Gifted Child

Misha found that being a gifted child was hardly a gift at all.

Maybe when adults said it, they meant more like getting socks for Christmas instead of toys. The way people looked at her, she was probably a sock kid. Everyone looked at her like they wished she was something else, except for the adults, who were happy to receive a boring, practical gifted child- minus her hearing issues.

Approval from adults was nice. She liked seeing her mom and dad's faces light up when her teachers told them about how smart she was, and how excited she is to learn. She knows that her constantly asking for things to be repeated is very annoying, so she makes sure all her homework is perfect. Sometimes her teachers talk to her with warmth, their annoyance forgotten because she's just so good at falling where they need her to be.

Walking home from school now, though, all that approval from the adults didn't matter. Her hair is filled with glue and dirt and dead ants, and she doesn't know where her homework folder has gone. She kicks at a little pebble, sniffling angrily and shaking as an ant corpse tumbles down her back.

None of the kids approved of her. They made fun of how she dressed and spoke, often shouting at her like she couldn't hear them. Their words would come out overly sloppy, and they'd mimic how excitedly she raised her hand in class. Anytime she asked for questions to repeat, it'd be followed by a chorus of "I need this repeated too! Misha wasn't listening! Misha never listens!"

One time, one of the teachers had her go and sit outside to write an apology note for not listening. She'd been so overwhelmed and upset, the emotions overtook her. Everyone was laughing at her, and her teacher was yelling at her, so she'd felt herself unravel. Her breath had run away from her and she'd ended up screaming and kicking on the floor, tearing at her hair ribbons and hitting the teacher when he tried to pick her up and move her.

Her dad had picked her up, and she'd never gone back to that school.

This one was supposed to be a new chance, she knew, and she was messing it up. Maybe she can run inside before her mother sees her, and rush to the bathtub to clean off her hair. If she cut it right, it wouldn't be noticeable. She didn't want to be annoying to her parents, too.

Luck is not on her side. It never is.

Her mother is right inside the front room, and looks up with a smile for the briefest of moments. It drops immediately- her mother had such a sharp gaze and good reaction time. She sets aside her book and approaches Misha, who begins to cry openly at her failure.

"Misha?"

She looks over her, concerned and horrified. Misha hates how that expression looks on her. She hates how she caused it.

Misha wonders how she can be considered a gift in any way. Maybe she was a child that was gifted to her parents, but… she was such a drain on them. She was sure she was annoying to them. To have to manage everything about her. She must be exhausting, she thinks grimly.

"M-Mommy?" Her whisper is broken. "I don't wanna go to school anymore."

The news doesn't sit right in her stomach. She's supposed to be so good at this. The one thing she's good at, she can't even keep up with.

Another ant corpse trails down her spine. She nearly gags at the feeling of it against her skin. It felt wrong. It was inhuman, how disgusting she felt. Even her clothes weren't sitting right against her skin. Her breath was running away again, no matter how often or deep she tried to hold it. She doesn't want to go to school anymore. She doesn't want to be the sock child. She doesn't want people to look at her and find excuses to be mean.

She finds comfort in her mother's arms, and doesn't hit her away. She just collapses, sobbing, and lets her mother- and father, who they both know will rush home- take care of her.