Suicide as a crime

     I open my eyes slightly, letting the bright light of sunrise pierce my iris violently, making my eyes water. I blink a few times, trying to get used to the light, and finally, I reach out my hand vehemently to the alarm, punching it to stop.

     As much as I would like to stay in bed and chew on what I just dreamed of, this is an impossibility in such a meticulously organized world, full of all kinds of things to do. I already know what my morning routine is, and the list I have, I check it superficially, just in case there might be something new on it. But every morning is the same, without even a new thing.

     I lift my body out of bed as if it's an anchor I'm forced to pull after me. Without hesitation, I gather the bedsheets, open the window and place them on the windowsill, letting them ventilate, both they and the room. I sit at my desk, opening the first drawer and pulling out a small file from which I pull out a sheet of paper from today. I frivolously check the lines that indicate the things I have to do for today. I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. I put the To-Do List back in the folder, putting it in its place in the drawer.

     From another desk drawer, I pull out a small piece of paper, take a pen from the holder, and look at the white sheet, thinking about what I want to write on it. A new day, a new note.

How is your day? Still, feeling suicidal?

    -IA

     I fold the paper in four and carefully place it in one of the textbooks I take with me today. Given that I finish biology class when he comes in, we have time to give our notes, sticking them to the inside of the bench. Most students leave their notes there, but we dare not look only for our own. We do not want to be involved in other situations that do not concern us.

     I get up from the office, check my backpack again, and go to the bathroom where I am forced to do my morning routine. Arriving in front of the mirror, I look carefully at the circles that are too prominent, of a diseased purple. My face is pale and my black hair makes my face thinner than usual. With such an appearance, the world would become suspicious, ask too many questions and maybe I would get into trouble because of it.

     After washing my face with the products intended for my skin type and after cleaning my teeth, I lean towards the cupboard below the sink, kneeling. I carefully place my hand behind the closet and examine the place gently, my fingers finally touching a glossier part of the closet. Carefully peel off the scotch and with the other hand, I catch the falling tube.

     I grab the tube and get up. I rotate the lid and with a thin brush, I take out a skin-colored liquid that I carefully apply over the circles. I massage it with my fingers until it enters the skin, becoming transparent, but with the power to cover the purple spots on the eyes.

     My guitar teacher gave it to me. I don't know from where she’s getting such objects, but I know for sure that they are illegal. There are smuggled products that end up on the black market. And our black market means that someone gets these objects in a way only known by them and passes them on to those they trust. To people who won’t snitch them to the Government. Given that snitching is a gesture encouraged by the Government, many risks being caught. Even my guitar teacher knows some weirder people who have been caught. It is rumored that they ended up in prison, but I have the strange impression that they were executed without anyone's knowledge.

     This product is called conciliar, and my guitar teacher often told me that this product was very varied hundreds of years ago, with most women using it. At one time men also used them, but society did not agree with these measures. Women wore makeup to be more beautiful, and those on television abused these products, looking impeccable.

     I put the tube back in, gluing it back with scotch tape. If my mother found out I owned something like this, not only would she not know what it was, but she would throw it away and start watching every corner of the house.

     I get out of the bathroom and go to the room, where I change my pajamas, make the bed and leave the window folded. I grab the straps of my backpack and go straight to the kitchen, where I am greeted by my mother and father. The two read the newspaper, not talking and sitting with a cup of coffee in front of them. I stare at them in silence for a few moments, wondering if their To-Do List says they should read the newspapers or if they do it for pleasure.

     “Good morning!” I say, greeting them with a short gesture of my hand.

     The two greet me simultaneously, folding the newspapers and putting them aside. My mother points to the plate on the sideboard. Today she prepared me an omelet rich in protein and carbohydrates. Given that I have fast burns, it took a special diet for me to be able to accumulate enough calories.

     “Tomorrow we have to go get you a dress for your birthday,” my mother whispers to me, raising the corners of her mouth in a wide smile full of excitement.

     I nod without adding another word. My birthday is coming soon and, unfortunately, I'm not too thrilled. On the contrary, I feel very stressed because it is not just any anniversary, it is the 16th birthday.

     I grab the plate and sit down at the table without making a sound. I eat quietly, but I feel the pressure of my mother waiting for me to tell her how electrified I am that I am finally 16 years old. But I choose to shut up and enjoy my breakfast with a cold glass of fresh milk.

     “Well, we're going to work. Do you have a guitar lesson today?’’ my mother asks, getting up from the table and gathering her coffee cups.

     “No,” I say briefly, shaking my head several times and trying to swallow faster. “I have tomorrow.”

     My mother looks sadder and sadder. I don't talk to her much, and my brother is in boarding school. I haven't seen him in seven years. He doesn't even remember how we look like. But I think my mother sent him a picture of us with the last package she gave him. My mother puts the cups in the sink, staring at them for a few moments. She knows that my brother must be back from boarding school soon, but she seems to be impatient.

      “Aha, be careful at school!” she utters, suddenly.

     My father is not very talkative. He just greets me and asks me what I'm doing. I can hear him talking when he was arguing with my mother. Because family quarrels are illegal, they happen quite rarely. So I don't hear my dad talking.

     My mother kissed me on the forehead, and my father got up from the table, stroking my head lightly. The two of them put on their shoes and say goodbye to me, hearing them from outside unlocking their bikes. I finish eating, wash the dishes, take my backpack and leave the house, leaving it empty and silent as it is and when the three of us are in it.

     I lock the door behind me, unlock the bike, and head to school with my backpack. It is quite frustrating that we always have to ride our bikes to save time, and the girls have to wear skirts. Sometimes the wind blows and the skirt rises. The luck of the girls is that it is quite long and the wind has to blow very hard to lift them. However, if I use more speed than is legal - that is in areas where I know the police is not there - then my skirt is going crazy.

     My guitar teacher once told me that in addition to those makeups that existed hundreds of years ago, people also had some strange four-wheeled, covered vehicles. The teacher explained to me that those things were called cars, but immediately after the war, they were banned because they polluted too much. Like many other objects that were only found hundreds of years ago and disappeared immediately after the war.

     I get to school and look at the green yard. We have so many trees next to the school that you would think our building is in a forest. I don't dislike it. The air looks cleaner than on the paved streets full of buildings. I park the bike in its intended place and get off it, trying to catch it with its special padlock.

     “Morning’, Iwamoto!” a voice familiar to me is heard behind me.

     I lock up the bike in a second and I turn back, in front of me sitting smiling, Imada Katsumi, one of my friends from school. As much as I would sometimes like to ignore her, I remember that this is very unpleasant to her because she did not do anything wrong and it is also illegal. It is against the rules to misbehave with your friends, just as family quarrels violate state rules. I smile back at them, more forced than pleasured.

     “How is your day?”

     “What are you doing?” I ask, getting up from the ground and checking if the bike is locked. I ignore the question she asks me, trying not to sound rude. Such a question can come from a single person.

     My eyes widen and my body begins to feel various tingles, running from side to side. I kneel again and take my backpack, putting it on the ground aggressively and hurriedly.

     “Aren't you coming?” Imada asks.

     Although I hear her, I can't answer, my hands pounding like crazy through my backpack. The math book, the political book, the economics book ... where's the biology textbook? The mind runs to the morning I wrote the note for him. I wrote it, folded it, put the note in the biology book and the biology book ... on the desk.

     I sigh in frustration and put everything back in my backpack, not realizing when I managed to take them all out. I get up and look at Imada's confused face who looks at me puzzled. Her long blond hair is caught in a tight ponytail, pulling the corners of her face up, as if she is smiling all the time.

     "Did something happen?” she asks, scared.

     I shook my head, scratching my head nervously. I give her an awkward smile and signal to her to go inside because the first class will start soon. We walk down the alley of the high school that leads to the main stairs that the students have to walk. Teachers have another entrance, and we students only see them in class and that's it. We go through the four steps, open the big metal door and enter the school.

     When I look at the halls that are too white, I always remember boarding school. Everything is so white that it looks unnatural. As we move forward, a voice is heard in the high school speakers that are located both in the hallways and in the classrooms and bathrooms.

     “Good morning! I am announcing that you are all called to the cafeteria for an important announcement. Attendance is mandatory and whoever is outside the cafeteria risks an appropriate punishment. Repeat! You are called to the cafeteria. A day full of gold and diamonds!”

     Imada and I exchange a few curious glances before we start going to the cafeteria. My eyes fall on each painting that illustrates a different landscape. They are all welcoming, warm and relaxing landscapes if you look at them for a long time. They are designed by students who have opted for high school art classes, a final exam of theirs consisting in creating such a landscape that will be put through the school.

     For any building in the country, it has only two floors, they are very long, so we arrive in the cafeteria only after a few good minutes. My mind rushes to the note again, thinking that I will have to write it in the first hour, being extremely careful not to get caught by the teacher or any student.

     We arrive in front of the cafeteria door, push it, being greeted by most of the students standing next to each other, grouped in classes. The tables were put on the wall, and the chairs raised on them, this announcement is probably scheduled in earnest. I climb to the top to look for my class, and when I see Hokama, I point to her for Imada. Hokama Shizuka is another friend of ours.

     We make our way through the masses of students, finally reaching our class.

     “Morning, girls! Do you have any idea what's going on?” Hokama asks.

     Imada and Hokama hug, avoiding me. The two found out last year that I don't like hugs and I asked them nicely if I could exclude myself from such activities. At first, they didn't quite understand, but they complied quickly. Imada greets her soulmate, Mano Satoshi, by kissing him briefly on the lips.

     We sit in line and look at the teachers sitting in front of us on the sideboard. They are all barefoot so as not to soil the immaculate white of the buffet and look at us seriously as if all the students had done something wrong.

     I throw a look around, trying to find him too. Although I see his girlfriend, he is neither next to her nor his classmates. I turn to face the teachers, waiting to start and wondering why he is absent. Maybe he's just late.

     “It's everyone, right?” our headteacher asks.

     “Yes,” we shout in unison.

     “Good morning! I hope you had a pleasant and peaceful evening, fulfilling all your duties. However, today, with great regret, I want to make a heartbreaking announcement for some of you. I want you to remember those who were not his friends, to consider every moment of your life as the most important moment, respecting the rules and laws imposed by Golden Power. To hear that such an event took place in our school only causes me disappointment and shame towards this Region. Last night, the soulmate, your friend and colleague, Nagamine Keiichi ...”

     My heart stops when I hear his name. My blood seems to freeze all over my body because all of a sudden I feel both a very big panic and a cold wave, causing me to shiver. I look around scared, trying to find him, but he's nowhere.

     “Nagamine Keiichi passed away, committing one of the biggest crimes among us, more exactly, a suicide.”

     A scream is heard from the right, coming from his girlfriend I saw earlier. My palms start to sweat, and my mind is so troubled that I don't know exactly what I'm thinking. Hundreds of thoughts run through my mind violently with unimaginable speed, and no matter how much I want to grab at least one and cling to it, they are too fast for me. I'm starting to breathe hard.

     “Don't forget that it is an immoral and illegal gesture, a real crime that cannot be ignored. The Keiichi family has already received their punishment, working for the benefit of the community for more than ten years. But because they lied about your colleague's death, they got an extra five years. His friends, including his soulmate ... you have the right to visit his grave at the Central Graveyard of Crimes. The access of other strangers or simple classmates is strictly forbidden.”

     The floor flees from under my feet, and the room spins faster and faster, the whole image becoming more and more blurred. I feel myself swaying and falling on my back. I'm going to faint.