The Weighted Pain

 One that makes your heart beat faster, sting with a sharp sensation, the heavy feeling… 

The suffering.

Why do people treat me this way? I’m getting tired of it, you know. I’m human too, I’ve got a heart, not a stone. Every word you say, every mocking laugh you produce gleefully pains me. That sort of look in your face as you ridicule me, do you know how it makes me feel? Stupid. I feel stupid for being unable to protect myself. I mean, why should I let a pathetic person such as you treat me this way? Oh, then again, perchance I am the futile one, since I cannot defend myself against you. Well, I’d rather not. Who are you that I’d waste my breath, my voice, my saliva? You’re not supposed to be talked to. Yes, you’re popular with almost every single person in school, but who the hell cares? I don’t give a damn with your fame. That doesn’t give you the right to treat me the way you do. You’re shameful. Go learn a life.

I hate school at this time of the year.

School was unimaginably boring, period. I figure that’s all you’ve got to know, since in reading that reasonable statement of mine, you’d immediately be able to make a mental image of what is on my mind. Pressure and sheer hassles enveloped our blazing day; the mere possibility that you might not take the future examination should you let your ennui overpower you was disturbing in itself. Fighting something that you cannot see is way harder than one can possibly think. Do you get that irking sensation when humidity combined with chaos strike at the same time? That tiresome activity of fanning yourself with a useless piece of paper to relieve the heat until your arms became sore, only to aggravate your annoyance? It’s futile, and that’s what’s making everything worse.

Done ranting.

I thus conclude: heat plus pressure (Uh, no, I’m not talking about a protolith being transformed into a metamorphic rock…) equals pure irritation.