sickly-sweet

A gentle breeze brushed against my face, rustling my carelessly styled hair. But I didn't pay it much attention — I was late for school again, something that had almost become a daily routine.

"Wait!" someone called out from behind, just as I crossed the school gates. "Come here right now!"

I stopped in my tracks and turned toward a young woman standing near the entrance, a clipboard in her hand. My breath was ragged, and my face felt flushed and sweaty from the run. It was as if my own body had decided to embarrass me even further.

"You could've been even later," she said, her voice soft but with a hint of disapproval. "Being late on the first day is just terrible."

Her tone was kind, though, and there was a warmth in her eyes, a hint of concern. She reached out and smoothed down my messy hair before adjusting the tie around my neck.

"Thank you," I muttered, bowing slightly to avoid meeting her gaze.

"Aren't you hot in those long sleeves? It's pretty warm out today, and you're dressed like it's winter. That's not right."

"N-no, I'm fine," I stammered, feeling the blood drain from my face. The heat in my cheeks from running was quickly replaced by a cold, creeping sensation.

"P-please excuse me, I have to go," I said, still avoiding her eyes, and hurried away. As I left, I heard her call after me, "Take care of yourself."

***

Standing outside the classroom door, sweat ran down my back. I didn't want to go in. Fear churned inside me, making it hard to breathe. The realization that only a thin door separated me from my personal hell sent waves of dread through me. My thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess, unable to settle on anything coherent.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a tall guy with a ponytail stood in the doorway, staring down at me with a look of disgust. I froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, but he didn't say anything. He just walked past me, shoving my shoulder as he went.

"I hate school," I thought, the words ringing loud and clear in my mind. If my brain were a stadium, all my neurons would be chanting that one thought in unison.

After lingering a moment longer at the door, I finally gathered the courage to step inside. No one paid any attention to me. A few sideways glances, sure, but nothing significant.

Everything went as usual: I took my seat, stared out the window, half-listened to the teacher, endured the insults, the hits to the head, and held back the tears. Day in, day out, it was always the same, with brief breaks for weekends, holidays, and the time I spent at home.

I'd had enough. For too long, conflicting emotions had raged inside me, but now my limit had been reached. I couldn't resist the thoughts of self-destruction any longer. The emptiness that had been eating away at me would soon take control and end my life.

Each day spent in this classroom, surrounded by these people, eroded what was left of my identity. My only remaining companion was self-destruction, always offering the same simple way out.

While lost in thought, I was beaten again. For what reason? No reason. Teenagers are unnecessarily cruel, driven by a need to assert dominance or something. I didn't understand their animal logic, and frankly, I didn't care to. Maybe, if I did understand, things would feel easier, but something inside me kept pushing for another path.

Barely able to stand, I wiped the blood from my nose and dragged myself home. I didn't even bother taking my backpack — I wouldn't need it anymore. I wasn't thinking about what would happen when I got home in this state, or what tomorrow might bring. None of it mattered anymore. My identity had burned away, and self-destruction was now in control.

That intoxicating, sickly-sweet self-destruction. It rotted away the last shreds of reason, wrapping its dark narratives around me. It pulled me toward the station, where I always caught the train home. Realizing I had lost all control over myself, all I could do was cry. It was the only thing left I could do — weep away the last remnants of my humanity before committing the ultimate sin.

The loud blare of the train's horn, the blinding lights growing larger, consuming my vision... and then, darkness.