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