“AAASDAsdasadasdaaasasasaasasaASADADADADADASDASASDADADASADASDADASD”
At the corner of the room, that boy screamed to his heart’s content – he smashed his table and threw his accessories all around the room – he threw himself onto the floor and made the largest of rackets – he broke windows, tossed chairs, smashed his head on the wall over and over and over and over again – blood spurted from his disgusting forehead and he ran his fingers across the walls until the surface of his skin broke in a most ruthless manner. Yes, he took the shards of glass and he carved despicable thoughts on his skin, and he ripped the ceiling fan down from the ceiling – the wires tugged desperately to the wall above, and the boy made a make-shift noose – yes, his body hung in that room for God knows how long.
…except he didn’t do any of these things – he was a dishonest boy indeed – all he did was crouch down at the corner of the rom and weep to himself silently. His peers detested him greatly – they carried on with their work.
*
I’m gay, lol. Except I’m not, I just need to write something in this section. Maybe I’ll put it in italics too to make it look like an extremely important quote.
*
As the Maths lesson droned on, a girl named Mathilda stopped by the back window of the room. Spring was in full bloom, and cherry blossoms fluttered around her in a really dramatic way – so dramatic that I don’t even want to write in his literary way anymore fuck this, let’s just write normally right now.
So anyways, this girl named Mathilda stops by the window, and she looks into the classroom to see all of these diligent Asians with their faces down in their paper and writing like the little Chink robots they are – except one of them – no, one of them was a brown little shit, probably from some shit-hole country in SEA – and he was in the corner crying his little eyes out. Mathilda felt bad for him for a small moment, but she then realised that she had to get to her English teacher’s office quickly so she could suck his dick and avoid being expelled for how illiterate of a girl she is. She could taste bitterness in her mouth already, but at this point, it was just a normal Tuesday afternoon.
Except it was Wednesday at the time.
*
The setting of this scene is one where the sun is making its preparations to set – in short, it was dusk. The sky was orange in a most beautiful fashion, and the sun filtered by the light clouds created a warm tint to the scenario – like an old worn out photograph, taken with a polaroid camera, perhaps.
At the centre of the school was a monstrously tall tree that overlooked the entirety of the suburb, and at the very top sat the boy himself, hanging his legs playfully over the branch and playing a sorrowful tune on his half-cracked ocarina. The melody soared throughout the land, yet the only response he could make out were the echoes of his own instrument. Stopping now, the world became silent again, and he considered jumping off and attempting to sprout wings-
-which was exactly what he did. Of course, his ocarina came crashing down, shattering into a million pieces – however, the same could not be said for his head. It is true that he landed on the concrete head first, but all he could manage was a little chip off of his head – though, that didn’t matter much, for the crack healed away by the time he raised himself. He peered down at the blood on the ground and wondered if it was even his – nevertheless, he despaired at the fact that he simply could not die.
