The Storm
Tuesday morning. Ten after 8:00. It's raining, like it's been for a month. The noise of the drops of water landing on the roof of the establishment in a pitiful state is deafening. They fall faster and faster, louder and louder, until they form millions of perpendicular lines on the ground. In the room that bears the number 104 on its sign, the deep-seated sadness of one of my new comrades turns to anger. A flash of lightning appears in the far reaches of the dark sky, where all trace of the sun had disappeared. The light in the hall goes out, and gives way to a most desolate spectacle. The flash of light of unparalleled intensity illuminates the two rivals, like two monsters greedy for blood and power. The screams are so loud that they pierce the walls of the room until they reach the surrounding classes. On one side, one can feel a destructive hatred that has as its sole purpose terror, or revenge. On the other, fear emanates from a slender body that struggles to defend itself, like a helpless prey in the face of the scourge that lies before it, threatening its life. The affront is so violent that the other teacher present, alerted by a number of vulgarities, rushes outside to ask for reinforcements. In spite of this, the outcome of this affront, still unknown to the students of the third year of Koyama High School, was obvious to me. I was then unable to act.
Eight years ago, I lost my father to a terminal illness. There was nothing I could do. Sitting in a chair in front of a grammar class, I felt a sharp pinch in my chest, a pain so severe that I had to go to the infirmary. When I got home, my mother was away. I learned of my father's death on a recorded call. Seven years later, after making a resolution to follow my loved ones as best I could, I learned that my mother, then hospitalized for a so-called routine illness, was living her last moments in a cold, hard hospital bed. To this day, I find myself helplessly witnessing an unexpected massacre. But this time it was my presence that brought it about. My eyes glued to this butchery in shades of grey, I remain completely lost. No sound, no lip movement occurs against my will.
- You want another one? Haven't you had enough yet?
- What's that? We can't hear you well, you were saying? Do you want more?
- It's all your fault! It's all your fault!
The assailant is lying on the ground, his face bruised, completely disfigured and covered in blood. This gruesome scene makes me fall into a completely disordered psychic dimension. My head becomes heavy, sirens sound outside the building. My eyelids close in spite of the chaos. It continues to rain, again and again.