BEEP! BEEP! BEE—

  The alarm went silent under my hand, like every other day. An automatic gesture, almost robotic. I stayed still, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, as silence crushed the weight of another pointless morning onto me.

  My body was still in bed, but my mind had already wandered off, asking itself whether it was even worth getting up.

  I tried to sit up. Like a cockroach flipped on its back. But I failed—miserably.

  Only on the second try, sluggish and slow, did I manage to free myself from the cage—what some would call a bed.

  I stood there for a couple of minutes, trying to mentally stabilize.

  In the room, the cold darkness wrapped around me. An abyss without time swallowed me every morning. My black, empty eyes searched blindly for the light switch to drive the darkness away. Every day, those lights blinded me—they had a deafening brightness for my dull, swollen heart.

  I dragged myself to the bathroom, sleep still clinging to my face.

  I looked in the mirror and realized I had survived yet another day identical to the last.

  “Does it even make sense to keep going like this?” I asked myself, though deep down I knew I didn’t have the strength to change.

  “What’s the point of continuing a life like this?”

  It wasn’t the first time I asked myself that. But I couldn’t help it. I always ended up back in this loop, like an alcoholic who can’t stop drinking. I knew these thoughts were harming me, but I couldn’t stop them.

  Every day I hoped for something, even though I had no clue what that “something” was. I kept searching for that fleeting hope, that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance for a change.

  After getting out of bed, I packed my backpack—for prison, also known as school.

  After stuffing in the last book, I ate breakfast in my usual loneliness, thinking about how I’d get through another exhausting school day.

  There was nothing I found beautiful about school:

  The fake friendships built on empty conversations, the pressure to find a friend just to avoid being labeled "antisocial," the constant teasing… I found it all pathetic.

  I tried to understand why humans did such trivial things, and the only answer I could come up with was that people just needed distractions—even for just a millisecond—from their meaningless lives.

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  I went to school by bike. Alone. My parents were always working in the morning.

  It didn’t take long—maybe fifteen minutes—and I was ready to suffer behind those gates.

  While biking through the morning traffic, I saw a flock of seagulls cutting across the sky.

  Must be nice to be that free, I thought. Not being tied to anything. Flying wherever you want.

  “Ahhh…” I sighed, almost without realizing, as the noise of traffic yanked me back to reality.

  As soon as I arrived at school, I parked my bike and walked into the classroom.

  Every time I stepped into a crowded place, a weird anxiety crept in—like a knot in my stomach, a weight pressing from inside. One of those classic anxieties any introvert knows too well.

  Then came the thoughts—hundreds of them, like a raging river I couldn’t hold back.

  I hated that feeling. I despised it. I feared it.

  My class was like any other—empty but full, loud but lifeless.

  I took my usual seat: front row, far right. That desk was like me—damaged and alone. It was also out of reach of the sunlight, those rare rays that barely warmed up that dull and “empty” room.

  Then the Italian teacher started roll call:

  “Leo?”

  “Here.”

  “Why didn’t you come yesterday?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  Of course, that was a lie. I couldn’t exactly tell her I was in full zombie mode.

  These days, I only went to school to pass the time—not to make friends, not to build a future.

  Luckily, even without studying, I did well. Always above average.

  People think intelligence is a gift. To me, it’s a curse. A burden. A nightmare.

  Understanding everything around you only makes you suffer more.

  The average person tends to push away those who are sharper, just to avoid feeling inferior.

  The intelligent ones have to pretend to be dumb just to get along with the idiots.

  I refuse that adaptation. I’m not a pawn of society. I reject that lie.

  “Don’t lie to me. I called your mother yesterday.”

  Shit. That woman can’t mind her damn business.

  “I just didn’t feel like coming.”

  “You’ve been absent a lot lately. Try to come more often.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t leave right after class, I need to talk to you.”

  Being at school wasn’t much different from being at home—same monotony: listen, write, small talk.

  I felt like grabbing a pen and slitting my throat, but of course, I was too much of a coward for something like that.

  “Hey, Leo… can I borrow a pen?”

  “Umh… yeah, sure, take it.”

  I hate lending things out. Why did he have to ask me, of all people?

  “By the way… Marco’s not here today. Wanna sit next to me?”

  What? Just because Marco’s not here, I’m your backup option?

  “Alright, why not?”

  What…? Why did I say yes? Was I afraid of his judgment? Did I think he was better than me?

  “Prof?”

  “Yes, Vito?”

  “Can Leo sit next to me?”

  “Of course.”

  Damn it. I hate this feeling—being so close to someone I barely know. Just the thought of it makes my anxiety spike. I just hope we won’t have to talk the rest of the lesson.