Drapetomania | Creepypasta

1.

august 12, 2017

Each day unfolds in the same monotonous rhythm for me: wake up, go to school, have dinner, and sleep. The repetitive routine casts a shadow over my life, leaving me yearning for a change when the weekend finally arrives. Fatigue often consumes me, making it difficult to muster the energy for social plans with my friends, even though I cherish their company.

But it's not my energy that is causing this weariness; it's my mother, she means well but exerts immense pressure. The weight of expectations to maintain good grades hangs heavy on my shoulders, leaving little room for personal exploration or mistakes. It's a constant battle not to disappoint her, to avoid her anger. The pressure builds, and I wonder how long I can keep it all inside.

My morning rituals become a delicate dance, with hesitation in front of the mirror. I can't afford to show any reluctance; it would only fuel arguments. I tread carefully, desperately trying not to upset her for my lateness this morning.

As I leave home, my younger sister receives my sorry smile. She's the favored child, though my mother vehemently denies playing favorites. It's an unspoken truth, painfully evident to both of us.

Walking to school, I'm lost in the world of my phone, seeking distraction from the predictability of life. News notifications, weather updates, and sports scores bombard my screen.
"you're in a world of your own there" A friendly interruption from Emily, a black-haired girl, jolts me back to reality. Her warm smile eases me from my digital trance, and we exchange pleasantries.
"good morning to you too"

Emily is more of a school-hour acquaintance than a friend. We communicate occasionally, not as frequently as she does with her other friends. Sometimes, I wonder if she's only reaching out because she feels sorry for me.

"Earth to y/n~," Emily playfully sings, maintaining her cheerful demeanor. My smile returns as she squeezes my cheek like I'm a child.

Despite my social separation from school life, I attempt to engage in conversation, asking about the first lesson-maths. It's a small attempt to bridge the gap between my structured academic world and my desire for a more vibrant social life.

Math class, led by the ever-monotonous Mr. Richards, had a knack for getting under my skin. Emily expressed her disdain as she casually stretched her arm behind her head, scratching it softly. I offered a knowing nod in response. "His lessons are dreadfully boring," I chimed in, sharing her sentiment.

We reached the front door of the school and entered side by side, her ongoing chatter revolving around her weekend escapades. She regaled me with stories of shopping expeditions, encounters with charming boys through mutual friends, and various adventures.

In our classroom, she took the seat next to mine, still engrossed in her weekend tales. "Oh, and Lucianna! She discovered the most adorable dress at a thrift store. Do you thrift, y/n?" I lifted my gaze from my desk and acknowledged her with a nod. "Sometimes. I don't go shopping very often."

Her enthusiasm bubbled as she encouraged me to join her for a shopping excursion, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Oh, but you must join us sometime! I would love to see you out of that school uniform," she insisted, gesturing playfully to my navy blazer, skirt, and white shirt. A subtle smile graced my lips. "I'd like that," I replied softly as the class began.

Mr. Richards commenced his usual routine, taking attendance and marking any absences before embarking on another lecture about the profound significance of math in our daily lives, spiced up with what he deemed "words of importance." Math had never been my strong suit, but I was determined to improve. I diligently recorded every word he uttered in my notebook, making an earnest effort to grasp the subject.