Trophy: An Animated Short Film Proposal

The alarm rings. A young woman wakes, brushes her teeth, and looks in the mirror. The glowing battery bar is already partially drained, flickering in orange.

As she stands, the room tilts slightly. She grips the sink, waiting for the dizziness to pass before she can move on. Her body is heavy and achy as she drags herself to work. After a 10 AM meeting, a coworker says, “You look exhausted.” She cracks a little smile and says, “Rough night,” knowing well that sleep never truly restores her. The bar above her head continues to drain as she pushes through the day.

At home, her mom sighs. “You’re in your twenties, you shouldn’t be this tired,” she says. The girl thinks, Maybe I am just tired. I’ll just have to work harder. She eats dinner in silence and goes to bed, the bar flickering orange.

The next morning, the cycle repeats. She wakes unrefreshed, the battery bar still depleted. As she gets out of bed, a wave of dizziness hits her, forcing her to sit back down. Days pass like this. Some mornings are worse than others. Some days the bar drops sharply after a small effort, crashing without warning.

The scene shifts to an outing with friends sharing updates about moving for a new job, vacations, and marathon training. The girl sits with them smiling, but the energetic chatter washes over her. The gap between their lives and hers feels vast, and she is falling behind.

The scene shifts to the doctor’s office. The first doctor dismisses her, saying “It’s probably stress.” Endless blood draws and days pass in a blur. Finally, a new doctor steps in and says, “It’s Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.” The words fill the whole screen and echo in her mind. The doctor places a huge, cold, metallic trophy in her hands. It is so heavy that she needs both arms to hold it. She stares, confused. I fought for this diagnosis for months. Why don’t I feel happy?

The trophy is a curse. It represents every dismissed symptom, every sudden crash, every stolen ounce of energy. She carries it everywhere, a constant, exhausting reminder.

There’s a turning point. She finds an online support group. Chat bubbles flood her screen. Some mirror her exact story:

“I wake up exhausted no matter how long I sleep.”

“I get dizzy just standing up.”

Others offer gentle advice:

“Here’s a resource that helped me.”

“I finally got accommodations at work by explaining it this way.”

“My doctor finally listened after I showed them this.”

For the first time, she is not alone in her room with her trophy.

This shared understanding changes the trophy’s weight. It doesn’t vanish, but it transforms. Day by day, as she learns to pace, to advocate, and to listen, the massive trophy shrinks. It becomes smaller, more manageable.

In the final scene, she straightens the trophy on her desk, a small, deliberate gesture of acceptance. It is no longer a burden to carry, but a part of who she is. It represents the fight that taught her relentless self-advocacy and deep empathy. The film ends as it began. She wakes. The battery bar glows, still depleted, still unpredictable. She pauses, steadying herself before standing. She looks at the trophy on her desk, then at her reflection. She now understands her own limits, and in that knowledge, she has found a different kind of strength.