I ask myself if I am worthless or, at least worthy of anything? The demons in my circle demand a sacrifice and I cannot choose between dignity and bravery. But when the headmaster’s tongue lick my lips, I start to cry. Nobody shall cry in the circle. The whips of rumors and lies graze my skin until it bleeds and I feel numb. They ask me again–the demons. I look at them with my white eyes, lost in the forest of burning trees and crepitating branches, and surrender both my dignity and bravery for slavery. And now what I only hold is the sound of bullets through the laughter of mouths. The shrill of scream and gun replace the tick of the clock and it has become my sweet-sounding wind; my forbidden nature where I rest my bones. Sometimes too I ask myself which one can make me feel slightly worthy: the ring of a shot in my throat or the others? And I have found the answer when I pull the trigger in everyone’s head.
WORD COUNT: 176
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