Glitchophobia

The alarm rings from the room across from the little girl’s bed. She pays it no mind, however, as she is engulfed in her slumber. She desperately hoped this alarm would not be the end of her dreams of a land full of flowers, all she can keep to herself. Her desperation was not entirely sorrow; she was afraid. She had moved up a rank in the school hierarchy. No longer was she a meagre student; she had officially become a middle school student.

With a gentle touch on her shoulders, she has to face reality as her sweet dreams of a terrain full of the most bountiful harvest of flowers imaginable and colourful, iridescent butterflies swarming her reach their end. She was not ecstatic to wake up. Her mother’s smile did, however, mollify her anxiety effectively; instead of crying like a newborn infant, she had stared at her mother, adoring her.

The little girl in question was Maria. Specifically, Maria of the Quintrell household.

Maria’s mother took advantage of Maria’s stupor. She aided her early morning routine in a haste. She was surprised Maria had been in this trance-like state for so long. Her mother shrugged it off in her hurry shortly after, assuming she couldn’t sleep last night out of anticipation. This was partially true; Maria had slept later than she was intended to, ruminating. She was unconsciously optimistic, hence why her dreams were buoyant; this was also why she could sleep at all.

After little Maria had completed her morning routine, they headed towards the kitchen. Maria felt hungrier and hungrier as they approached the kitchen. She regarded her father’s cooking highly. Therefore, the fact that it was him cooking that day was enough to shake off her somnolence.

He had already created the perfect breakfast for her darling girl: two yolks, forming eyes reminiscent of the endless void that is the early morning sky. A bright tone of yellow so bright it reflected light perfectly, almost as perfectly as a mirror. Two strings of bacon as eyebrows paired with cheese falling next to the white portion of the egg, intended to complete the portrait. Although one may not recall it instantly, the father had made an attempt at recreating Rapunzel with breakfast material.

In the end, art or food, it did not matter. In Maria’s eyes, it was perfection. A masterpiece on a plate. Her eyes lit up with excitement as her plate was served.

“Wow!” She yelled excitedly. “Is this Rapunzel, daddy?”

“Indeed it is,” he replied casually, preparing her milk. “Daddy tried his best to recreate your favourite princess for his princess’ first day.”

“Awww,” she exhaled, “This is too perfect! How could I ever eat her?”

“Come on, Maria,” her mother intervened; “Do you want to be late on your first day?”

Her voice suggested she sought not to scold her, instead warning her through sarcasm. Maria nodded in agreement and picked up her fork, poking the yolk.

“At least...” she thought to herself, “...I won’t feel any guilt from eating you now, even though I still admire you...”

The father sat down after serving tea for his wife and himself, and warm milk for his darling girl. They all enjoyed their breakfast in silence, although it was only Maria who was eating.

From there on started the real challenge. It helped her anxiety that her parents agreed to drop her off so she would not get nervous on the bus from day one. That was not enough on its own, however; anxiety started bubbling up inside of her now that her first day was coming closer and closer. She spent her entire summer travelling with her parents and not even spending any time with her friends. What if the atmosphere is too cold? What if her friends were hesitant to talk with her again? What if they changed? Or worse yet, maybe her new class was full of strangers. What if she got bullied? She was trying to push away the thoughts, but it was to no avail as they attacked her one after the other, strengthening her fatigue from sleeping too little.

Her face of swinging emotions in distress caught the attention of her mother shortly. With a warm smile, she took Maria’s hand. She had foreseen something like this happening and sat next to her instead of sitting in the front seat. Slowly and delicately, she caressed Maria’s hand. Maria was surprised by the sudden touch at first, but either way, she clung to her mother’s hand. Her warmth was reassuring, kind of like the warmth of her bed after tucking herself under the blanket. She reminded herself that if she ever needed anything, her parents would be there for her. Maybe crying for them to come pick her up would not work anymore, because she was a big girl now, but hearing her mother’s soothing voice or her father’s calm tone would surely help her if she ever felt down again. She convinced herself, albeit with a little “push” from her mother. Her parents showing her affection was all she needed sometimes (and also head pats).

Alas, not even the finest of head pats or the comfiest car ride could delay the inevitable as they stood before her new school. For the better or for the worse, she was on her own from then on. Her parents bid her farewell for the day. She returned the favour hesitantly. She got out of the car and watched it drive away until its shape became incomprehensible. Because she had watched for so long, she found it silly that she could no longer see the car. It was almost as if it had disappeared like a body would in a video game in order to prevent the over-usage of hardware capability.

She headed towards her class, still a little dazed from their separation.

The opening ceremony was underway. One could not help but ponder whether they arrived at the wrong destination; it was as if this was a rally a politician held right before the elections. Frankly, it was the principal “spreading information about the school”. It was an unanswered question whether the grown-ups acknowledged this may count as propaganda on some terms. The ethics were especially questionable, considering the audience was no older than the estimated age to lose one’s last teeth.

...they were forced to listen under the name of a celebration. Maria hadn’t understood why this was even called a celebration; none of the kids were having fun, and the grown-ups were too stiff for her to guess their thoughts... At her age, how could she acknowledge why a private school’s principal is that happy for a new academic year?

After what felt like forever to the collective consciousness of all the children present, the opening ceremony came to a halt, with the national anthem roaring across the campus. Everyone sang their little hearts out and the teachers led the orchestra majestically—one that would befit the monarchs they mindlessly praised in the anthem.

The massive audience was progressively dismissed by the teachers and escorted to their respective classes. Screams of agony and ecstasy echoed across the overcrowded halls. These completely different emotions seemed to echo in harmony, as if two enemies had found common ground. That common ground was curiosity. They both sought to learn and cast aside their will to silence the opposite side.

There were also those who had not formed an opinion, nor any of the two aforementioned emotions. These were the ones who idyllically followed instructions, and, albeit unable to unite under any one emotion, they could find common ground in the sense that they refrained from anything that may contribute to the cacophony of the school halls.

Maria belonged to the third group. In a sense, she was a hybrid; she feared what middle school life would be like, yet she was also excited to uncover what was ahead. She implored to pick up a torch to light her own way.

That’s why she didn’t belong to either side. She differed from the rest of them.