the reason behind his death became a complete silence. whenever his name was asked down the empty dark hallways, the students would always answer with a simple, "who's that?", as if they don't know the answer, or just pretending not to.
after all, the silent was always inside of him, trying his best not to think about the negativity around him, the filthy words leaving their mouth, how is his own family treating him like shit, and the same question ringing in his head of rotten youth, "will he always be like this?" living but dead?
the same students would hovered down his body of skin and bones, would kill his slaughtered mind, would always leave him bruised up and painted with dead butterflies. so when the night comes, he always would stare up the oxford sky, would hear the whisper of unknown in his ears, the whispers were the silent peeling off his organs, leaving it perished inside of him. "kill them, kill them, kill them."
but what can he do? after all, even if he wanted to fight that very moment, he didn't even realized he was a cold body hugging the garnet tinted floor. mouth opened, with the same almond orbs asking for the littlest of help, and begging the gods of gods above him to make him alive again, because he wasn't ready.
ready to feel the fire burning his lungs, he wasn't ready to die, and will never be ready to die, but he just did.
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the same floor, the same room. it was something only him could remember, the floor was a painting of his death. the place, it was for him. his breath hitched the moment he heard the voice echoing in the floor, the voice of whispers, the voice he wanted to hear for a long time.
"Welcome to Nequara, Silent boy."
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ik this is getting boring, i wasn't planning to do narrations only because i suck at it, so i really hope this spice up things so you guys can have your suspicions. :D
