Apocalypse

(história pra uma das minhas aulas - ignorem os erros)

When the alarm clock went off, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She was so tired that for a second she wished the world had come to an end during the night. She got up realizing that nothing had happened, took a deep breath and got herself ready to go to work. She had recently returned to teach, although she felt she was too old and too tired to deal with a bunch of 12 year old kids. She had to keep in mind that she would retire soon, otherwise she would find no strength to keep going.

It was a normal school day. Planing for classes, she decided that the first week would be about history itself, what is history and so on. She wrote on the blackboard “history never finds its place, it is always present” and further asked the students to write a short paragraph on that topic. Students were particularly agitated that afternoon. She felt she was too tired to attempt to control them or keep them quiet. She heard a loud noise. That meant the school day was over. The students returned their paragraph to her. She couldn't wait to get home, to escape the school madness – forgetting how her home was filled with madness as well.

What she didn't realize that day, feeling too tired as she was, is that there was a student sitting at the back corner of the class who shared with her the same feeling of exhaustion with life. He wrote his short paragraph. Not about history. He wrote about his life. He didn't know who to talk to. He just wrote it because he needed to tell his story. His sadness and and exhaustion got even worse when he realized that the teacher didn't note his desperation; that the teacher didn't read his paragraph. Day after day he sat at the back corner of the class, and nobody noticed him.

The room is quiet. At the dining table papers lie on top of each other – waiting for someone to read them. At the back you can hear the news, someone talking about the end of the world, and someone arguing about it. Among the stash of papers, there is one full of sorrow and grief. But nobody wants to read it.

That paper was left there. Maybe on purpose. Maybe because she didn't have the courage to deal with it. She continued to go to bed every night, wishing the world would come to an end when she was asleep.

He continued to sit at the back of the classroom, knowing that no one would ever listen to him. He went to class everyday, wishing that the world would come to an end when he was awake.