had wished to visit a school friend’s house. “You can accomplish so much on your own.” If that were the case, then why do I feel as if everything is zooming past me, while I remain stagnant, rooted to this spot? Why do I feel so inadequate, unable to pursue what I want? In deviating away from my peers and pursuing independent thought, I had lost the ability to think or speak for myself. 

My mother always said that we shouldn’t carry society’s burden; we shouldn’t carry the fear and insecurity that everyone was collectively trying to avoid. Still, it felt like I was carrying her burden, and the fear of rejection from the only person who understood me. Which is why I’m here. 

Resting my broom against the hardwood floor, I decided to come to terms with my destiny; after all, there was no escaping it. I unfolded the parchment, gently placing the piece of paper on my lab. The word, “CONGRATULATIONS,” was written in red block letters, consuming a fifth of the page. I inhaled a deep breath; I crossed my legs on the kitchen stool and stared up at the perfectly white ceiling, not sure who to thank for… this. Was it a fortune or a misfortune? 

The same voice that chanted “Yes!” in celebration had also screamed “NO!” in regret. Part of me always wanted to attend Indy University. It was a highly selective institution founded by some elders who experienced the world before Egaltaria; their goal was to preserve old-world education and provide an alternative to attending the government-run Egaltaria University. Behind Indy’s tall, intimidating doors, students focused on studying their respective interests, all against the backdrop of finding ways to contribute to society. I would have the chance to pursue creative writing and literature, eventually becoming an author; I would be able to share my thoughts, hopefully changing people’s perspectives in the process. The people who attended Indy were the ones who stood out, the ones who knew they would be facing some type of scorn – some type of sacrifice – for challenging the world’s circumstances. 

As a small girl bouncing on my mother’s knee, I was oblivious to this sacrifice. I was oblivious to the weight that I would eventually carry. I knew that I wanted to study at Indy; I knew what I wanted to do, as well. How could I ever question that? It’s the goal that I’ve been working toward my entire life thus far. The issue was that it wasn’t what my mother wanted me to do. She expected that I would complete a combined program in business and entrepreneurship, starting a franchise like her. Maybe I will in the future – I just want to be the one to decide it. My other, lingering fear: If I attend Indy, I won’t be able to. 

Suddenly rescuing me from my web of thoughts, the front door opened. Frantic, I carelessly tossed the letter – not even putting it back into its envelope – onto the dry part of the countertop that I had already cleaned.  

“Kira, I’m home!” My mother announced as I resumed mopping the floor, adding a shine to the white, marble surface. 

“Hi, Mum!” I waved, dreading the question that she was about to ask. 

“Indy University… the decision arrived, right? Let’s open it.” My mother was chewing on her lip. This small act of nervousness only lasted for a second, though. Her eyes scanned the kitchen, and she frowned upon seeing the envelope and upside down letter. 

“Oh, you already opened it?” She gave me a quizzical look, to which I glanced downward, unsure of how I should respond. Then I realized – this was my first act of defiance. 

“Yes, Mum,” Taking a deep breath, I raised my head so that I was making eye contact with my mother. “And I was accepted.” 

“Excellent,” My mother’s crossed arms relaxed so that they remained by her sides. I let out a sigh of relief. 

“So you’ll be selecting the business program, right? As we decided?” My mother raised an eyebrow, focusing her dark brown eyes on mine. I had a couple of weeks to apply for a particular major and select my courses. 

I gently lay down the mop in my hand. 

“I’m not…” I stopped, needing to regain my confidence. “I don’t think so, mum, I want to major in literature and creative writing.” It was the first time I uttered those words out loud. They left a bittersweet taste on my tongue – sweet due to the fact that I was finally allowing my true desires to manifest into something larger, but sour due to the wave of disappointment that flooded my mother’s face at that moment. 

Her eyes were downcast, and she trembled slightly. “I just… want you to be successful.” My mother murmured, turning her head away from me. For a few seconds, the harsh lines of her face vanished, and I caught a glimpse of a raw, vulnerable, version of my mother. She genuinely wanted the best for me and from me; it’s why she worked endlessly, it’s why she created so many opportunities for me. And here I was, carelessly deviating from the path she carved out. 

But everything she did led me here, I reminded myself. If it weren’t for all her guidance, I would’ve never discovered my passion. 

Maybe my mother would understand that one day. But for now, she opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something. However, it immediately closed, and her hands clenched into fists again. Her face returned to its stoic nature, and without making eye contact, she shook her head and walked away. I committed one too many acts of rebellion for the evening. 

For the first time, I allowed — no, I forced — my true voice to come through. Nevertheless, it only caused guilt to pierce through me. Maybe I shouldn’t have sounded so bold. I sighed, chiding myself. I bent down and continued to scrape the dirt from the floor, slightly relieving its burden of having thousands of footsteps hammering at it everyday. My own desires — which I asserted a few minutes ago — led me down a messy path that I was unprepared to take. I was the only one who could make the path a little cleaner, a little clearer. 

Yet, I had no broom or washcloth in hand for something like that, and absolutely no idea of where to start. 

I was finally independent. 

… But it felt like a burden. Why?