Prompt: 7. "All the other girls/boys your age help their mother out all the time. Why aren't you?"

Cohort: Three

Words: 1403

Written for the Camp Jupiter Writing forum.

Notes: This occurs sometime in the 1940s or so when Hazel moves to Alaska.

Sometimes Hazel wondered if her mother would ever stop complaining. But that was selfish of her - or at least, she was sure that was what Marie Levesque would say. After all, her mother had the right to complain - and it wasn't even complaining, it was telling the truth - since Hazel was an ungrateful child.

She never helped her mother out, and she always lazed around. Her mother had to do everything, work, cook, clean, and do the laundry, and Hazel did nothing to help. Hazel didn't even appreciate her mother or say thank you. The rude child poor Marie Levesque had to deal with was quite a nuisance, and always drew for far too long and complained far too much. And Hazel was only a child, so what right did she have to complain compared to her mother?

Really, if anyone listened to Marie Levesque when she was angry and wanted to complain (which was quite often, in Hazel's opinion) it would be easy to believe that Hazel was a lazy, ungrateful, bratty child and her poor mother was overworked and underappreciated.

But things were rarely as simple as that.

Besides, Hazel's mother rarely complained to anyone but Hazel. It made it awful annoying, because while some of the complaints were about the awful mannered people her mother had to deal with at work, a lot of it also had to do with her. And Hazel had never met someone who enjoyed hearing lots of scathing complaints about themself, so she felt justified in not wanting to listen to that every day of the week.

Some of the complaints had truth to them, for sure - Hazel supposed she did spend an awful lot of time drawing, but that didn't mean she didn't help her mother. Conveniently, her mother forgot every day that Hazel folded all of the laundry, made her own breakfast and fixed her lunch while her mother was at work, and did all of her homework and attended school. But apparently, Hazel did nothing but go to school, browse the internet and doodle absentmindedly and then finish her homework much later than all of the other children did.

"Hazel! Come and do this!" That was a common phrase she heard. Hazel often responded saying that she had homework and studying to do, which annoyed her mother. Typical responses from Marie Levesque often included: "All the other kids are helping their parents and already finished their work", "I know you're not doing your homework, you're just drawing!", "You're not even doing your homework, don't lie to me", or "Don't talk back to me, I'm your mother."

Sometimes it felt like her mother harbored a monster inside of her. At times, Hazel felt like her mother was being possessed - otherwise, why on earth had they gone to Alaska? Her mother hated the cold. And why was her mother forcing her to use her powers on that strange island? But perhaps Hazel just wanted an excuse to justify herself, a way to escape judgement.

At any rate, Hazel didn't wish to dwell on that now. She couldn't do anything about it. After all, today was a special day. Her teachers hadn't assigned much work and she had flown through it, giving her ample time to draw. She had found this wonderful book in her school's library that contained a few pictures of horses - Hazel was looking forward to using them as a reference for her art.

The sound of footsteps and a door swinging open startled Hazel, snapping her back to reality. Marie Levesque was home, and she was not happy about it.

"Hazel!"

Wincing, Hazel walked hesitantly over to the front door where her mother stood with a scowl.

"Aren't you going to say hi to your mother?" Marie asked Hazel condescendingly while taking off her boots. "It's the least you could do after the day I've had."

"Hello, mom," Hazel said dutifully.

Muttering curses under her breath, Hazel's mom strode to the kitchen. "What a mess," she muttered. Spinning around, she faced Hazel again. "Well? Aren't you going to ask about how work was for me?"

Hazel didn't mention that her mother never bothered to ask her how school had gone, or about any of her hobbies. But as fortune telling wasn't the most prosperous job, her mother was forced to do odd cleaning jobs at restaurants. And working at restaurants had proved to be quite infuriating for Marie - and Hazel understood that. "How was work?"

"Awful," Marie Levesque announced, moving plates around loudly. Hazel couldn't help but tense at the noise of cabinet doors slamming shut and the clanking of the dishes. "My boss decided to cut some of my hours and the customers made a mess." She then proceeded to swear at her boss and the customers.

"I'm sorry," Hazel murmured.

Hazel's mother scoffed. "Are you really, Hazel? Where were you when I was working my butt off for you? Sitting pretty at home, not even bothering to help around the house? Just look at the mess you made. You don't even bother to talk to me anymore. I'm doing this all for you. And what do I get for it?"

Swallowing, Hazel cast her gaze downwards. She could feel her eyes pricking, but forced herself not to cry. What had she done to deserve this? What had she done to her mother? Hazel had done her best to keep the house from getting messy, had done her homework and everything. She had made her dinner and washed the dishes, but it hadn't gotten her anywhere. And what could she do when hard work wasn't enough?

Complaining under her breath, Hazel's mother turned to her, a look of contempt in her eyes. "All the other girls your age help their mother out all the time. Why aren't you?"

"I do, mom," Hazel protested softly, her eyes blurring. "I make my dinner, and I summon the gems-"

"Is that all you can do?" Marie shrieked. "I've ruined my entire life for you, Hazel, and I don't even get appreciation? You're just like your father - selfish, lazy, and arrogant! You know, Hazel, if I had another chance at life I would have never had you. You're supposed to be a gift, but you're just a stupid curse. Why do I even waste my time with you?" She snorted. "Just be ready by eight, we're going to the island today."

With one last scathing look, Marie Levesque turned and stalked to her room. Hazel was left alone in the kitchen, numb. She wiped her tears away hastily and walked away with a slight slump in her shoulders.

She entered her room, not bothered by the dim lighting. The darker, the better. She stood in the doorway for a moment, her mind reeling. How she wished she could be better, more helpful to her mother. How Hazel wished she could measure up to her mother's standards, to make her mother proud. But at times like this, it felt impossible.

What was even worse was that she had felt so at peace before her mother had come home. Hazel had been looking forward to her free time, and had been naively blissful. She had even done the dishes, put them away how she knew her mother like them - but it still wasn't enough.

But what if Hazel was just a lost cause. Maybe she really was a failure - a selfish, lazy, arrogant child who didn't know how to be a good person. Perhaps wasn't capable of doing anything good for the world.

Maybe she would never be good enough. Her fate could be to become a worthless child, not worthy of anything. But that was a lie. Fate had given her all she needed, had given her powers. But she had misstepped somewhere down the line, and now she was stuck in an endless loop of torture.

Hazel didn't know anymore - she couldn't tell fact from fiction, it was all so obscure.

All she had left was the hope that her mother wasn't right, and that her mother just had impossible standards. That Hazel was enough, that she could do good, and that she wasn't what her mother depicted her to be.

But while Hazel desperately hoped that to be true, all she had at that moment were her mother's twisted words.

And she couldn't help but think that she would never be good enough.

A/N: This was written last minute and probably has countless grammatical errors. Apologies.