I

It wasn’t that late when I found myself in my classroom, around 8:00 in the morning, and I heard a classmate arrive and shout, “In the bathroom, they’re…!” until the teacher interrupted him. I wanted to know what it was. “What happened?” I whispered as he approached, though he only looked at me with an unpleasant grimace.

He reached his seat, and he and his friends kept whispering about it. I heard nothing except laughter. I decided to go to the bathroom and see what was happening, so I tried to stand up. My hand began to shake and my forehead began to sweat, but I managed it; I was able to stand. I walked slowly. It felt like everyone was watching me and the laughter I heard seemed directed at me. I reached the teacher and, without thinking much, simply asked if I could go to the bathroom.

She sighed — her facial expression showing more sleepiness than enthusiasm — and just nodded. So, I ran outside. I left the boring explanation of the Mexican Revolution behind to discover what they were talking about so much.

II

I went downstairs. I accidentally knocked over a boy who was in P.E., but I didn’t really care, even though I might have heard a sob afterward. I kept walking until I finally arrived. I looked around to see where the action was. I saw nothing, so I assumed it was inside the bathroom. I saw the janitor there and started walking slowly again so as not to draw attention. “Son, this is cleaning hour.” I got angry. I really wanted to see; I wanted to understand, but more than anything, I wanted to join them — talk about it, discuss it, and then talk about whatever, do whatever, but with them, or someone else.

Despite my anger, I only thanked him, forcing a soft voice. I walked to the nearest bench and sat down, determined to wait. I didn’t plan on leaving without seeing it — not today.

Two more minutes passed until a sound reached my ears… a strange one. It seemed to be a female voice, but not talking. It sounded like she was crying, but with something else mixed in. I stood up and chased the sound, looking for its origin, until eventually, I reached the most isolated hallway of all. There, the sound intensified, louder and louder. I knew this was what they were talking about. I couldn’t help but smile and feel glad. I reached the corner of the hallway and slowly peeked around, but I simply froze.

A girl — I couldn’t really read her expression; it could be said it was one of sadness and terror. Him — his expression full of pleasure and ecstasy. The sound was moaning. I felt my stomach growl so loudly that I looked down at it as if it could see inside me. Then, silence. Everything went quiet and I slowly raised my gaze. The rapist was already looking at me, his gaze penetrating me. I lowered my eyes and saw the victim; she was looking at me the same way — not asking for help or screaming, but just with a look devoid of any feeling.

I turned around, hoping they wouldn’t remember my face. I heard a scream behind me as I ran through the hallway with the air hitting me, my breathing already labored. I reached the bench and saw the janitor; he had finished cleaning the bathroom and was now resting. I wanted to tell him what I saw and report it, but I couldn’t do anything but stare at him. “What’s with you, kid?! Go on, get out of here.” I walked to my classroom in a straight line. I looked at the faces of all the children — so smiling and inside their capsule, without seeing what is outside.

As I walked, I noticed everything: the stains on the floor where the paint was gone, the clean windows of all the classrooms, everyone studying.

I reached my classroom. I looked at everyone; no one looked at me. Still thinking about the same thing, I sat down again. I took out my notebook, read my information, but I couldn’t recognize a single word of what it said. Stare, 14 years old, 3rd Grade of Secondary School, History.

Am I like this?

III

It’s 4:00 AM. I have an exam tomorrow and I don’t even know what it’s about. I’d like to sleep or else have pleasure, but I can’t stop thinking about what happened just a week ago, and that’s how my whole week has been.

I’ve thought about doing something, about gathering the courage, but I don’t have it.

Every day I’ve seen them at school — both of them. Joking, smiling, studying, and even winning prizes.

How are they so normal?! I saw what I saw and I’m not okay, but why are they?

It seems that none of remember me; neither has spoken to me or even looked my way. They could be planning something now, of course, or they might not remember me, but the first option is more likely — how to forget such an ugly face after all, and even worse in that moment. I would be scared, paranoid, not joking or being normal!

When I walk and encounter them in a hallway, I pray they don’t even notice me, so that I pass like a ghost and they don’t decide to kill me at that instant or worse, make me a victim of the same thing!

The worst part is that their classroom is right next to mine, so every recess and possibly every trip to the bathroom, I have to see them. Now I check twice before leaving — that no one is looking at me in the classroom nor following me outside. I’ve started carrying a small pocketknife; I’ll possibly never use it, but it makes me feel safer. But this isn’t just at school; I do this everywhere I go, and it terrifies me.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t even remember my full name. Stare — that’s my name according to my notebook, but I don’t know whether to believe it. It might be Star or something as far off as Juan. I don’t know what to think anymore. Their normalcy drives me crazy. Just yesterday I heard the sounds again. I ran to the classroom without looking back. I don’t even want to narrate how it was or everything I saw, and I refuse to do so. Tomorrow is already Friday and I’ll have two days to think things over, although I should do it once and for all since I’ll be here for two more hours, thinking until I have to get up and leave.

IV

The exam passed, although the truth is I had decided not to go and that’s what I did. That same day they were going to be graded and at the end of the day show the highest results, and I know I’ll see them there. That’s why I prefer to stay here from afar, safe in my home. It’s already Saturday. I’m writing this at night and yesterday I saw a movie that… changed me. I no longer worry about someone following me; I no longer carry the knife with me. Well, at least that was today, so I’m not sure if it will stay that way. Before saying what I will do, I’d like to talk a bit about it, because this diary is the only place where I can share my thoughts.

…

I’ll only write a little about the movie. I don’t want to go on too long because it’s quite long and this notebook doesn’t have many pages. And I won’t say the name either because I don’t remember it, but I will say a phrase that stayed with me:

“In the forest, being alone, the only thing you can do is survive, and nature — your nature — will help you.”

It stayed with me. For what reason?

The forest is life — my life, my school. The only thing I can do is survive. By what means? My nature. By nature, I am a good person; I am kind, more emphatic I would say. I haven’t sought rewards for my good deeds, and if I do something, I will take responsibility for it; I’ve always done so.

Now I have to use that to survive, and I’ve also made my decision as I said: I will go to the girl. Yes, to her. I’ll go and talk to her about what happened. I’m convinced she is faking everything, so today I will help her, and together, we will report it. I know this will fix everything. Perhaps they’ll reward me for this, for my courage in achieving it, and who knows — perhaps she’ll fall in love with me, with the brave man who saved her from her misery. Stories always end that way (including the movie), and mine won’t be different.

V

Today, Monday, February 2, 2026, will be the day I will be remembered as a hero.

It’s already 10:20 in the morning. One more hour and we’ll be at recess. I’ve been waiting for either recess or for the girl to finally come out. Then I’ll go and I can talk to her about what happened and rescue her. Finally, I see her coming out. I went out and ran toward her. I touched her shoulder; we looked at each other for a few seconds until we walked to a nearby bench. My heart was racing a bit, though my mind was serene. She was just somewhat surprised.

— Do you remember me?

— I think…

— I saw you, a little over a week ago. You were in the hallway near the bathroom. — I started to get more nervous, to sweat, but I tried to stay the same as before. Now I waited for her to accept the help and for everything I said to happen. I hoped so.

— Ah! Yes, it was you after all. What about it? — she said, as if it were nothing.

I didn’t know what to say. I froze, even more than the last time. The serenity vanished, the nerves conquered me, and I could do nothing but listen to what she was about to say.

— You thought I was traumatized, didn’t you? Nobody here is surprised by that anymore. It’s like just another sport in P.E. because at this point everyone does it, has done it, or has been a victim, but I don’t know if they can really be called victims because they end up coming back, and for that same reason, nobody reports it. On Friday, to celebrate that I finished in first place in Math, I went to do that, actually. I enjoyed it like never before, and you might think it was because of the achievement, but no, it was because of the sensation. Everyone knows already; you’re just finding out. You were innocent — an idiot.

In that moment I remembered how this started — how in my own classroom I saw how they talked about it, how they joked about it. How can they do it? My classmates from all of secondary school began to come down; recess had already started and now it was just the two of us sitting there. And me — surrounded by monsters, or at this point, perhaps I was the only monster.

— You can be part of this too.

She put her hand on my knee but I pushed her away. I ran toward the classroom, my lungs giving everything they could. I went up the stairs, collided with God knows how many students; some hit me and pushed me back, but I made it to the classroom. I went to a corner, fell to my knees, and cried. The salty taste was possibly the last thing I remember of school.

VI

A month has passed

The people I live with already called someone for the mind

I don’t even know what will become of me

Something happened to the school, I don’t know what

What was my name?

Juan? I think it was that one

I’ve heard that I’m not well

I don’t know whether to believe them

I’ve heard they’re going to take me somewhere

I’ll see what happens

Why did that end up being normal?

How did we start?

And this is where this diary ends because it has no more pages. I was hungry, after all.