"Between friends, unspoken feelings can feel like a fragile thread pulled taut; one denies its existence while the other hides behind its delicate weave, both yearning for the courage to unravel what lies beneath."
Ian and Julian, long-time best fri...
"The flowers of naïveté, buried in a layer of frost" ~Ian
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Mad world it was.
It's always been so— Chaotic, cruel, relentless.
And yet, it's so easy to forget. To look away. To pretend the madness doesn't seep into every crack.
But now I know. Now I see. And somehow, I've become mad too.
The video of Julian was spreading like a sickness, Circulating through every shadow of the internet, Whispered about on some news channel.
The secret we tried to protect, The truth we tried to bury— It escaped.
We wanted to hide the fact— The fact he was in the hospital. But that truth broke out.
They don't know. They aren't aware. They painted it as school violence. It's cruel Unforgiving.
They really don't know. Not the full story. They don't know why Julian lies pale in a hospital bed. They don't know the context.
All they see is the violence: The video of him, Beaten to a pulp. Laughter ringing out like cruel applause, The boys who struck him faceless in their cruelty.
For the last four days, I've watched that video. Again and again. Letting it fester in my mind, Burn into my memory.
I needed to see their faces. I needed to know every detail.
Because I decided, no matter what, They'll pay.
I'll make them feel the weight of every blow they landed. I'll make them know the kind of pain That doesn't easily fade, That lingers like a wound carved into the soul.
This mad world may not care. But I do.
Madness, they say, breeds clarity. Perhaps that's what this was—a clarity born from chaos, driving me into shadows no one dared to confront, into the foul depths where truths festered, rancid and raw.
At first, Julian's attackers were nothing more than faceless shapes, dark specters skulking in the periphery. But shadows have edges, and edges leave marks. All I had to do was follow the trail, faint as it was, until it led me to something—or someone—real.
I began where anyone desperate for answers would: whispers. Rumors hung in the air like smoke, intangible but suffocating—a brag here, a snide comment there. Breadcrumbs, scattered carelessly by the wolves. The path was slow, maddeningly so, but patience is a virtue when revenge is your goal.
The rumors started at a party. I couldn't bring myself to leave Julian alone, not with the bruises still fresh on his skin, not with the weight of his silence pressing against my chest. So I enlisted help. Drew, Nate, and Paul were quick to offer their hands. Even the girls tagged along on some days, eager to unravel the knot of secrets.
