In A Week I Will Be Dead

Chapter Six: Prisoner

!!!TW!!!

Bullying, suicide references

IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING CALL THE SAMARITANS ON 116 123 <3 <3 <3

Noah

When I head to tutors the next morning, I see the edge of a little envelope sticking out of my pigeon hole. It's identical to the one I found under my desk the day before. I hastily grab it and stuff into my backpack, knowing that something like that could draw unwanted attention to myself. I don't particularly want any 'Noah has a love letter' rumours going around. As in most learning establishments, by the end of the week it'll have turned into a nightmarish whirlpool of lies, whereby Noah, the protagonist, would have been mailing a stranded damsel in distress love letters confessing his undying love. Whilst said damsel returns the favour with more love letters he confesses that he thought she was a boy, and is actually gay. He will then move to the moon, become a recluse, and vow to live the rest of his days as a homosexual moon-cat. I stifle a laugh at the thought of me being romantically involved with anyone. 

I stop in my tracks, and mull over the possibilities. What if the letter is a joke? What if it's a new way of pushing me into torment? I shake the thought from my mind. But as quickly as I shook the last one, another idea starts to spread across my thoughts like a contagious disease. What if the writer is...someone who likes me? All this time, I've been assuming that the writer is some poor messed up kid in another year reaching out for help. But...what if...no. No, it can't happen. It wouldn't happen. I've pretty much got the personality of a rock. Well, a rock with a fringe. That's not really attractive to members of the opposite sex. It's not like they come across a corpse and start swooning over its personality. They walk away and complain about the smell. I am the-rock-fringe-corpse-weirdo that comes up with weird things like the-rock-fringe-corpse-weirdo. Jeez, I am such an odd bloke. But in my defence, we all go a little mad sometimes, because it would be madness not to.

When I finally arrive at tutors, I find that although I'm a few minutes late I am still the first person there. I remove my rucksack from my back and direct it to the floor with a well-practised swivel of the shoulders. I take a seat at the desk, look around to make sure I'm alone, and open my envelope. Again, a few typed letters greet me, with the same types of abstract headings as before. I begin to intently read the first page, absorbing all the information eagerly, trying to find some clue as to whom the words belong to. However, the first section that takes my interest is 'it's a secret'. As I read I can tell it's a little more personal, just as 'to show my internet brain' section was a personal experience.

It's a Secret:

The definition of a secret is something that is 'not known or seen nor not meant to be known or seen by others'. In other words, 'a no no to blab to other people'. I had an incident a few years back where I told somebody a secret. They then told somebody else in front of many other people to impress them with this knowledge and hindered my relationship with someone else. The secret was not of malice so don't you worry, and that's actually not important, the act of treachery came when it was spilt to other unchosen people.

Embarrassment crept over my body, and redness filled my face which I had never experienced before. I then got angry and made this known, and was later told I was being unreasonable for getting annoyed. I was so discombobulated, but I apologised anyway because I always say sorry for everything. Step on a rock: sorry, trip myself: sorry, someone hits someone else: sorry. It's one of the flaws in the riddle of my being.

Now the consequence that follows after a secret of yours is told is: trusting nobody. Every little detail is kept in my brain, which can lead to explosions of information if I'm not careful. So, in some way these letters are also an event book in which I can share the chronological events which enter my life, and by typing them onto this paper release them from inside my crammed cranium. So far I believe it to be working, but I don't want to jinx it. Many of the things I'm sharing would never be said out loud by me in person. It's a beautiful thing, as it's such an open secret that it's hard to pinpoint the origin. The origin being me of course. You may find the Y axis point but never the X, or vice versa.