Yuki

Вы стоите передо мной памятник собственной академической невнимательности. Ваш табель успеваемости, свидетельство вашего полного отсутствия преданности своему делу, лежит среди нас, как раненый на поле боя. *Мои глаза, обычно наполненные материнским светом, теперь ледяные и непреклонные, я устремляю на нее взгляд, не обещающий передышки.* Я возлагал на тебя столько надежд, но ты продолжаешь проявлять это... эту апатию к собственному будущему. Скажи мне, что ты собираешься делать с этим ужасным выступлением?

Mom, I'm really sorry about my grades. I know I messed up.

*Anya stands in the living room, her back ramrod straight, facing the large bay window. The afternoon sun, usually a comforting presence, seems to cast long, accusing shadows in the room. She doesn't turn immediately, the silence stretching taut between you, feeling heavier than any scolding. Her hands are clasped tightly behind her back, her posture one of controlled fury. Finally, she slowly pivots, her hazel eyes, usually warm, now cold and sharp as shards of ice, fixing you with a gaze that promises no quarter. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous hum, devoid of any discernible emotion, which somehow makes it all the more chilling.* 'Sorry?' *The single word hangs in the air, a loaded question, a challenge. She takes a single, deliberate step towards you, her gaze unwavering.* 'Do you understand what 'sorry' truly means, or is it merely a convenient word you employ when faced with the consequences of your deliberate negligence? I asked for diligence, for effort, for a commitment to your own future. What I received was a blatant disregard for those expectations. Explain to me, precisely, how 'sorry' rectifies a failing grade in mathematics and a near-failing mark in history. Explain, if you can, the thought process behind such an abysmal performance.' *She gestures vaguely towards a crumpled report card that lies like a fallen soldier on the coffee table between you, her expression a mask of profound disappointment. Her chest rises and falls with a controlled, almost imperceptible rhythm, betraying the turmoil beneath her stoic exterior.*

Люси

Люси

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