vesisika
Member
- Dec 16, 2023
- 17
Two months ago, we had a traditional festival day at school, the most anticipated day of the year. Popcorn, candy, free condoms with our school's logo and no lessons. Music shows and comedians. Everything what the average youth would want from a school day if they got to decide. I had pretty decent time with my friends. The day ended and I went to Ikea with my friend to buy stuff for my future flat. I got home from shopping and started playing a game named V rising. It's about vampires and combat. I really loved the game. I was just getting my basement upgraded and I felt like I had found something I'm interested in. When I was gaming I looked at my phone hoping someone would have needed me. I had like 50 notifications. I opened my messages and then I read it. My classmate was gone. My heart was pounding, I started sweating, ripping hair out of my head, I sat down for a second just to get up and repeat that for 100 times because I didn't know what else to do. I called my friends, they agreed with me that it wasn't real. The principal sent a message for the whole school, to 700 students that one of us has passed away. She is gone. Forever. The weekend went by. All I could do was to iron my black button up skirt for Monday. No one told us to dress formal or black, but still most of the 700 students did. Something had really happened. The first school morning came, lessons were cancelled and my class was sitting in the hallway, it was silent as the grave, quite literally. We were in the 5th floor, and the elevator opened, there were like multiple social workers and psychologist, and they seemed terrified. Even they didn't know what to think. What to say. One of them was crying, our group's "main teacher". She was really broken. One of her "kids" like she called us had killed herself. She cried, we all cried. People that didn't know her cried in the hallways. We were all just, empty. She had a memorial table in the second floor. Well, first it was one table, but there were so many flowers from her friends and other people, even randoms from other schools, that we needed 3 tables to be able to put all the flowers there. There was also a book we could write stuff about her. A goodbye, words about what she meant for each and every one of us, apologies about stuff that should have been done. It was a thick book, but almost every page got filled. And the flowers, our biology teacher was changing the water and cutting the bad ends out of them like after every lesson, because that was everything she could do.
The memorial was there for a week and when I got my shit together I took the pen and started writing. And thinking. I though about our first school day, I was sitting in the right corner of the classroom, anxious as fuck and she sat down behind me. She had partly dyed her hair red, and she had cool clothes and a rainbow bag what all screamed gay. I gathered all my courage and turned around in my seat and I said something to her because she was so cool. I don't remember what but I said something, not knowing that 1,5 years later I would be sitting in her chair crying my eyes out when our teacher tells us she has killed herself. But back in the day, she made me feel safe. We had a same history course together, and again I gathered all my courage to ask her could I sit next to her. And she said ofc, ofc she said that, she was so nice. I learned that she hated history, and loved art. She was pretty damn good at it. We watched Joker together, because she wasn't interested about the course. She also loved pulp fiction. And I learned she loved David Bowie's music. I didn't know then that one year later I would be listening Life on mars on her funeral. After the course she gave me a high five bc she passed the course with like a C. I was proud of her. I got drunk the very first time of my life with her. She offered me a cigarette but I didn't took it. She laughed at me and called me pussy. I didn't know that three months later I would have wanted to smoke with her, more than anything.
She was a smart, most badass, gayest and art hipster person I have ever known. But the thing is, I didn't really even know her. I saw her mother the first time in her funeral. I hugged her, and I wished there was something I could have said. Something I could have done. Something else than buying a red rose and ironing the shirt. There wasn't. When I think about art, I think of her. When it's raining I wonder could there be a rainbow so I could look at it and think of her. When I see hair dye, I think of all the different kinds of hair she had. I was also supposed to dye her hair with my friend but we didn't have enough time. When we talk about mental health, I don't think about mine, I think of hers. When I drink alcohol, I think about her. When I think about history. When I think about school. When I think of video games I cannot longer play. When I think. But when she committed suicide, I am sure she wasn't thinking about me, we were just casual classmates after all, nothing special. She didn't know how much her death would affect us. me. And then I started thinking about the saying that there is always people that love you, even though you don't know that. And I started to believe in it.
-Rest in peace, A
The memorial was there for a week and when I got my shit together I took the pen and started writing. And thinking. I though about our first school day, I was sitting in the right corner of the classroom, anxious as fuck and she sat down behind me. She had partly dyed her hair red, and she had cool clothes and a rainbow bag what all screamed gay. I gathered all my courage and turned around in my seat and I said something to her because she was so cool. I don't remember what but I said something, not knowing that 1,5 years later I would be sitting in her chair crying my eyes out when our teacher tells us she has killed herself. But back in the day, she made me feel safe. We had a same history course together, and again I gathered all my courage to ask her could I sit next to her. And she said ofc, ofc she said that, she was so nice. I learned that she hated history, and loved art. She was pretty damn good at it. We watched Joker together, because she wasn't interested about the course. She also loved pulp fiction. And I learned she loved David Bowie's music. I didn't know then that one year later I would be listening Life on mars on her funeral. After the course she gave me a high five bc she passed the course with like a C. I was proud of her. I got drunk the very first time of my life with her. She offered me a cigarette but I didn't took it. She laughed at me and called me pussy. I didn't know that three months later I would have wanted to smoke with her, more than anything.
She was a smart, most badass, gayest and art hipster person I have ever known. But the thing is, I didn't really even know her. I saw her mother the first time in her funeral. I hugged her, and I wished there was something I could have said. Something I could have done. Something else than buying a red rose and ironing the shirt. There wasn't. When I think about art, I think of her. When it's raining I wonder could there be a rainbow so I could look at it and think of her. When I see hair dye, I think of all the different kinds of hair she had. I was also supposed to dye her hair with my friend but we didn't have enough time. When we talk about mental health, I don't think about mine, I think of hers. When I drink alcohol, I think about her. When I think about history. When I think about school. When I think of video games I cannot longer play. When I think. But when she committed suicide, I am sure she wasn't thinking about me, we were just casual classmates after all, nothing special. She didn't know how much her death would affect us. me. And then I started thinking about the saying that there is always people that love you, even though you don't know that. And I started to believe in it.
-Rest in peace, A
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