"So, what is it that you want to do?" my mother asked me, her voice stern and strained. Her eyebrows bent inward so that a crease formed between them.

I remained silent, silently pondering and silently broken.

"August, you know we can't help you if you don't know what you want." She clenched her hands onto her skirt.

I don't know.

"Why is it that whenever we ask you questions like this, you become aloof?"

They won't understand. They can't understand.

"August, you are such a disappointment to us."

"I don't know."

"Excuse me?"

I cleared my throat. If they can't understand, why should I show them? "I don't know what I want."

Mother looked at me in the eyes and then placed her hand over her eyes, leaning herself over to the side.

"How come you don't know? I'm not you. You should know more about yourself than I do. Why don't you understand yourself? Why? "

I shouldn't have said anything. They won't understand, my parents won't understand. If they knew, how frightened would they be?

How scared would they be if they knew what kind of a daughter lived in their household.

I won't say anything, I'm saving them.

I looked down at my hands as they fidgeted. And I felt a laugh rise up inside of me, a roaring laugh that sent shivers down my spine. Be quiet, I told it. And then it started to cry like a child, then silence, and then an even louder, sickening laughter. I'm drawing farther away from conventional sanity, but I can't show them.

It'll hurt them, and I love them too much to do such a thing.

My mother looked down at the short story I wrote and I could see the shivers run down her spine, coming out through her tears.

"Is this another one of your rebellious acts?" she asked me.

I had to shake my head. But, I'll never move it again as long as she watched me. And after this long interrogation, I'll lift up my head and hear a loud crack in the back of my neck.

I sneered and the laughing rung within me again.