He was dressed in a white shirt that was slightly stained near the collar, wearing a black jacket(windbreaker), and carrying a lightweight bag. With clouded eyes, pale skin, and a boy's face just beginning to mature.
At 6:30 a.m., he walked to school, eyes fixed upward toward the sky, daydreaming. It was a rather odd thing in some way, and he could not fully understand it. His friends mocked him, for he alone could see it, the roof of the world. Above him, a mighty sweep was suspended, held up by huge roots stretching upwards like the outstretched fingers of a hand, bearing up the enormous weight of the world.
The teenager was filled with wonder and curiosity. Was it only he who could see this strange reality? Was it just him who felt the world above him so undeniably real? The sky curved and bent in a seemingly bottomless stretch, out as far as the eye could reach.
And yet, in the midst of such marvel, he carried the burden of his own life, a life burdened by school tuition, the absence of his family, who rarely ever came home. When they did, they fell asleep without a word, without so much as a greeting, leaving him to walk through the world filled with loneliness.
As he hurried towards school, the sun was just coming up and was casting its light over the misty horizon. This is just a routine for him, as the distance from home to school is quite far. He once measured the distance and time it took to get to school, and the distance is estimated to be almost six kilometers.
When he arrives at school, his breathing is already steady because his stamina has been built up through his daily routine.
by the time he gets to school. The first lesson of the day has already begun.
The walls, once stark white, now lost their saturation and became a gritty sand texture. A few disordered wooden chairs, once polished brown, now faded to a yellowish hue, plastered with the weird scrawling graffiti of past students, a wooden table large enough for two students, is far worse than a chair; some of them get sculpted holes by generation.
As he entered the class, it was crowded, filled with the usual laughter. Atama took his seat in the middle, not bothering with noise in class, but a sudden tap on his shoulder startled him.
"Hey! Atama, want to go to the forest with us?"
A spoken friend. The instant pursued catches his Attention, Atama's eyes shine the brightest, lit by excitement. He changed his usual sitting position, rotating the back of his body, an instant of expression. Back then, he and others always played in the woods many times, but eventually they grew up, becoming stale by venturing into the wild forest. Shut in, solitary of maturity. But this time around is different; a glance of playful light takes his heart.
"Where's it, Mer…" Said Atama with his expression of color enthusiasm
"Mmh… It's not far away, it's on the west side of our school. If I'm not mistaken, there's a river, and I… also heard a rumor."
Atama was confused by the way he said
"What rumor?"
His friend looked around to make sure no one heard him and slowly whispered.
"Rumor has it, people are bathing in the river. You know… there's some beautiful naked women in that river."
His friend giggled in a way that reminded him of mischief perverts hatching their most outrageous plan. But at last, an angered aura struck both of them, someone eavesdropping, hearing the whisper for told planning. Even though Atama doesn't wanna get involved in the mischief of his friend, people guess that he is sinning. A sudden, jarring tremor rattled the table behind them, an irritated aura glimmering under that table, a figure of a girl with a menacing stare. A girl with brown short hair with of cute little chubby face, and some freckles on her neck.
"You fucking perv, that's the reason why y'all are lonely as fuck. Fucking pig!!" the girl gritted her teeth, and meanwhile, Mer was gasped by how she said.
Mer was silent for a bit, took a while looking at that girl's face, and he replied
"Shut the fuck up, you fuckable bitch. You're the reason why we get a boner every day. And that's the reason why there's a job called stripper, you fucking whore." Mer's voice responding to her like an annoying, mocking brat voice.
She became furious, and they both started steaming and mocking each other.
The intensity is so annoying that it makes it hard to hear the surroundings. Even their voices echo outside the classrooms. Atama had a sudden partake to leave the class, couldn't stand their lousy argument. It felt like a war between men versus women. The question has a simple answer, but they chose masculinity and femininity, which is wrong — at least, that's how Atama sees it. The answer has been known for a long time since the prophet's era, but humanity was too stupid to hear it back then.
Time has not been filled. So he, gonna waste his time walking to the bathroom with a tired thinking about his future, and also wash his face. While walking in the hallway, silence lurked in every class, no student nor teacher, just an empty shell of a room, beside there's a thug's student who filled some part of the class. Ignored everything, ignored the history of this place, once called searching for wisdom, to pursue knowledge.
Everything has been abandoned because of one mistake: a young man, pursued by dark thoughts, has taken his own soul. That tragedy made a deep wound in the reputation of this place. No parent wants to send their kid to one mistake; they think another school will be better than this place. Yes, they are correct. Still, even though in various places there's always a shadow lurking to haunt the root's causing the problem.
He glimpses the outside, muddy by the rain. "Such a gloomy day, isn't it?" He thought, Atama arrives at the toilet, Atama reached the bathroom, pushing open the door. What lay inside wasn't what he expected. What he saw, some violence between a group of lowlifes and the weakling student. Yet he ignored, deep within him, he wanted they to keep the violence more embraced.
Atama glanced at the weakling, and the weakling looked at him. Atama grinned. He had his reason why the weakling got caught and beaten? The reason why that the weakling is more cunning than others. But this time, the tide had crashed his raft, a simple karma.
If Atama interrupts their enjoyment, he will be the next one who gets hunted, as he alone is not capable of fighting those guys. Water flowed as he opened the sink, drowned his palm in greenish sink water.
At home, Atama rarely washes his body, making him lazy, despite the fact how dirty and corroded the water is. When the school is out, he bathes in the river down back his house. Atama opened the faucet washbasin water swirled with an eerie mixture of grime and dirt as he washed his face.
A flying shoe came out from the thug's student, striking Atama squarely on the head with a thud. As it bounced off his skull, it seemed almost to mock him. One of the thugs said
"Oii! Shithead! Don't just stand there—help your buddy!"
As the other thugs laugh, mocking him, knowing well that he will be part of the mockery of violence. Atama's reluctance to help stemmed from a more profound and subdued reality; the reason was, he was also a victim of that crafty man.
The bathroom was small, suffocatingly stale the air was, and a flickering fluorescent light overhead. Atama leaned back against the wastebasket, looking at the shattered mirror. His reflection was fractured, reflecting every facial part of his face.
Nothing happened despite his heart thumping wildly in his chest and his mind racing. No sound. No voice. Only the drowning silence filled the air like thick smoke. He felt the walls bearing down on him, pressing into his ribs, each breath more labored to take.
He knew what was coming. He wasn't an idiot. But there was no escaping this. The walls, the floor, the ceiling—everything was converging. It was almost absurd to think of fighting them all in this tiny space. Seven to one. He couldn't possibly win. All he could do was pretend not to notice and act scared to get out of this place.
A sudden hand grabbed Atama's shoulder, and he felt a panic surge through him; it was instinct. Before his mind could even process what was happening, his instincts took over. The pressure on his back was pushing him off balance, and as his body lurched forward, he spun around with the reflexes of someone trained to fight.
Without thinking, his fist flew out in a blur, connecting with the face of one of the thugs who had grabbed him. His heart drumming fast, but there was no turning back now. The person who had tried to pull him down staggered back, clutching his face. While Atama, in shock and high adrenaline, realised only then what he had done. The boy who'd been struck wiped blood from his lip, his eyes burning with rage.
Now, as he became the rabbit hunted by a pack of wolves, ready to pry the prey.
* * *
Breathe within his lungs, wet clothes with a few splashes of blood on his sleeves, he is gasping for breath, trying to get some air after running away
"Huff… huff..."
He ran, ran so fast, his heart pounding, beating faster with each step as adrenaline struck through him. As those thugs chased after him. He managed to slip into an empty classroom. A messy place where there's one to be living, windowed half open as the rain pours a little. He closed the door just as he heard the sound of footsteps rumbling in the hallway. It's hoard footstep, Atama's mind racing as he searched for a place to hide, looking for a spot that wasn't obvious.
As he looked around the class, the only place most secure was the teacher's desk, for in the meantime, without a second thought, he crouched low, making his way swiftly toward it.
As the hallway filled with thugs, the sound muffled outside the class as Atama hid. He can't deny wanting to hear it closely, curious what they said.
"Where's the brat hide?"
"Just tried searching the empty class, it's not far from here."
"Why are you bossing me, shit head?"
The angered sound echoed behind the door. He tried to stay silent, his heart pounding in his chest, all he could hear was his heart beating so fast like a festival drum, yet their voice became bigger. As he peeked up, looking outside the table, watching in the distance, hoping that nobody would open the door.
As he intensely watched the doorknob, unsure someone would break into the room, the beating heart gradually slowed its rhythm. Yet the grumbling crowd still echoed from his safety, as Atama looked surrounding again, checking if there was any place to hide. As the student's table is messy, not organized, and some abandoned books are littered on the floor, and yet there's none, but eventually he remembers, a half-open window as a breeze of rain comes in.
He slowly crawled to the window, and as his hand reached the frame, the uneven jagged spot, the rough texture of the wood rubbed his hand, as the window muntins were covered by iron. Atama slowly began to open the window bit by bit, and a creaking sound was produced, as he slowly pushed the window top that hung outward.
He leaned his head out the window as his skin was splashed with light rain. Atama looked for a long, protruding concrete canopy to stand on. But as he seeks, it's merely extending concrete, and yet, the rain embraces the weather to a little bit extreme. If he tries to stand on the little canopy, he has a higher chance to get falling.
In his thought, he wouldn't risk it; he desired to get out, he walked toward the door, placing his head against it, observing— yet no sound had been made.
Atama raised his hand symmetrically to his waist, grasping the knob of a lever. Slowly, turning rotated downwards. With each twist, the lever began to release the door latch. Atama peered slightly open the door outward, as he saw no one, a lifeless, silent hall. With caution, Atama opened more widely and more inclined as he looked further. Turning his body around to check the other side, what he saw was a figure that was blocking his vision so close to him. Atama slowly gazes upward.