☾ syth! ✦

In kindergarten she was ahead of everyone. Her classmates were learning the ABCs and instead of having her join in, the teacher crouched in front of her with a metal baking tray. 

“Sophia, I have a special task for you. You’re such a smart girl, you already know your alphabet, can you write it backwards for me?”

The 4 year old beamed with pride. She could do it. She could be special. 

With all the might in her tiny body she was determined to do it. The teacher trusted her with a special job; she had to do it properly. Her little fingers ran over the colourful magnetic letters as she picked up the purple Z. Obviously that came last. 

Z…Y…….X……..

Sophia looked across the room at her classmates all sitting criss cross applesauce on the worn down carpet. Above the chalkboard was the alphabet— bright pastels as a reminder of what they were learning. Brown eyes quickly flit away. That was cheating. She couldn’t look. 

The teacher said she had to write it backwards. 

She was supposed to be smart. 

She shouldn’t need the help of the posters that all the other kids were using. 

A B C D E F G…

The song played in her head over and over. 

Z, Y, X….. what comes next?

Sing it again.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

A loud flurry of movement filled the air. The lesson was done, her classmates were getting up. 

She was smart. She should be finished. 

Frustrated tears filled her eyes as she stared at the stupid baking tray and the stupid plastic letters. 

Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T, S, R.

Ding.

“Sophia, honey, it’s time for snack. It’s okay that you didn’t finish, it was a hard task I gave you. Can you clean up the letters so you can grab your lunch bag?”

Sophia couldn’t get up. How could she clean up?

The teacher thought she was special, she had to prove that she could be special. 

Sophia didn’t eat her snack that day. 

But she did spell her alphabet backwards all by herself with tears in her eyes before dumping the stupid plastic back in the metal bin. 

But she did go up in her early readers' level. 

Maybe she did prove she was smart enough. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Now they didn’t just have stickers and reading levels; in grade 2 they actually had grades. Sophia’s progress report went home with all A’s, her parents ruffling her hair before putting it in the evergrowing pile of papers on the dining room table. 

“Just as we expected from a kid as smart as you, Sophia,” they said over dinner and she basked in their praise.

She was the smart one and she lived up to that title. 

The next day as she ate her strawberries for lunch, she was startled by a dramatic gasp to her right. “Fifi!” Her best friend Lara called way too loud for their desks being side by side. “You won’t believe it! Jordan said there’s a real skeleton under that weird rock!”

Sophia’s mouth fell open as her berries were quickly forgotten. A real skeleton in their schoolyard? She always knew something was odd about the cream coloured stone that stuck out of the schoolyard at an odd angle. “No way. He’s lying, right?”

“Of course not! D’you wanna dig it up with me at lunch recess?”

“Oh. Um, sorry Larz, I can’t. I’m a helper during lunch, remember?”

The mood dipped quickly. It’s not like Sophia didn’t want to — of course she wanted to see the supposed skeleton— but she had to be responsible. That’s what her parents said when she told them she asked about being a helper at school. If she was going to sign up for something, she had to see it through. 

While her classmates were running around at lunch recess, Sophia stayed inside. She exchanged her adventure time with Lara for crayons and games, using her 40 minutes to hang out with the students in the special education class. 

Three times a week Sophia would help the teachers set the table for the students' lunches, she would draw pictures and play cards, and above all, she was a friend.

Sure most of them couldn’t communicate very well, but they could still colour (besides, she could talk enough for the both of them).

Her parents were proud of her for being a helper. At least she thought they were. 

They always told her “you’re such a good kid,” “you’re so mature for your age,” “you’ve got such a big heart, don’t you?” 

“You really are special Sophia.”

Special. 

She was supposed to be special. 

Ding.

Lunch was over and her little feet skipped through the hallway back to room 102 where her classmates were filing in all sweaty from their games of handball. She had had so much fun colouring with one of the girls today, enough fun that she had forgotten all about the skeleton until she saw Lara waiting for her. 

“I was waiting for you Fifi!” The part of her that was upset she missed out was quickly fading away as her best friend talked about using a stick to dig around the rock— but most importantly, she waited to peek underneath until Sophia was there. She was really lucky to have such a great best friend. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

It was finally last recess, the last 15 minutes of freedom before they were corralled for the last lesson of the day. Sophia skipped outside hand in hand with Lara over to the tree line at the back of the primary yard. 

The rock jutted out of the ground awkwardly, bits of dirt already brushed away from Lara’s previous efforts. 

“Okay. This is my digging stick and I found you one too so we should be all good to find the skeleton.”

Both 7 year olds kneeled in the dirt, immediately getting to work stabbing and scraping at the ground until the lifting stick could be shoved under the rock and maybe, just maybe, they could lift it–

“What do you girls think you’re doing?”

Sophia dropped her stick in surprise, looking up to see their teacher looming above them. 

“Uh–um, we’re finding the skeleton..?” As the words left her mouth the Filipina started to cringe at how silly she must sound to the adult. 

“You know you can’t be digging like this. Sophia, I expected better from you.”

Hot shame flooded her system, looking down at her dirt stained pink leggings instead of meeting anyone’s eyes. 

She was supposed to be the smart one.

She never got scolded by the teacher because she was responsible, the one everybody could rely on. 

It was silly of her to believe some childish rumour. 

She was supposed to be special. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Their schoolyard changed as she got older. Grade 5, a new school, a whole new place to make her mark.

That’s what her mom always said. “Sophia, you’re so curious and smart, you’re destined to do big things.”

Changing schools was hard—not that she’d admit it was hard for herself—but objectively through watching Lara struggle, she knew it was a big adjustment. It was weird not walking the same hallways she had for the past 4 years. It was weird being the only new class and be hated by the rest of the school.

It was weird for everybody else, but it couldn’t be weird for Sophia. 

She was special. 

Her homework was still easy. Her report cards still had straight A’s. Her parents still asked her to help her brother with his homework. 

New building, but most things stayed the same. 

Sophia made herself busy: Library Helpers during last recess, Eco Club every Tuesday, Heads Up Team every Wednesday and Friday. 

She loved being a library helper the most. She could take out two books at last recess, finish one overnight and one during the next school day so that by the end of the day she could start the cycle again. She consumed books like water and she was parched in the desert. 

It was a known fact that whenever a teacher needed anything, they knew to go to the kid with her nose in a book. “Sophia will get it done,” they said, “she’s always so willing to help out.”

”What a good kid.”

Laminating, cutting, making posters. She became good at it all. 

The teachers trusted her. 

She was special. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Grade 12, her last year of high school. 

Nothing really changed. Sophia was still going above and beyond, juggling clubs and extracurriculars everyday of the week. 

The teachers still relied on her. No one ran for prime minister of student council? Sophia can run. There’s a new equity club starting? Sophia can lead it. Someone’s club needs a logo designed? Sophia can do it. 

It could never be too much. She was Sophia Laforteza, notorious for handling everything with ease and grace. 

She was a master at her trade, seeing she’s had the chance to perfect her juggling of responsibilities over the years. It wasn’t taken lightly that people were relying on her. If someone wanted something done and done well, they came to her, and that’s a legacy Sophia was proud of.

It was nice to be trusted. She was one of the adults, one of the people who was going to make a difference. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Another meeting.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Another all nighter. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Another test.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

University applications. 

“You know,” her mom started as Sophia was typing away at a history project at the kitchen table, “I’ve been looking at all kinds of scholarships that you should apply for, university being outlandish nowadays. With all of the clubs you’re in, they won’t be able to say no Sophi.”

”They’ll all see you’re special.”

Right, special.

That’s what she was supposed to be.

She did the clubs, did the advocacy, but so did so many others.

She had a lot of special opportunities, but even as the people around her said it on a regular basis, it was getting harder to believe there was anything special about herself. If Sophia was supposedly special because of all the things she’s done, doesn’t that make the things special, not her?

But nonetheless, she pushes her schoolwork to the side as her mom sends her the first scholarship application.

Why do you volunteer? What have you gained from this experience?

Sophia thought back to the first time she volunteered in grade 2. The kids her age who needed a friend; something she was happy to be for them. The sacrificed recesses and adventures all to make others happy. 

That was the reward. 

Make others happy. 

And maybe, just maybe, the change she made would leave one person a little bit better than they were before.

A small smile graced her lips as she realized that maybe she was finally leaving her mark.

But what did she gain? 

Dark circles under her eyes? Extra hours spent in empty classrooms rewriting project plans? People’s expectations that she’d never be able to live up to?

Proof that she was special?

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

The responsibilities she was juggling grew bigger and heavier. 

Scholarship essays stacked up in a list so long she never thought she would see the bottom.

But the scholarships didn’t care just about extracurriculars and essays, she needed to keep her grades up. The top scholarship required a 92% average, and she was determined to meet it. Sophia was 2% short, completely attainable in the rest of the semester as long as all her class work and final projects were nearly perfect.

Sleep grew shorter and shorter, hours in front of her laptop grew longer and longer.

Her goals shifted but the responsibilities didn’t stop. 

Someone on council needed her to approve a new event, she was voluntold to spearhead a full day equity conference, and there seemed to be a million small things popping up everyday that was left for her to handle.

She could do it. 

She couldn’t not do it. 

But sometimes people push too much and something is bound to fall.

Her best friend Lara remained a constant throughout it all. Both in the same clubs, the same projects, the same after school hangouts.

Between all of the events and projects she was juggling, the one art project they were doing together fell through the cracks. Sophia didn’t even realize she had forgotten until the text message came through that day confirming that they were going to work on it together and that they had prepped the collage materials they needed. 

For the first time in her life, Sophia showed up empty handed and under prepared. 

She apologized profusely but her best friend had gone silent, barely reacting to her pleas as she finished the project alone.

When Lara didn’t talk to her again, Sophia didn’t know what to do with herself. They sat opposite each other in their shared class, a period previously full of whispered chaos turned silent. Maybe she had been so busy she didn’t see the cracks starting to form. Her rock through years of joy and struggle shattered, just like that.

But she smiled her signature smile to hide the pit that opened in her stomach and carried on. 

What else was she supposed to do?

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

What are your hobbies?

An objectively silly question when she had just written two essays outlining every single one of her volunteer efforts, successes, and achievements. 

An objectively silly question that made her pause to think for an unnecessary amount of time. 

Could she write that her extracurriculars were her hobby? Does that count? Would the review panel think that’s a stupid answer and not grant her the scholarship?

Sophia took a deep breath and opened a new browser, feeling increasingly stupid as she typed ‘list of hobbies’ into the search bar. 

Gardening, no.

Reading. She used to read. 

Her bookshelves were jam packed with fictional stories that used to carry her to a gentle reprieve from the world around her. 

Sophia can’t remember when reading stopped being fun. She was known as the bookworm, the kid with her nose always in a book. It was her identity for so long, yet the books in her room–whose pages were once well loved–collected dust. 

Painting, no.

Hiking, god no.

Music. She used to write. 

Lyrics scratched onto napkins and journals, half finished thoughts as her way of observing the world around her. The only way she was capable of processing her emotions being a pen and a notebook hidden away. 

Sophia can’t remember when the melodies stopped flowing. When the words in the margins of her paper changed from lyrics to to do lists.

She can’t remember when school took precedence. When dealing with other people’s problems and the constant juggle of responsibility and leadership replaced the things that once brought her joy. 

As she wrote about her love of reading and songwriting she knew it wasn’t necessarily a lie, just a blast to the past. A few months until graduation and it would be fine. A few months and she could pick up the pieces of her past identity and slot them back into place where they belonged.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Sophia hadn’t just gotten a 92, she got a 95.

She was sitting in her fourth period class on the last Tuesday of high school when her teacher placed her culminating assignment on her desk, bright red numbers adorning the top. 

97.

The smile that overtook her face couldn’t be stopped even if she tried.

97. That meant regardless of what her other assignments came back as, she would reach her goal. 

Excitement bubbled in her stomach, the adrenaline of success coursing through her veins. Maybe this was what it was all for. The hard work and late nights all for this moment of knowing she did what she set out to do.

The moment of proving she was smart enough.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Graduation. The culmination of hard work summarized by 5 seconds walking across the stage and a piece of paper.

4 years with the same classmates and teachers orbiting around each other, the whole class now settled into the blue cushioned seats with friends and family scattered around.

Sophia tried her best to pay attention to the speeches, she really did. But the gown was itchy around her neck, the cardboard hat perched awkwardly atop her head, and the classmates who she worked so hard for, all about to move on too. 

All of a sudden everyone’s eyes were on her, a girl from her French class cheering as she pushed her up from her chair. “Sophia, come on up here!” Oh. Maybe zoning out wasn’t the best option as she tried to pace her steps down the aisle and up the stairs to maintain the grace she was known for.

The principal handed her an award, and then another. Both as recognition from her peers and faculty of her efforts in the school community throughout the years. 

She focused on shaking hands, hoping that her clamminess wouldn’t be the last impression she left on the head of her school. If she said words or even a simple thank you, she couldn’t tell you. She was floating on cloud 9, the adrenaline and bit of pride fogging her senses.

As she stood for the pictures, she managed to pay enough attention to catch the tail end of the speech. 

“This is an intelligent young lady who has a bright future ahead of her. Sophia has deeply impacted our school community and we know it won’t be the same without her.”

The whole auditorium clapped and cheered, a sea of shadowed faces with their eyes fixed on the special student on stage.

As Sophia scooted by her classmates' legs to get back to her seat, she couldn’t contain her smile.

That naive part of her that justified the long hours believed that she could make a difference, and maybe, if other people saw it too, that means it was right.

And just like that, Sophia had graduated, walked out of the auditorium with diploma and awards in hand. The end of a chapter fading and the start of real adulthood looming ahead. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

University wasn’t like the movies.

It was supposed to be fun, a new start that had her partying and going on adventures every weekend.

Instead, Sophia watched the world happen around her, everyone meeting their people and solidifying friend groups while she found solace in her shitty dorm mattress. 

She broke the promise she made to herself about mending the broken pieces of her identity. It wasn’t without effort. 

She brought a book she had read back in grade 8 with her. One that made her 13 year old self feel a little less alone, hoping maybe it could do the same now at 18. She tried reading one chapter, then then next, all in 3-4 page increments because maybe, just maybe, if she forced herself long enough, the story could sweep her away like it used to. But the words felt dull, bleak strings of letters sitting on a page that she couldn’t muster the energy to link together. 

Writing was no better. She tried getting a fancy new notebook specifically for her songs, even another one of her favourite pens.  The melodies looped in her mind, constantly there in the back of her head just beyond where she could reach to pull it into the light.  She tried sitting at her desk, in the library, even at the rickety picnic benches outside, but nothing worked. The pages stayed empty, a futile attempt to put feeling to the emptiness around her.

First year bled into second bled into third. Now all of sudden it's her 4th year, a swarm of unknowns lurking in every shadow.

She thinks back to her teachers in elementary school. If they saw what she had become, they would be so disappointed. 

She went through the routine of school and everything else because she didn’t know to stop. Sophia’s been juggling as long she can remember, her arms forgetting how it feels to not be in constant motion.

Her grades were good, her attendance was good, her assignments were good enough. She was in the school musical, she had a job, she still volunteered.

But it’s like her insides had been hollowed out with a spoon.

What the fuck happened to the special kid?

High school seemed so far in the past. All those sleepless nights, managing responsibilities, losing friends, losing her sanity. Was it worth it to try and make a difference? Four years have come and gone, now what? Her high school was still the same piece of shit place it always was; the supposed changes she made graduated with her.

Who ever thought she could actually make change? 

The part of her that believed it was true got scooped out with the rest of her. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Sophia’s life became an inescapable cycle.  

Wake up, lie in bed. Go to class, lie in bed. Think about doing schoolwork, lie in bed. Toss and turn, fall asleep. Wake up the next day exhausted and do it all again. 

It was like she was moving through a dense fog. Everyday she looked in the sink at the growing pile of dishes, but that fog circled her limbs and held her back despite her brain screaming to just get it done. 

Another week, another Friday. 

The days ran into each other, an undercurrent of exhaustion had her questioning if she even got any sleep the night before. It took so much effort to get out of bed, her once multi-step skincare routine reduced to just face wash at best.

It felt like she had just woken up but was now returning home from class, mental capacity depleted after a simple two hour lecture that passed by in a blur. 

Sure, the class was her favourite. Sure, she loved the professor. Sure, she asked questions and stayed engaged in class. Sure, it took every ounce of her energy leaving her unable to do anything other than collapse in bed. 

The songs. 

The dishes. 

The schoolwork. 

The familiar comfort of blue light and 10 second entertainment washed over her. 

The songs the sea otter splashing in the water. 

The dishes the man playing the bagpipes to pop music. 

The schoolwork the doomscroll check. 

Sophia’s eyes drift to the top left corner of her screen. 

Tick tick tick. 

An hour and a half had passed and her weight crashed right back into her body. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

How could she waste so much time doing absolutely nothing? It was careless really. 

The songs. 

The dishes. 

The schoolwork.

She rolled over, the rhythmic scroll of thumb against screen a sedative for her brain.  

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

It was 6:30 pm. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her mind screaming for her to get up, just get up. Rehearsal was at 7, she had to leave at 6:45, her growling stomach had to be taken care of. Get up. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

It’s only at 6:40–5 minutes to get ready and out the door–that her limbs connect to her brain and allow her to get out of bed. Sophia’s hand rakes through her hair, the other smoothing out the wrinkles on her shirt. She pulls on An old pair of socks from her laundry scattered floor, a granola bar thrown in her bag for later, shoes haphazardly squished on with no regard for the integrity of the heel, and she was out the door. 

The bus hissed to a stop as she reached the bench. Doors open, card swiped, seat found.

She focused her gaze on the colourful blobs out the window, whooshing by so fast it was hard to make out distinct shapes. The leaves outside were always changing, yet here she was trapped in the same stupid cycles.

The bus hissed to a stop again, jolting Sophia out of her transportation induced trance. School? Already? She just got on and… she glances at her watch, 6:55. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Time kept moving without her. 

Her body moved without her. No conscious thought was made as she stood up, thanked the bus driver, and stepped into the cool air. 

One foot in front of another. Shoulders back. Adjust the hair. Deep breaths. 

Mask on. 

“Sophia!” An energetic voice carries through the hallway, luscious curls bouncing her way with baseline energy higher than the Filipina’s max. 

A genuine smile crossed her face at the sight of one of her good friends. “Dani, hi! Ready for rehearsal?”

Before she could process it, Dani’s arms wrapped around her in a quick but warm hug. “You know I am!”

The two walked side by side down the stairs to the rehearsal room, chattering voices surrounding them the moment the door opened.

Ever the social butterfly, Dani is quickly whisked away into a conversation about god knows what as Sophia is left to set her stuff down. 

This was supposed to be fun. It is fun. 

The chaos of rehearsal carried her, a genuine smile making its way to her face as she watched Dani dance battle the lankiest guy in the cast. 

It’s these moments where she almost feels normal again. The tiny reprieve of letting herself enjoy the camaraderie and shared joy of singing and dancing with other people. Working towards creating something bigger than herself.

But rehearsal always ends and the monotony of her life kicks back in. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Hi my Sophi, how are you?”

My arms are so tired from juggling that I’ve been dropping responsibilities left, right and centre, I’m being suffocated by the weight of your expectations, and I’m drowning in the workload that I once used to tread through with ease.

But that was too much, she couldn’t say that. 

“Good, Mom. I’m doing good.” 

It was easier this way. 

Her parents didn’t need to know she was struggling. Their special little Sophia couldn’t be anything other than the overachieving smart kid. Let them believe in the idealized version of their daughter in their mind.

They commented on the weather, her mom talked about logistics of the break—all the usual—until there was a pause where the usual goodbyes were supposed to go. 

“You know, I’m just so proud of you Sophia. You’ve always been so smart, so curious, it’s nice to see you’re doing something with it. I always knew you’d be special.”

Sophia said goodbye and hung up the phone on autopilot, unable to stop the wave of nausea that ran over her at the lie she was living.

Everybody’s parents think their kid is special.

If everyone is special, how special could she truly be?

How much longer could she fake being special until everyone realized she was a fraud?

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

72. 

Sophia never gets a 72.

It wasn’t like it came out of nowhere. The days of effortless 90s she got the first 3 years of her degree were behind her. 

She was trapped on an academic slide, desperately clawing onto the sides with the little fight she had left. But the plastic was frictionless, picking up speed as she plummeted to the bottom. 

She can’t remember when she made the decision to let go. To give up her grip on the slide walls and accept her fate.

And now here she was. A 72 in small black numbers beside the course code.

What happened to the smart kid?

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

What are your plans for after graduation?

There was a right answer to this stupid conversation starter everyone loved to ask in your fourth year.

Sophia was supposed to say she was pursuing a masters program, finding her way through the academic world and making her mark.

What she couldn’t say is that she didn’t care to make any plans.

She had scrolled through endless pages of post grad programs in the fall, her mind going numb as she tried to keep track of the program requirements, the stand out faculty, and the finances for each option she came across. 

Everyone around her had an opinion on what she should do. 

“You’re going to be a great researcher one day.”

“You could be such a great lawyer.”

“No matter what you do, I know you’re going to help so many people.”

“Sophia you’re going to be the next prime minister, I just know it.”

The words were meant to be encouragement, a statement of “I see you and know you can do great things.” But they felt like more of a burden, weighing down each step she took. 

How can she admit any ambition she might’ve had has shriveled up and died under the pressure of people’s well wishes?

It’s hard to erase the image from her mind of her parents' faces when they found out she was taking a gap year. The immediate shock and disappointment that their top student was taking a break from the plan she laid out in high school. 

She could see the crack in their perception of her being formed at the thought of their special daughter falling behind.

That crack was quickly filled with reassurance that she was going to get a job, save up, and then go back the following year. Make sure she knows what she really wants to study before spending the money unnecessarily.

Sophia didn’t dare tell them that she wasn’t sure she was ever going to go back to school. 

Maybe ‘special’ had a time limit. 

And hers had just run out. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

From: Dani <3

hey soph

i’m always here for you, you know that right?

let me know if i can help in literally any way <3

Sent 6:09 pm

Sophia stared at the text message until the letters became incoherent. 

She knew that Dani wasn’t stupid. They spent so much time together between shared classes, rehearsals, and random hang outs. It was some of the times in her week that Sophia actually looked forward to. 

It was only a matter of time before she picked up on the bone deep exhaustion that the Filipina couldn’t shake.

Part of her felt that particular warmth that comes with being seen by the people you care about. The other part of her wanted to delete the messages and pretend they never existed in the first place.

Let me know if I can help

How do you ask for help when it’s your whole life falling apart? When you barely know where to start, what’s reasonable to ask? It’s not like Dani could live her life for her while she takes a multi week long nap. And even then, would that be enough? 

Asking for help meant admitting she was struggling, and admitting she was struggling meant accepting that she was no longer the person everyone wanted her to be. 

To: Dani <3

hey, i really appreciate that, but i’m okay

sorry if i have been a bit off recently, i think this stupid assignment permanently messed up my sleep schedule lol

how’s the assignment going for you?

Sent 8:27 pm

It’s easier to deflect. Make sure everyone else is okay because Sophia Laforteza is always the last one to struggle. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Summer was almost here, the weight of finals crushing her from all sides. 

The never ending assignments she was supposed to be completing, the exams that she was supposed to be studying for, the job hunting for the summer that she was supposed to be doing.

Her year off was supposed to solve it all. 

Get seasonal work over the summer, find a full time job, make something with her life. 

Maybe the summer would cure her. 

Maybe the sun would cure the exhaustion, the breeze whisking the fog away. Sophia could go back to being the special one, the smart one who wasn’t floundering in the unknown. 

She could have the career everyone so desperately wanted for her. Something that helped people, something that made a difference like she did years ago. A job that proved she could take the plans people had laid out for her and make meaning with her life.

But a lingering voice knew it wouldn’t work.

Something in her gut knew the sunshine couldn’t fix it this time. 

Maybe this is how she was destined to be. Destined to join the hall of failed dreams and work an office 9 to 5 in a business she didn’t care for. 

Maybe she wasn’t meant to help people, that was a silly hope of the past when helping others was only pushing her further behind. 

There is supposed to be time.

But Sophia didn’t know how to stop the endless sprint, even when her lungs were burning and every muscle in her body was screaming at her to stop.

She just had to make it to the end of the school year.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Just make it to the end of the summer.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Just make it to the next job. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Can’t stop.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Can’t fall behind. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

She was supposed to be special. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Sophia never asked to be special. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

She couldn’t bear being special anymore.

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Boom.

-ˋˏ ༻ ☀︎༺ ˎˊ-