The leaves hadn't even turned brown before the first suicide of the year.
At St. Briar's University, the stakes are so high that at least one suicide is expected. In a world full of privilege and royalty, poison and snakes, students are expected to...
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'showed you all of my hiding spots
i was dancing when the music stopped
and in the disbelief i cant face r e i n v e n t i o n
i havent met the new me yet'
(taylor swift)
>>>
kennedy
a faded olive green room.
I stand in the center, blinking in the dim light.
It's an art gallery, almost, with statues and paintings scattered about the room.
It's vacant, void of anything. The eerie silence somehow does not ring alarm bells in my head, so I walk about the room, gazing at the works of art on display.
One painting is of a girl with a hand clawing out of her eye, like someone tiny was trapped inside her and she needed to get out. The piece of artwork radiates something desperate, something panicked. Like everything is crumbling around you, like the world is falling to ashes and you can't do anything about it except try to escape. So the only thing you can do is try any way you can think of to escape the danger lurking like a cloud over your heart, wreaking havoc on your body.
I just move on.
This next painting is of the outline of a woman in the Milky Way, stars dancing across her skin, across her cheekbones, like freckles. Her eyes are planets, filled with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.
Behind her, a flaming ball of fire, an asteroid, hurtles towards her as she stands searching for answers in the universe, as if on her journey for knowledge she became distracted by her ponderings, too blinded from the real danger.
The next painting is one of the shadows of a girl, her faith concealed with the darkness- her skin is made of ash, and fire licks at the fabric of her dress, charring her skin. This one radiates mystery again- like the girl in the previous picture never got her answers and the asteroid ruined her.
And then I come across the statue.
It's marble, the smooth surface of the piece gleaming in the soft light of the room.
I recognize it, I've seen it before but never in person.
The controversial Memorial for Unborn Children, by Martin Hudacek.
