"I always read books where thoughts remain in one’s head, sweet thoughts and horrid thoughts remaining unknown to others unless spoken out loud. The society in these stories seems blessed and perfect in my eyes. Sure the good thoughts might not make it out, but those negative and destructive thoughts remained unseen and unheard. If only our world was like those stories and the negative thoughts of small harsh comments didn’t appear like prophecies on my skin, only to disappear with a rare sweet thought directed towards me. If only our society- no. our universe, wasn’t constantly reminding us that someone always held hatred for you.
The styles of clothes we wear are often designed to cover the most skin to hide the red-ish letters etched into everyone. And unfortunately the only good comments to stay are ones with important emotional meaning, like my friend Olivander. He has a special message forever engraved just below his clavicle. It reads "Be strong and look up because I couldn't. Be brave little brother. I love you." The last words his sister thought for him before taking her life three years ago.
Our world seems so tragic and dreary and being completely honest underneath the government forced image it is; but if you walked into my world right now, it’d seem happy and ordinary and fine because, well, it is. Yeah our world is fucked up but that’s just normal for us."
She looked up from her notebook at the clock.
She took the fraying once red now pink ribbon and marked her page and closed the poor beaten old notebook. She took the secret key attached to a small delicate chain from hidden under her shirt and locked the notebook, she then gently placed it inside her bag and tossed her school items in and a hoodie atop to completely hide the notebook from view as if it wasn’t there as it shouldn't be.
As she sat on the torn leather bus seat and stared out the dirty window as the homes and trees whizzed past in blurs. She watched as they passed an almost exact replica of their beaten up barely yellow school bus heading to the same Hell as everyday. As the busses continued on she let her mind wander to what she’d hear on the news playing in her step-mother’s living room.
“Man commits suicide a day after coming out with an imposible irrational therory about our “curse” as he put it. Some claim his death was a faked suicide; Authorities prove otherwise.”
Just a small beaten notebook could have her like that. Dead. The real question though is why? Why is everyone so against theories about it? Why don’t we talk about it? It’s against the law, especially to challenge this “fate” the universe has supposedly given us, but why?