Burnout

• Jessica Sandrea, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2022

I lay there like an invalid on a hospital bed, eyes pinned to the ceiling. My thoughts were racing in my head, scraping against each other as they fought for dominance. I hear the neighbour mowing their lawn next door, the irritating sound sending the buzzes from my head down into my chest before slipping into the unexplored cracks. There was no escape.
I sighed and closed my eyes, willing the smouldering coals in my heart to extinguish. But it was near impossible, as they were fed by the thoughts skittering near my temple.
I slumped out of bed and opened my door, the enticing smells of dinner wafting through the air as I made my way over to the table before claiming a spot for myself. My eyes quickly darted away from the shelves filled with certificates and trophies I’ve accumulated over the years. Ever since the prickles in my head started nagging me, I’ve been begging for my parents to take them down or throw them away. But that conversation always ends with; “sweetheart, you’ve been blessed with a smart and healthy mind, these awards are proof of your hard work and determination. Why would we take down something that you’ve worked so hard for? Remember darling, we’re so proud of you.”
“So, what were you doing shuttled up in your room, working hard I hope?” Mom asked me almost jokingly, jolting me out of my malodorous thoughts.
“Um, yeah,” I replied, “just finishing off my homework.”
Lies. My homework was slowly piling up, each paper and research assignment that I haven’t done flittering across my mind before I shut that thought down. I didn’t have the energy to start any of them, I spent my time lying on one’s bed staring blankly at the wall trying not to think too much.
“That’s good, a smart kid like you should be well above the other students,” said dad joining us at the table.
I inhaled sharply. Another compliment, another needle stabbed into my brain. They’re proud of me. Why? Why are they proud of me? The awards, the praises, when would it end? I could feel the embers in my chest stirring as my breath stuck in my throat. I couldn’t breathe.
My mother gently touched my arm with her own, “are you alright?”
I flinched away from the contact, ignoring her hurt face before hastily getting out of my seat to retreat back into my room disregarding their protests. I slammed the door behind me before dropping to my knees, the room was too hot, I felt as if I was burning from the inside out, my skin shredding to reveal the hollow skeleton within. As I knelt there, I wished for the burning tears to come and release some of the feelings bottled up inside. But nothing came. I could feel the coals inside rekindling into a raging blaze. Closing my eyes, I pressed my head against the floor and let the flames consume me.