Requiem [COMPLETED]

This Is What Happens When You Work With the System

Coach had been wrecked when he heard the news. Sven had committed suicide. Or he'd tried, and was now in a coma, hovering between alive and dead. He'd gone to his office and sat down, unable to function normally, and sat staring at nothing.

It wasn't his first time being wrong about something of this magnitude, but he really hadn't seen it coming this time. The other kid had had clear signs, but he'd been a young teacher then and unaware of depression and suicide, or at least, what to look for. Sven had always been a fighter. Now Coach was looking backward but still didn't have 20/20 vision—the signals didn't line up.

Sven had had dreams of college, of leaving town...but he hadn't ever gotten into specifics. He'd focused on sports because Coach had told him it was his best shot at a scholarship, intent on each season as it came. He didn't even know if Sven had applied to any universities. Sven was so emotional the last few months; as a kid he'd been in fights, had meltdowns in class, but then had seemed to grow out of it. He always sought alone time, did things like wear earplugs on the bus to and from games or when he sat on the bench, as if even small crowds were too much noise to bear. He'd seen Sven appear calm on the field or in a confrontation and then found him later in the locker room seemingly comatose while awake, as if he had lockjaw from tetanus. Or as if he'd taken drugs. But he'd overheard so much over the years as students chatted in hallways and lunch, he knew Sven was infamous for his dislike of taking anything that might lead to 'relaxing' or 'feeling less.' He wasn't the type to be reckless. And generally leaving him alone, eventually Sven always seemed able to gather himself together and come back to the world. Coach had always worried about those infrequent trances, but he learned they seemed to stem from stress.

Sven had regularly had bruises, though he'd generally been good at hiding them. He'd only had a couple broken bones since Coach had known him, and he'd seemed to have legitimate reasons for them... Sven wasn't exactly good with people, but his honesty and integrity eventually won over some people. Coach had always been fond of the strange, thin, bluntly honest boy. Sven had so much moxie, the way he'd work so hard for anything he wanted. Yes, he'd not been himself lately, but he hadn't pulled away from his few good friends at school, still had taken a lot more care of his little sister than some kids ever did, he'd worked just as hard as always in football. He'd wanted that state championship.

They'd just won the game that was going to get them into the state finals when... no, it didn't make sense at all.

And he knew, without seeking out Sven's friends, that it had been a home situation gone out of control. He knew Sven's control slipped easier than most, how easily he could get overwhelmed, but Coach Velo knew, he just knew with bone deep assurance that this seemed impossible—that Sven would think that was the way out. That Sven would feel death was the only potential freedom.

Coach barely knew the grandfather but deeply disliked him; he knew no hard evidence of wrong doing of him though... but that didn't mean he wasn't ultimately at fault.

Sven had seemed so tenaciously attached to life and the future...What could drive him to suicide?

Somebody was knocking persistently. Finally Coach got up and answered the door—John and Seamus looked like ghosts. His stomach fell further; the guilt was on their faces, but he was the adult in this situation. And he'd let his boys down.

"We can't sit in class," John said. The announcement had been made at large then, to the whole school by now.

Seamus looked ready to cry. "Can we talk to you?" Coach wanted to say what damn good would it do now? but knew that would make it worse and walked back to his chair, letting the boys filter in and slump in the other seats.