Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Illustrate the meaning of "Don't Cut off Your Nose to Spite Your Face" (without using the actual phrase or litera (02/14/08)
TITLE: The Silent Treatment
By Sara Harricharan
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ADD TO MY FAVORITES
Timira do this. Timira do that. Timira, I can’t possibly do this, will you do it for me? Timira, promise you’ll always be our slave?
Fame is overrated. My fans always clamor for more. The dishes must be done before I start homework.
Dinner has to be a gourmet affair. It is my solemn duty to have it on the table, piping hot precisely as everyone arrives.
Laundry is my hobby. I can load, fold and iron at the same time. Multi-tasking is a talent that courses through my veins.
I’ve had enough though. Today, I’m not going to speak to anyone. I won’t tell them whether I will or won’t. I won’t agree or disagree.
After all, they never listen anyway. They only pay attention long enough to hear me say ‘yes’. Nothing else I say matters. Guess my opinion doesn’t count.
The world can try to decipher me today. I have nothing to say.
“Timira, darling, do start breakfast for me, would you? Mummy’s got a bear of a headache…Timira, darling…did you hear me?”
“Hey, does anyone know where my English paper is? Timira, didn’t you clean the table last night? Where did you put it? Timira!”
“Timira, did you iron my blue shirt last night? I need it for the important meeting today. Timira?”
“Timira-what’s the matter with you! Don’t just stand there, do something!”
Two sisters. Two parents. One disaster.
I wind my way around their repeating protests. I don’t have time to cook this morning.
Someone thought it was charming to turn my alarm clock off. I’m surprised anyone knew how it worked. It’s so ancient.
There’s no cereal in the pantry. That usually means there’s no milk either. Oh well, it’s still too late to cook, and I don’t feel like getting my hands dirty. I just did my nails last night.
If Dearest Older Sister could keep track of her own English paper; I wouldn’t have to remember that it’s under the checkerboard on the coffee table.
If Sneaky Little Sister wasn’t always interrupting; I might actually finish my sentences, and answer the questions before she asks them.
If it was Mummy ironing Daddy’s shirt; she’d know that it’s hanging up next to his coat in the hallway.
If I wasn’t so busy running their lives, I might have a chance to live mine.
Oops! There’s the bus. I guess I’ll have to skip breakfast today. It’s only a few hours until lunchtime, anyway.
My cell phone is ringing. In the middle of Mrs. H’s class. I bet they expect I’ll answer the phone. And flunk my grade for doing it.
Too bad I’m not speaking to anyone today. It is much easier to ignore the vibrations.
Thank goodness class is out. My stomach hurts really bad! I feel like someone took a stapler, and went wild inside. I should’ve eaten something on the bus. This lunch line will take forever.
There’s Jared, and company. He’s lucky I’m not speaking to anyone today. I have more than an earful for him. You can’t use me, and get away with it. He’s looking at me, and laughing. Maybe if I check my voicemail, it’ll look like I’m ignoring him.
I have one message, from Mummy.
“Timira, darling, it’s Mummy. I have some bad news. Daddy, and your sisters were in a car accident this morning. He was late to drop them off, because we couldn’t find that shirt. They say he was speeding. Aunty Daisy will pick you up after school. Timira, darling, there was an interesting box in the bathroom garbage. Is that your pregnancy test? Your sisters say it isn’t theirs. It…well…it reads…positive. I don’t mean to upset you if it isn’t. Timira, darling, I’ll be at the hospital. You’ve been so quiet lately. I know something’s bothering you. Call me soon. Love you.”
My head is swimming in tandem with my stomach. I feel like throwing up. No one could decipher me.
Dear God, please help me. I just ruined my own life.
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