On to the next round and double elimination, Dystopian scene

​I'm in the top 8 of the Project Writeway Challenge. This next week the challenge is to write a 400 word dystopian scene. Voting will be on Thursday and Friday until midnight and you may vote for your favorite two. I've got to invent a dystopian society and characters and a problem all while my children come home and I fix something for dinner. Here's my entry from last week. Thank you for voting and for your continued support.
​
CeeMee Right
 
            “Can teenagers love?” asked my oldest daughter. She’s dated a young man for over a year. I loved a boy in high school. He proposed. I said no and left for college where I met my husband.
            I write to be forgiven.
            After a three hour elementary school concert, we found my second daughter hiding under a table, crying. When classes weren’t performing, the rest of the school waited together in a large room. The noise, the bodies, the smells were all too much for her. At other times, the seams of her socks, the buzz of fluorescent lights, lumpy oatmeal on her tongue, my anger, her tantrums, me shoving her out the door to get to school…
            I write to understand.
            My son worships his dad. They wrestle, joke, torch a stripped lug nut to change a tire. To become a man, my son sleeps in a tent on the frozen snow, endures his dad tickling him for an entire minute, and hauls himself up on his chin-up bar when he goes in or out of his room.
            I write to relate.
            I review Shakespeare lines with my fifth grader, proofread papers for my 9th grader, sort through pennies with my son for a merit badge, write down my five year-old son’s stories about monsters, and relive moments of my senior’s life as she prepares for college. I listen to my children’s successes, failures, heartaches, joys. I teach them that the only person they can control is themselves. Still, there are suicide bombings, earthquakes, sexual abuse, cancer.
            I remember the pain of a broken heart, the rage of childhood, being left out of wrestling matches between my dad and five younger brothers. I write because I remember. I write to fix a world I can’t control.