Boring. The world is boring. I glance at the people around me, scurrying on with their lives. What life? What is the point of it all? I got off the train, bumping into someone on the way out. I dipped my head slightly in apology and continued walking with dull eyes. Reaching my home, I unlocked the door and went inside. It was dark. Father must be out again. Taking off my shoes, I walked through the gloomy hallway to the living room. The walls are lined with pictures of a past that seem almost foreign to me. It was a timeline painting the story of a young multi-talented prodigy. Piano competitions, soccer competitions, swim meets, track, martial arts, chess, the pictures portrayed a young, handsome Asian boy at each of them, decorated with awards. He was smiling. He was proud. The father, the mother, the son, all smiling with shining eyes. Pointless. Everything.

The dark night, the pouring rain, the parents’ joy and anticipation as they drove towards the middle school to pick their son up from another competition won, another trophy earned. Then a slip of the hand, a swerve on the road, and a life is lost. The father couldn’t save her. The airbags and the seatbelt couldn’t save her. The doctors couldn’t save her. The son’s excitement as he stands in the pouring rain proudly holding another trophy certainly couldn’t. I reached the door to the living room. My hands paused. The light were on. I opened the door. My father was sitting on the couch. He’s only in his mid-forties, yet his head of gray hair and wrinkles make him look closer to sixty. “Hey,” I said, keeping my tone level. He didn’t respond.

I took off my backpack and went into the adjacent kitchen. I looked through the fridge and took out some vegetables and raw meat. Putting them on the counter, I poured some rice into the rice cooker, added water, and turned on the machine. After that, I took out the butcher knife and cut the meat into strips. Using the same knife, I diced up the onions and carrots as well as chopping up a few more veggies. Turning the fire on, I set up a frying pan, added some oil and waited for it to heat up. After a few minutes, I directly threw the meat strips into the pan and started frying them, adding a few sauces and salt. After the meat is cooked, I poured it into a serving dish, making sure not to let out the sauce. Using the same sauce, I fried the vegetables and poured the whole thing onto the meat dish, mixing them together. I looked at the timer of the rice cooker. Ten minutes left.

I went back into the living room and sat on an adjacent couch. My father didn’t move. After ten minutes, the rice cooker beeped. I got off the couch and walked towards the kitchen. Before I entered, my father spoke over his shoulder in a dry, raspy voice, “Today was the day your mother died.” I paused in the doorway, my anger rising. Angry at what? I shook my head and set up the table. My father finally got up and walked to the dinner table and sat down. I gave him a pair of chopsticks. We started eating in silence. He placed a morsel of meat in my bowl. “The swimming season ended today.” My hand jerked. I looked at him. “You looked the happiest in the water. You should start swimming again.” I gritted my teeth. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked, my voice tinted with anger. Before he could answer, I stood up and left the dining room. Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I walked back out into the hallway and up the stairs to my room.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Opening the door, I entered a dark room flickering with lights from the open window and rain. A bed, a desk, a closet, and a small bookshelf. The room was bare. A box rested in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with various shiny medals and trophies. I walked over to the window and closed the curtains, leaning over my desk. The room was plunged into an inky darkness. I laid down on the bed, crossing my legs and putting my hands underneath my head. I stared towards the ceiling. What do I do from here on? What should I do? I need a purpose. I need a reason. Before, I used to live for the thrill of rivalry, of making friends through competition, of standing at the top. For music, the feeling was tinted with artistic flavor. For individual sports, it was tinted with passion and valor and a will to strive for first place no matter how many rivals- friends and enemies alike- you had to crush underneath. For team sports, it was tinted with a sense of camaraderie- a brotherhood-, of rising and falling...together.

I snort. Everything was all bright and fuzzy, wasn’t it? Who am I kidding. I was talented. Although many coaches and teachers would try to dissuade the other kids from such a mindset of “I can’t beat him, he’s just naturally good at this”, it’s the truth. I understood and comprehended music in a way that other children could not. I could feel how the water moves and position my body in the most efficient manner to maximize speed. I had a reaction time in the 99th percentile. My muscle organization was optimized with the slow and fast twitch muscles in certain places that allowed me to be good at both sprinting and long distance running. No one can comprehend how my mind analyzes the chessboard, thinking over thirty moves ahead. In addition to this natural talent, I did not slack off on my training. Hard work plus talent will beat hard work anyday. As long as the talented don’t slack off, they will always have an edge against the untalented in any competition. The ‘friends’ I made were talents in their own right. When they lost against me, they would come back better and stronger than before, their spirits never diminishing because as prodigies, their eyes will always be on the top. The others may also have this type of unwavering mindset, but gradually, their spirits are crushed again and again, until they vanish completely as I move on to the higher stages. I never saw their tears. They put in the same amount of effort- the same amount of sweat- or even more yet end up with far less results than others. It is unfair. It is stupid. It is pointless. I was surrounded by warmth and encouragement. If I lose, I always knew that after a few weeks or months of training, I would win. I saw only the light. I never felt helpless once in my life. I never knew what futility was.

It was only when I was standing in that room next to a beeping heart monitor that I knew what it means to be powerless- to be helpless. Then, what was the point of it all? What use is this ‘talent’? I closed my eyes, remembering what my father just said. You looked the happiest in the water. I snort, rolled over onto my side and fell asleep.

In the skies overhead, a little strip of silver fell with the rain. It fell and fell before coming towards one particular house. A flash of silver and it landed right in the middle of the front steps of the house as if guided by the hand of fate. A flicker of red and blue appeared and vanished. The rain continued to fall, washing the earth clean.