Saints and Sinners

I | I try

Seven months later.

Pov: Stellan Eriksson

"Expectation is the root of all heartache," said William Shakespeare, and I live by it. 

For life is brutal in its uncertainty, in its arcane recurrences, unsolvable enigmas, in its highs and lows—what else besides keeping myself locked within the confines of my room can prevent me from being swallowed by despair? I can't think of anything else. 

It's the same scene every day.

Every passing day is a repeat of the preceding one, the same disappointment, the same empty feeling, the same loneliness and all within the same bed I curl up in every night, expecting the next day to be a better one.

Maybe not as unfeeling as the one before but...

Nothing's new. Everything remains as it is. 

As the years have passed, my place in the world has crystallized: it's within the comfort of my room. Here, I dwell for the majority of my days, except for the eight obligatory hours spent at school. Much like the faceless crowds that drift past me in the corridors, I too remain unseen, a silent observer caught in the static ebb and flow of life's monotony.

Some days I prefer it, but most days I don't. 

Today, I desperately need it, for today marks the first day of year three in high school.

More specifically, I will be spending another year at St. Augustine's School for the Elite. 

This school mirrors a monastery of shattered aspirations, contrasting the fervent dreams of a promising tomorrow against the stark reality of me as a student, trapped within the crippling portrayal of the duality between the privileged and the marginalized.

Between who can and who can't.

Ultimately, St. Augustine's epitomizes the blurred line between virtue and vice, where its elite students straddle the line between power and decadence.

Individuals are often categorized as either saints or sinners. 

But where do I fit in this ungodly dichotomy? 

I wouldn't know, for as Franz Kafka once said, "I never wish to be easily defined."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

This is how my mind works, but you wouldn't know that now, would you?

That's the complexity of the human mind, a fascinating creation by the divine. Merely by looking at someone, you can't discern their inner thoughts. We often assume that a smile signifies happiness, while a frown suggests sadness.

But what if I were to smile constantly? 

Would you assume I'm always content? Always happy? 

Most likely, yes. And therein lies the irony—I appear happy all the time.

Nobody knows that I'm shattered on the inside.

That's for me to acknowledge, for me to come up with ways to cope and try. This is how I try. 

Every day, I try and always succeed. You don't see anyone questioning my sanity, do you?

Because I'm always smiling, pairing it with my long sleeves, and my solitary demeanour that forbids me from actively voicing my thoughts.