Don’t hurt me. The words are still there where the dream left them, leaving my breath quickened as my feet hit the ground without glancing at the clock; the shrill sound of it was enough to let them know.
Today’s a new start. Dear Jona Rivers, today is going to be a good day and here’s why. That’s stupid, of course. Pointless. And yet, I scramble for reasons as they poured steaming water over the leaves, filling their eyes with cloudy white.
The man pretended to still be asleep, pushing away the inevitable duty of talking.
Today will be a good day.
The woman kept her eyes closed, already wishing for it to be night again.
Today is a new day.
Grimly, they stared at themselves in the mirror, nodding as if something depended on it. Which it did. In some way. In some small, stupid, endlessly insignificant way. And yet.
And yet. The bus driver smiled, and they returned it in their thin-lipped way, shuffling into the seat right behind the driver’s cabin. Something about this feels safe even though I know that if someone ran through the bus with a knife right now, I’d be trapped. A bomb was even more inevitable. And if a fire were to start –
“Jona Rivers?”
The name makes them start, the students about them staring for a moment before returning to their own trains of thoughts. Get out get out get out get out get out get out get out get out The chain of words lengthens, wrapping around my neck.
Tiles. They’d been staring at them for a long time, I think. The tiles and the lonely scriptures of public school toilet stalls. Some could be poems, others only acronyms, but all have place and a purpose. Edged so deep into the walls the cleaning staff didn’t even bother anymore. The squeak of chalk against a blackboard, the hum of lights. Music blaring from headphones they aren’t wearing.
Nothing unusual. Nothing that could make them feel uneasy and yet everything’s in my throat. Squeezing, pushing, wanting to get out. I don’t let it; that’s the one thing I’ve gotten good at.
They stared, even the teacher’s gazes darting away whenever they happened to lock eyes for even just a moment, unnerved by the insistent glare of those muddy ones. Sometimes, she wondered if they ever blinked at all, forgetting about the thought before it had quite taken shape.
There are more important things. The kids behind me are laughing, their conversation trickling by me without shape, only few words actually finding my ears but today I don’t want to listen. Today, I just want to be alone. Today’s not going to be a good day.
Today is empty
© Katharina Krüger 2023-08-26