Storm's POV

I couldn't wait to leave my house this morning. The place that I'm supposed to call home is becoming more and more like a prison each day. My older sister is still holed up in her bedroom even after listening to my relentless pleas that I voice through her door; mostly, she would just ignore me as if I was invisible but one time, she whispered, her voice croaky from sobbing for who knows how long:

"If my own parents couldn't see me when I needed them, then, I must be invisible. Stop talking to someone who's not there."

The fight not to let the tears leave my eyes after hearing these two heart-breaking sentences was the most challenging battle I ever had to endure. Much more difficult than those battles that are taught at school during History lessons. Did River feel like me when those words left her mouth? Like bursting into tears? Like having your heart torn apart? Because I don't know if it was in my head or not but I heard my heart break. Did she hear it, too? Did River feel guilty after bringing misery upon her younger sister? Or maybe all of that grief she had bottled up for all those years gradually ate away all her feelings until she became emotionless? Eight years, to be more specific. Enough time for a robbery of the soul and spirit of a teenager, who had to witness death too early on in her life, to take place. More than enough.

Dad has also tried getting River out of her bedroom but he has a different look in his eye than the one I have whenever I beseech her to open the door. Defeated. Demoralised. Loss of confidence. Loss of hope. Overwhelmed by adversity. He is no longer confident that he's a good parent and doesn't believe that he will ever be. This hardship that we are unluckily dealing with has overpowered both my parents.

Mum hasn't even dared to go near River's door since the argument she had with her during dinner. Even though she has been cancelling many shifts and has been staying at home, she rarely utters a word to me and stays by herself for most of the day. One time, I was about to enter the kitchen when I heard a cry. At first, I thought it must have been an animal outside. A cat. Maybe a dog. Lots of the residents on our road have pets, which Mum always complains about because there are always droppings on the pavement and sometimes, even in our front garden:

"If people don't want to clean up after their animals, then, they shouldn't be getting pets."

However, the cry couldn't be from outside because it was too loud. Too clear. Not muffled. Deciding to turn a blind eye(or ear?), I entered the kitchen but was shocked at what I had come face to face with. Mum was sat on the floor, her head in her hands, shaking uncontrollably.

"What's wrong?" I ask, glancing around the kitchen for any clues as to why I have found my Mum in this emotional state.

"I just burnt myself while cooking. I'll live," she says but I feel like there's more to the story.

"Where? Let me see! Have you put cold water on the place that has been burnt?" It sounds weird in my voice because normally, this sounds like what the adult would say to the child and not the other way round.

I step closer to where Mum is sitting, who still hasn't lifted hear head.

"I'm fine, Storm! You don't need to worry about me! For once, can you just leave me alone?" she snaps like an elastic band that has been stretched too far.

I step back, wounded by my mother's words.

Why did I think all of us struggling would unite us? We were already divided before and now, we're even more apart!

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean that!" Mum frantically asks for forgiveness.

"It's alright! I'll leave like you wanted," I say and I start to make my exit out of the kitchen but Mum asks me a question I never thought would leave her mouth:

"Do you think I'm a good mum?"

The shock had stopped me from answering and I walked away, deep in thought. How wrong was I when I was younger, thinking my parents are invincible. Too powerful to be defeated. Indestructible. Unbeatable. Watching Mum and Dad leave the house almost everyday to help sick people as much as they can during their twelve hours shifts led me to forget that they're only human. They have their weaknesses; everyone has had those times when they fall but falling doesn't make you weak. Falling, getting up and fighting again makes you strong as the comeback is always greater than the setback. Especially when you face your fear no matter how much you're trembling on the inside.

I'm sorry! I'm just looking at all the negatives in my life and forgetting about the positives. I definitely don't want to turn into a pessimist because I'm the only one left in my family that hasn't given up. I need to stay strong for my family even if they failed to stay strong for me. I've fallen but now, I'm getting up and fighting again. I am not a stubborn teenager; I am a determined warrior.

I am going to try to be as optimistic as possible; I'm going to try to focus on all the positives even when they're few. The other reason I couldn't wait to leave the house this morning because I was in urgent need to talk to Noah. While entering the school gates, I was trying to be realistic in my thinking and was preparing myself for the disappointment that was just waiting round the corner: Stella didn't want anything to do with him. I've encountered so many disappointments recently so another one couldn't hurt.

Ouch! That was deep! What happened with staying positive?

Right! Stay positive! I have to admit there was a tiny, unrealistic hope inside of me that Noah had good news. The news that I wanted to hear so badly that I could practically hear the words in Noah's voice: Stella had let down her walls and let Noah in. I had reason to have faith because of the conversation she and I had over the phone yesterday afternoon when Noah had knocked on her door.

Stella was so furious that I had given Noah her address that I could picture her on the other end, steam coming out of her ears just like in the cartoons I used to love to watch. I tried making her see this situation as a good opportunity but she was refusing to see what I was seeing and was adamant that she wasn't going to talk to Noah. Struggling to find something to convince her, I told her about Noah's suspension(against his wishes; he made me promise to never tell Stella because he didn't want her to feel guilty). Even if it felt wrong not listening to what he wanted, at the same time, I felt like I made the right decision because I could sense the shock coming from Stella, who hung up on me.

"Noah!" I call out, raising my arm frantically to catch his attention.

Noah turns around with an unreadable facial expression, which is making me even more nervous. He stops walking to allow me to catch up to him.

"Hey, Storm," he greets, "What's up?"

"Nothing much. How are you?" I try to act casual but I can't stop my fingers from trembling.

"Well, apart from being tired, I'm good. Especially because I had a chat with Stella."

"That's nice - WAIT WHAT?"

Noah can't wipe the amused grin from his face so I'm wondering if he's pranking me...but he couldn't be that mean, considering that he knows how much it means for the both of us.

"I. Had. A. Chat. With. Stella," he breaks it down for me as if I'm a toddler.

"How? What happened? What did she say? What did you say? Has she forgiven you?"

Does she still like you?

"Which question do you want me to answer first?" Noah teases me infuriatingly.

"Not funny."

"How is it possible that your mood can change so quickly?"

"Noah!"

"That's my name."

I give him a playful punch on his arm, which triggers an exaggerated reaction from him.

"What is that? A fist of steel?" He whines, eyeing my hand that is still curled up into a ball from lightly punching him.

"Yes. It's used on people who push my buttons."

"I wonder where that phrase-"

Noah stops talking when I gave him the I will give you a harder punch than last time face.

"I was giving you a test on how long you could stay without knowing what happened between Stella and I. For your information, you failed-"

"I. Do. Not. Care."

"Okay. Now, listen up because this is what you've been waiting for..."

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I've been staring at this piece of paper for so long yet I still haven't thought of a topic for the English homework my teacher only set for me. As soon as I came back from school, I made myself sit down and try to start my homework because the deadline is near but I still have nothing. I just don't have any inspiration.

Well, it's a bit difficult to get inspiration when you have other worries.

Positivity! Why does saying that remind me of Grouchy from The Smurfs 2? Now, that I think of it I haven't watched either The Smurfs or it's sequel for ages. Both of the movies are hilarious and because I really need to laugh, I tell myself that I'll watch it on the weekend. However, I make a deal with myself that if I'm going to have a movie weekend, I have to start and finish my English project by then. No more thoughts of smurfs or movies until the weekend; I'll only be concentrating on my project. What was I thinking about before my thoughts contained small, blue creatures? If you haven't noticed, I get side tracked really easily.

Oh, right! I was complaining that I didn't have any inspiration; the only idea I've managed to come up with is that the purpose of my presentation is going to be inspiring(yes, I was paying attention in the lesson that we were taught how to plan a presentation). Now, the next question is what will inspire my audience, which is in my case my class. Is there even an answer to that? I really have to be imaginative; I've always been told that imagination can take you everywhere but it's only now that it has sunk in. What will inspire an abnormal audience? What will inspire a group of judgemental people put together in one room?

A group of people who will judge you on a miniscule detail. A group of people who will judge you before they even know you. I start to massage my temples as if it's going to make me brainstorm any more ideas faster. I have to think outside of the box...that's it! The light bulb moment I've been waiting for. I grab the pen that has been waiting to be picked up and scribble the fastest I've ever written onto the blank piece of paper. A few minutes later, I smile while I stare at piece of paper that is now full of notes. My plan is done. Time to get started on the main part.

I bounce off my bed, where I have been lying down as I ponder about what my topic should be for my project, and get onto the floor. My eyes start to search the dark space underneath my bed, which is full of so much dust that if Mum would have seen it she would have freaked out before handing me all the cleaning supplies she has stashed away in the cupboard under the kitchen sink. The state of the place under my bed is not my number one priority but I will get to cleaning my room once I finish my project. I stretch out my arm as much as I can into the darkness but it only confirms that there's nothing of use in the most forgotten place of my bedroom. I cover my mouth with my other hand to stop myself from vomiting when I pull back the arm that I sent into the dustiest place on this planet to discover that it's covered in filth. My to-do list is in urgent need of an update!

I stand up and approach my wardrobe. With my clean hand, I open one of the doors of my wardrobe and look down at the bottom of the piece of furniture, where I usually put my shoes. I can't stop the corners of my mouth forming a grin when I find exactly what I need.

For the first time in a while, I feel alive. Being inspired truly is the most incredible feeling ever.