After our lunch study lesson, I went on with the rest of my day before returning to the library. There, Itra continued to put me through the rephrasing of paragraphs. After fixing about five of them, Itra let me go, and I returned home.

I biked home, taking a path into an older area, where buildings were all brick. There, I brought my bike into one such building, and I made my way up the metallic stairs. Then, I reached an old wooden door which led into my apartment.

“I’m home,” I announced, as I walked in.

No one responded to me, and I found a sticky note on the small dining table. I ignored the simple couch in front of the door, and turned a bit to the table. The kitchen was sectioned off by a half wall, and the hallway led to two bedrooms, an office, and one bathroom at the end.

The note read that my mother was out. Lately, I was worried she had been working too hard. Because of our financial situation left by gambling habits from my father, my mother had to work hard, long hours. My older sister, an editor for an undistinguished newspaper, even moved back with us to help out with the debts that continued to rack up. Since my mother was always out, my sister began to become more of the mother figure in the house. She worked from home, and holed herself in the office, which my mother converted into a bedroom, until mealtime, when she came out and cooked her vitally-important meals.

My sister must have also been out doing something, as she didn’t answer me. Instead of thinking too hard about it, I shuffled to my bedroom, where I changed clothes. Taking off the red uniform, I briefly lost sight of my closet, which gave the most amount of decoration in my room. Other than that, a plain white desk sat off to the side, and my bed dwelled on the opposite side of it.

I doubt anyone would call my room homey, but it served its purpose. In it, I could sleep, and I could work. It kept me sheltered and warm, safe from the outside elements. Once changed, I spent some time lounging in my bed. The day had taken its toll on me, giving me a large need for rest.

As I began to drift off, the phone which I set on my nightstand earlier pinged. I received a message from my mother, asking me to cook rice. She also said that she’d be returning with dinner soon, so I would have to cook rice as soon as possible.

Lazily, I rolled over, not wanting to have to get up and cook rice. Instead, I decided to let my brain wander for a bit, and I would cook the rice after my brain was more active. My brain set off on its journey, carrying a large sack of tools and wearing a bandanna.

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First, my brain started going over the events of the day, since it could focus on that a little easier. The day started up as usual, my mother went to work before I even woke up, and my sister already prepared breakfast for us both. I biked to school, where I met up with Harry. We spent some time talking before classes started, then we parted. The next time I would see him would be in math then lunch.

Before my brain could move on to my journey home, it went over the most eventful part of my day. Well, today I had two, but they were the same thing. My study sessions with Itra always held the most importance to me. Those lessons help me with my ability to write, and that brings me closer to my biggest goal.

I moved my fist above my head, as I reminded myself of my purpose. One day, I would become skilled enough at writing that the stories I make will become almost real. When I reach that level of skill, I will finally be able to share my imaginary world with others.

Currently, my goal sat far from my reach, but I couldn’t give up. Only by striving forwards could I reach it, no way could lead to it except for going towards it. My brain wandered back to the idea of Itra. Her reaction to my stories gave me pride I’ve never felt before. It also brought distraught at all the simple mistakes I made, but if she never pointed them out, I would have continued to make them.

Thanksgiving wasn’t here, but if I were to be thankful for anyone, I’m sure that Itra would be right up there with my mother and sister. Though, saying that out loud would be problematic, and would throw my feelings for her into question.

My brain started venturing down an odd path, so I recalled it back into the real world. I grabbed my laptop from my bag and set it on my table. My mother scrambled a lot of savings to give me a personal laptop, and my sister even put in a little extra dollars to help out in secret. This meant that I should treat my laptop with care, and so I did. With this laptop, I also got a new step forward toward my aspiration.

Since I had nothing better to do, I began writing a recount of the events of today. I rambled on about how messy Harry ate his food, and even put a few hyperboles. Really, his food didn’t fly so violently, but he did leave a huge mess whenever he finished eating.

Along with Harry’s messy eating, I began including the study session I had at lunchtime. Itra had me work on this one paragraph, and put off the rest for after school. I neared the end of the lunch meeting and started planning out the after school session in my head. Nothing too exciting happened then, but I did want to create a collection of events for the day.

Once I finished up the lunch session, I heard the front door open. Based on the crinkling noises of paper bags and heavy sounding footsteps, I assumed that either my mother or sister had gone grocery shopping. I also recalled my mother saying that she would come home with food. Two voices sounded together in chatter, my mother had arrived with my sister.

Rolling out of bed, I began walking down the stairs, excited to eat. I came home later, because of my study session, and I didn’t fix myself any snacks, meaning I hadn’t eaten since lunch. My stomach demanded me to find food, so I made my way out of my room and down the hall to help carry groceries.

Then, my brain suddenly remembered…

Did I cook the rice?