He walks the halls everyday.
People pass by, some noticing, some not. It doesn't matter to him really. If
someone notices him, they notice him. If someone doesn't, well its just another
bothersome human being he doesn't have to deal with. He doesn't walk with the
weight of the world on his shoulders, simply his own self-created woes. He
doesn't walk knowing each step may be his last, but only that each step brings
him no further to his goal.
His friends all watch him go about his daily routine, thinking nothing wrong. He
tries his best to put on a mask, and keep his feelings down. But every time he
walks by, he knows that he has failed. No one understands how it feels to him.
This feeling of emptiness. He's tried everything, but it turns out his whole
being wouldn't be enough to change what has become.
He walks home from the bus that night, having stayed after school with no one
for many hours. He spent those hours alone, as he spends every hour of his life,
in deep thought. He thought of his own life, his own meaning, and how, in his
own eyes, he had not fulfilled any of it. He is depressed, seeking guidance but
no one is there. He is lost, seeking directions but no one cares. His own
desperation to remain alone and be with everyone at the same time causes
conflict in his mind, conflict even he cannot solve.
So he walks home that night, with more determination then he has ever walked. He
passes by his family members, paying them no heed, not even a passing hello.
They all know somethings wrong, but he won't tell them what. He drops his book
bag on his bed, and takes one look at the pictures on the wall. He walks to the
bathroom and locks the door behind him.
He isn't found until later that night. His younger siblings knock repeatedly
asking to use to bathroom. Finally they get an adult who, sensing something,
forces open the door. They find him in a pool of his own blood. Deep cuts are
carved down his wrists, the razors that had done the unholy deed lying in the
sink. Etched on the mirror are two words "I'm sorry.", the letters dripping with
his own blood. No other explanation was visible.
Immediately the mother breaks down into tears, and the father blames himself.
The family has their time to mourn, before the school informs its students.
Those who thought they knew him cried the most. Shed tears over something they
had no power over. That feeling of helplessness sweeps through the hallways. His
friends gather together for support, his teachers in confusion. No one saw it
coming, no one knew that it might happen.
The entire school is sad. People who only saw him in passing remember him
fondly, how he often smiled at them not even knowing them. People who saw him
everyday will remember his cheerful disposition, and the shadow behind every
word.
His funeral takes place in a local church. The pastor who had baptized him
presides over it, his eyes watery, his voice cracked. The family sits in the
front row, each trying to hold back the river of tears that doesn't seem to end.
Half the school shows up to attend. Many wishing to pay their respects, some
wishing to simply get out of school. Students cry, students console, they all
pay their respects. The funeral ends, and slowly people siphon out, stopping
before the coffin to take one final look at him before he is covered in an
earthy shroud. One by one his friends filter by, shaking their heads in denial.
One girl walks up to the corpse, thoughts of unspoken love rage through her
head. "If" becomes a burning question in her skull. She takes his hand in hers
and with one final kiss leaves. But to her dying day she will swear she saw a
single tear running down his cheek.