I still couldn't figure out what my homework wants me to do.

Even after all that has happen.

I stared at the example essays listed on the websites, hoping that I can find something useful for the essay. But there was nothing.

It was starting to get frustrating and annoying.

I took out my notebook and did something to calm myself down.

I wrote everything I know about math.

Corresponding angles, parallelograms, interiors on same side converse, chords, tangents, angles, arcs, the hypotenuse-leg congruence, mid-segment theorem, altitude rule, base angle theorem, vertical angles, substitution postulate, symmetric property, construction, the prime number theorem, the law of quadratic reciprocity, the area of a circle, the polyhedron formula, the four squares theorem, Pythagorean triples, sum of the angles of a triangle, the isoperimetric theorem, the law of cosines, the triangle inequality…

I stopped.

My whole book was filled with words that were like strangers, every letter, every alphabet, every sentence…

What am I doing with my life?

Why do I know so much about math yet nothing about myself? Why can't I even write one fucking thing about my own personality? What do I exist for exactly? To learn these fucking theorem so that I can use it in my future?

Why would I need a future, when I can't even feel myself living anymore?

Exactly how long have I been hypnotized by the society?

Exactly how long has my heart been dyed into this fucking color?

I stared at the notebook.

And what can I do about it?

How should I know?

Because I'm just a fucking nothing in this society.

I turned around and turn on the television.

"…the serial murder is on the run, and it's now wanted by the…"

Another murder again.

"…the accident happened at 3:21 pm, one adult is hurt and two kids are dead with another senior…"

Death again.

"…the popular celebrity is currently…"

Like I give a flying fuck about how the celebrity is living, I've took longer shits then their love life.

"…teenager died by suicide due to heavy stress from school. The young boy's name is Kagamine Len, who…"

I turn the television off.

Len…

Why can't I feel sad about him now? It's like he's just gone from my mind, I can't remember him, I can't cry about him, I don't feel a thing.

What exactly is wrong with me?

Is it really fine for me to remain like this?

Even so…It doesn't really matter anymore now, does it?

I stood up from my chair and walked out of my room.

Who created this society, who invented these rules, who hid the laughter, who started the mocking, who decides someone's death, who turned us into what we are now?

Is there any way we can stop ourselves from this?

I really don't think so, because that's what we are now.

I can recite the formula, yet I couldn't even feel myself now. I'd rather stay inside my comfort barrier, when I could've helped people. Other's death doesn't mean shit to me, a murder on the run is not my business, and even when the loved ones disappear, my weak love for them would only turn into nothing.

That's how useless I am now.

And why am I even satisfied with myself?

That once innocent, happy child that was unaware and clueless about this painful reality, where is she now? The one filled with dreams of flying around, the one who would stare out of the car window and imagine that there's a person running outside just to destroy the boredom killing them, the one who believed that heroes exist, the one who believed that there are kind people in the world, where is she now?

Probably dead somewhere in my memories, thrown inside a drain, left to rot with no one to remember her.

The attic smells of dry wood and animal corpse.

A long string of rope lay on one side.

I picked it up.

When will you grow up and realize that this is reality, that this is what life is, that no one would miss you even if you disappear?

What the heck is 'growing up' anyway?

What have we turned into?

Who threw all those dreams away, who destroyed every precious imagination that was in our memories, who killed the innocence that dwelled inside our hearts, who wanted to grow up in the first place?

We did, didn't we?

I tied the rope together.

Who should I ask these questions to?

What should I do?

It really doesn't matter anymore now, does it?

"…another teenager found dead in the attic…hanged herself…a last note found beside her…"

"I'm lost."