She gets up, still sleepy, goes down to the kitchen and eats milk with cereals. When her parents come to have breakfast, she goes up, to have a shower. She dresses up and prepares her bag, and goes waiting for her parents next to the car.
After leaving her mother at work, her father leaves her a bit far from the school, but not as far as her house is. During the way to school, she sees shops trying to delay the moment, she doesn’t see her colleagues passing through her, turning their heads away, she doesn’t need to.
When she arrives at school, she’s late, there’s nobody in the corridors, so much the better. As she enters the classroom, the teacher argues and her peers laugh. She looks for a seat, but no one wants her next to them, so she seats in the back as usual.
In the morning break, everyone make fun of her:
-Freak!
-Fuckbag!
-Bitch…
Or simply don’t look, maybe that’s better. Every day the same thing, always the same routine, no one to talk to. Lunch is the worst; she prefers to take food from home rather than going to the cafeteria.
After a very tiring afternoon she walks slowly back home. She likes to walk, better than going by bus with the other jerks. Arriving home her maid asks how her day was, she says it was like always. She goes to her room, lies on the bed and closes her eyes
- I’m sick of it! - she thinks- Today is going to be different…
On her time to leave, the maid walks out the house, goes up to her car, and when she is going to open the car door, she sees a black liquid sliding down the door. She looks to the top of her car and sees her, with a twisted neck and vacant eyes, looking back…
What can bring us to suicide? Is it ourselves, thoughts, those closest to us, the society? Or is it everything? How many of us think of doing it, but only a few go all the way…
Should they be feared? Criticised? Or praised?
After leaving her mother at work, her father leaves her a bit far from the school, but not as far as her house is. During the way to school, she sees shops trying to delay the moment, she doesn’t see her colleagues passing through her, turning their heads away, she doesn’t need to.
When she arrives at school, she’s late, there’s nobody in the corridors, so much the better. As she enters the classroom, the teacher argues and her peers laugh. She looks for a seat, but no one wants her next to them, so she seats in the back as usual.
In the morning break, everyone make fun of her:
-Freak!
-Fuckbag!
-Bitch…
Or simply don’t look, maybe that’s better. Every day the same thing, always the same routine, no one to talk to. Lunch is the worst; she prefers to take food from home rather than going to the cafeteria.
After a very tiring afternoon she walks slowly back home. She likes to walk, better than going by bus with the other jerks. Arriving home her maid asks how her day was, she says it was like always. She goes to her room, lies on the bed and closes her eyes
- I’m sick of it! - she thinks- Today is going to be different…
On her time to leave, the maid walks out the house, goes up to her car, and when she is going to open the car door, she sees a black liquid sliding down the door. She looks to the top of her car and sees her, with a twisted neck and vacant eyes, looking back…
What can bring us to suicide? Is it ourselves, thoughts, those closest to us, the society? Or is it everything? How many of us think of doing it, but only a few go all the way…
Should they be feared? Criticised? Or praised?
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário