Short Story Sharing by Luna

luna019197 — 2025-09-21 12:50:43 UTC

I'm Kiko, a student from a normal primary school. I had always tried my best to get along with all the teachers, but wasn't the teacher's pet kind of student. I was okay with every teacher, except for my Math teacher, Ms. Mathi. It all started when it was Math period. Ms. Mathi was coming into our classroom, and I said, "Everyone, be quiet. Ms. Mathi is coming!" But at the same time, someone else shouted Ms. Mathi's full name. When Ms. Mathi entered, she immediately demanded who shouted her full name. She asked if it was me, and I denied it. But she wouldn't hear it. She made me apologise to her and made me stand for the rest of the lesson. After the period, I thought that was the end of it. But no. It continued. Every Math period, Ms. Mathi would glare at me like I'm some sort of deranged criminal plotting world domination. Every time something went wrong, she would be the first to ask if I was the one who did it. What's more infuriating was when I was staying back to help clean the classroom after school. Then, Ms. Mathi saw me and she immediately started scolding me for being in class when there was no teacher. I tried to explain to her that I was staying back to clean the classroom, but she wasn't having it. She even called me rude for talking back to the teacher and that I, out of all students, was lacking empathy. And that was the moment that I knew that Ms. Mathi needed to be taught a lesson. I went home to do some research about perfect pranks to play on horrible teachers. That night, I practised over and over again until I knew I was dead-set ready. That morning, I went to school as usual, big smile and chatting with my friends. Math period was after break time. So, I went to class early to set up the prank. The bell rang, and all my classmates flooded into the class. Soon, Ms. Mathi stepped into the class and sat down in the teacher's chair. "Ah!" she screamed as white, sticky glue clung to her skirt and the chair. She tried to stand up, but the chair was lifted along with her. The whole class burst out in laughter. I tried to hold in my laughter but failed and started laughing along with everyone, tears rolling down my cheeks as I laughed. Ms. Mathi, seeing everyone laughing at her, was humiliated and ran out of the classroom. With the chair glued to her skirt. After that day, she was quiet and was never mean or biased to any student again. And I learnt, that day, that some teachers also need lessons, just like students.

guojinghua1980 — 2025-09-21 13:07:41 UTC

What was a time when you realised that your parents had always had a favourite child?

I'm Gracie, in high school this year. I have a younger sister called Germaine. My parents had always seemed to like Germaine more, but I brushed it off, thinking it was just because Germaine was younger. But now, I realised that Germaine had been the favourite child all along. My birthday was tomorrow and I had slightly hinted to my parents what I wanted. Leaving clues like, "Hi, mom, my birthday is coming, I really wish I could have a nice birthday celebration," and all that so that my parents would take the notice and prepare a celebration for me as I had gotten into a really good high school. I always helped my parents with chores too, since they were always super busy with their own things. Tomorrow arrived and I woke up, super excited. But instead, my parents, and Germaine was nowhere to be seen. I wondered what was going on and called them. "Mom, dad, where are you?" I asked. My mom replied, "We're taking Germaine to her friend's birthday party." Hearing this, my voice cracked, "But, today is my birthday. Did you forget?" Mom and dad went silent but went on saying, "Oh, okay. When we are back, we'll celebrate it." Hours passed and Germaine, mom, and dad finally came home. I waited at the door eagerly, expecting a "Happy birthday!" or something like that. But none came. Germaine was bouncing up and down like a happy lark and mom and dad were chatting with each other. They had completely forgot about my birthday. And it gets worse, I was severely sick and had to go to the hospital. When I was in the hospital, I woke up. I called my parents to tell them about it and they said, "Oh, we're helping Germaine with her project. It's really important." And hung up. And that's when I knew, if my parents were going to pretend I was not important, I'm going to pretend they are not important. That day after I fully recovered, I packed up and left the house, renting an apartment using my own hard-earned money. Soon, my parents called me, begging me to come back. "We're busy, we need someone to help us do the chores and all that," they cried. But I told them, "You pretended I was not important, so I'm going to pretend that your problems are not important to me." And I hung up. After that, I felt a lot better. Now, I know. Not all family are good, sometimes, it is better to leave them than to endure all the suffering they will put you through.

luna019197 — 2025-09-22 08:08:27 UTC

Last weekend, it was unusually hot for this part of the country, like uncomfortably warm for a place that's normally pretty mild. I was wearing a tank top and some short jeans, so I had some skin showing. It was nothing indecent, just bare arms and legs. My friends and I were planning to have a barbecue later that afternoon. So, I went down to the grocery store to pick up a few final items I thought we would need. The store was absolutely packed with people trying to beat the heat and grab cold drinks. Everyone was dressed for the weather, tank tops and shorts, sun dresses and the normal Summer clothes. I'm making my way over through the aisles with my little basket, enjoying the air-conditioning when I get to the canned goods section. So, I'm standing there, looking at the beans, trying to do some mental Math about how much I would need to for eight people when suddenly, I feel this tap on my shoulder. I turn around to come face to face with an older lady who was definitely overdressed for the weather. Like full sleeves pants, the works. She looked miserable in all those layers. When I asked politely if she needed help, she replied, "Don't you think you're not dressed appropriately for this job?" I was genuinely confused. Like what job? I was just shopping. So, I replied, "Well, yes. But I'm not at my job right now. I work in a hospital as a lab technician and we have a pretty strict dress code there obviously." She scoffed and said, "Well, let's see what Ansel has to say about this." Apparently, Ansel is the manager, a friend of hers. So, she races off to find him and I'm just standing there, looking at the beans, still trying to figure out how much I need, wondering what the hell just happened. Just as I put a couple of cans into my basket, the lady comes marching down the aisle with a man, whom I assume to be Ansel, wearing a manager-type apron. She was pointing at me like I was a kind of criminal and was saying, "Do you let your employees wear things like that? It's shameful, Ansel." Ansel looks at me and I can see him trying to place my face. He starts to look at me like he knows me from somewhere, then shakes his head and tells the lady that I don't work here. However, that lady was not having it. She looks between me and Ansel and tells him, "Of course she works here. I've seen her stocking the shelves and working the register before!" Ansel looks at me again and I swear, I can see the light bulb turning on in his head. He takes his walkie talkie and calls for someone called Irene report to aisle six. The lady is still going on about my outfit when Irene appears. I was completely shocked. This girl looked exactly like me when I was in high school. Same hair colour, same build, same facial features. It was like looking at a time machine photo of myself from ten years ago and I could tell from her expression that she was having the same weird moment, getting a glimpse of what she'd look like in a decade. Irene walks up, asking, "What's going on?" The lady quietly mumbles, "My mistake." And starts to slink away, but apparently, she could not resist getting one last dig in. So, she turns around and asks me, "Do you actually go out in public like that? That's just so shameful." However, no one paid the lady any heed. Ansel was so amazed by the resemblance that he had Irene and me pose together for a picture. We were both laughing about the whole situation by then. Some other customers even stopped to stare because of the similarity that was just so striking.

luna019197 — 2025-09-23 11:48:50 UTC

Tonight at a busy supermarket, I saw a little boy going up towards a little girl and asked if he could hug her because he liked her sweater. The girl, who looked like she was five or six, said no. So, the boy said, "Okay, I like your sweater. Bye." And then, he ran back to his parents who were at a nearby aisle shopping. He said to his father, "I didn't hug her because she said no, but I told her I liked her sweater!" His father replied with a smile, "Cool, buddy!" And then, they went on with their shopping. If a small child understands the 'complex' concept of consent, and the meaning of the word 'no', which many people don't seem to understand, then so should everyone else.

luna019197 — 2025-09-24 07:52:42 UTC

My twin sister, Yumiella, has copied everything I've done since we were kids. When I got bangs at thirteen, she got the exact same cut. When I started playing the guitar in high school, she bought a more expensive acoustic and took private lessons with the best teacher in town. When I dyed my hair purple for college, she went platinum blonde the very next day and got twice the compliments from everyone at family dinners. When I got my first job at a local art gallery, Yumiella suddenly developed a passion for modern art and landed an internship at a prestigious gallery downtown. When I started dating my college boyfriend, she befriended him on social media and began liking every post. Our parents always said it was cute sister bonding, but I knew better. Yumiella didn't want to be like me, she wanted to be superior to me. However, this time, she crossed every line. I'd been dating my college boyfriend for eight months. He was funny, smart, creative with photography, and actually listens when I ramble about my art projects for hours. Yumiella had been single for over a year. After her last relationship crashed, and I could see her studying us at family dinners, taking detailed mental notes on everything we did together. It started small and seemingly innocent. She'd show up at the coffee shop where we had our first date, ordering the exact same latte I always got, sitting at our usual table by the window. Then, she started appearing at our favourite movie theatre, buying tickets for the same showings that we bought and sitting exactly three rows behind us. She even somehow found our secret hiking trail that we discovered together, and began posting Instagram stories there on weekends. We didn't go using captions like 'Found this hidden gem!' and 'Nature therapy vibes!'. But Yumiella, being Yumiella, couldn't help but just upgrade and improve everything I did. When I wore thrifted vintage band tee on dates, she'd show up the next family dinner gathering wearing authentic designer vintage that probably costs more than my monthly rent. When I got my boyfriend a hand-made bracelet that I spent a long time working on for his birthday, she started taking up jewelry making classes and using silver and semi-precious gems. Then, she joined the same gym that my boyfriend went to. Suddenly, my sister who hadn't exercised since high school, was posting daily workout selfies and she always went there when my boyfriend was going to the gym. She learnt all his favourite bands overnight and became obsessed with alternative rock. She bought vinyl records and posted pictures of them with the captions like 'This speaks to my soul'. She started commenting heart emojis on every social media post within minutes. The breaking point was came when I found out she'd been texting him privately. "Just asking about surprise ideas for his birthday," she said. When I told her about this, she batted her eyelashes like butter wouldn't melt. "I want to help make his birthday special for my future brother-in-law," she replied. I wasn't even engaged yet. That's when I knew exactly what I had to do. I sat down with my boyfriend and told him what my plan was. So, we put the plan in action. One day, I told him that I wanted to break up with him and I needed space for my future art career. He acted devastated and respected my decision. I wanted to see how long it would take Yumiella to make her move. The answer? Three days. Three days after that, Yumiella showed up at his apartment with homemade cookies. She told him that she always thought he was amazing and that I was an idiot for letting him go. She asked him out right there on his doorstep. Here's the thing, he saw right through her act. He came straight to my apartment and told me everything. Turns out, he'd been suspicious of Yumiella's sudden interest in everything he liked for months. He thought something was off about her timing and how she knew all of his interests. When she made her move, he realized it was all part of some weird game she was playing with me. That day, my boyfriend told Yumiella that it was an act when we supposedly broke up and that we were still together. Then, we both immediately blocked her on everything, and our parents finally understood that her copying isn't cute sister behaviour. It's obsessive and toxic. My boyfriend proposed to me three months later with a ring he designed himself, something Yumiella could never copy or upgrade.

luna019197 — 2025-09-25 08:29:08 UTC

At my graduation dinner, everyone was laughing until Grandma smiled at me and said, "I'm glad the $3000 I sent you each month is helping." I paused, looked around and said, "I never got any money." The entire table went dead silent. You could hear the clinking of silverware from other tables but ours, dead quiet. My parents froze. My father's fork literally clattered onto his plate and my mother's hands started shaking as she reached for her wine glass. "What do you mean you never got any money?" Grandma asked, her voice getting that sharp edge I remembered from when she caught my cousins lying as kids. My mother cleared her throat nervously and said, "Mother, we can explain this later." "No," Grandma's voice cut through the air like a knife, "Explain it now. I've been sending $3000 checks to you every single month since she started college. Where is that money?" My brain started spinning. $3000 a month for four years? I started to do the Math in my head while everyone stared at me. That's when my little sister, Bree, who'd been scrolling through Instagram this whole time suddenly looked up and said, "Oh wait, is that where mom got the money for my BMW?" If the table was quiet before, now it was like a tomb. "Bree, shut up," my mother hissed. But it was too late "And my spring break to Cancun last month," Bree continued completely oblivious to horror spreading across the everyone's faces, "And that designer bag you bought me for Christmas." I felt like I was watching my life in slow motion. Four years, four brutal years, of working three jobs just to afford ramen noodles and textbooks. Sixty hours workweek while my parents took family vacations. Sleeping in a moldy basement apartment while my sister got a luxury car. "You stole it from me," I said, my voice barely a whisper. My father finally found his voice. "Riona, sweetheart, it's not what you think it looks like." "Really?" I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor, "Because it looks like you watched me destroy my health working multiple jobs while you used my money to spoil Bree." The restaurant felt like spinning. I remembered all those phone calls home, begging for help with textbooks, with rent. with groceries, all those times when they said money was tight and they couldn't help and that I needed to learn responsibility. "How much?" Grandma's voice was ice cold. I did the Math out loud, my voice getting stronger with each number, "$3000 times twelve months and it's four years. So, $144000." My mother started crying, "We were going to pay it back when you graduated." "With what money?" I laughed, but there was no humour in my voice, "You don't have that kind of cash, lying around spending it all on Bree's lifestyle." Bree finally looked up from her phone again, realizing this was about her. "Wait, so I have to give the car back? Are your serious right now? I turned to her, "You're worried about keeping the car that was bought with stolen money while I've been eating cheap sandwiches for dinner?" That's when Uncle Stuart, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up," Monica, please tell me you didn't actually steal from your own daughter." My mother's mascara was running down her cheeks, "We thought we could replace it before she found out." "Replace it? How?" Grandma demanded, "By letting Riona work herself to death?" I remembered the night last semester when I fainted at work from exhaustion. The manager had to drive me to urgent care because I couldn't afford an ambulance. I called my parents, crying, telling them I didn't know how much more I could take. They told me to push through it and that success requires sacrifice while they were living off my money. "I worked 80 hours some weekends," my voice cracking, "I haven't had a real meal in months. I've been wearing the same three outfits for two years because I couldn't afford new clothes." Grandma slowly reached her purse, "Riona, go pack your things. You're coming home with me tonight." "Grandma, I can't just..." I said. "Yes, you can," she replied. She pulled out a checkbook right there at the table. "Consider the first installment on what they owe you." She wrote the check and slid it across the table to me. It was for $20000. "What about my apartment lease?" I asked. "Your parents will handle it," she glared at my parents with a look that could melt steel. "Consider it a small price to pay for what you've stolen from Riona." My father tried one last time, "Riona, we're family. We can work this out." "Family," I picked up the check and said, "Family doesn't steal $144000 and watch their daughter suffer." As Grandma and I exited, I heard Bree ask, "So, can I still keep the car?" I didn't turn around to hear the answer. Sometimes, the people who claim they're protecting you are the ones who destroy your future and sometimes, the person who saves you has been trying to help all along.