The first suicide hit like a bullet
BANG
One of us dead, and at his own hand
The tension in the hallways filed into the ears of all those who walked
through its thick silence
It was a struggle to move through the heavy weight of a quiet hallway
People cried, whether they knew him or not
Teachers made promises,
“It’s worth it,” he said “I swear to you, it’s worth it.”
A moment of silence for the boy who is no longer living,
Whose hidden pain was known by none
Whose family will never be the same
Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary
The second suicide hit like a rock
THUNK
The hallways rang with growing confusion,
At every turn, each whisper faded into the next in a mirage of sadness
But mostly confusion
Letters were handed out, but there was no time for more tears and
speeches
They had postponed the moment of silence for the girl who is no longer living,
Whose hidden pain was known by none
Whose family will never be the same
Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary
The third suicide did not hit
SWOOSH
It was not silent anymore
There was laughing and talking, as the excitement of yesterday’s
football victory buzzed throughout noisy hallways
The letters were passed out late and no one read them
Teachers continued with their lesson plans
Students continued with their joke making and picture taking
Because people don’t have to keep caring after strike three
There was no moment of silence for the boy who is no longer living
Whose hidden pain was known by none
Whose family will never be the same
Whose future which once was mystery, is nothing but imaginary
This is our dystopia