*******WARNING: SUICIDE******
(Dairy of Sarah)
When Ken first walked into our classroom, I didn't even look at him.
Not because I didn't notice him.
No, I did.
But because I recognized something I had spent years trying to bury.
The teacher announced his name—Ken—and introduced him like every other transfer student.
He stood there, shoulders stiff, face pale, eyes darting across a sea of strangers.
That uncomfortable silence lasted only three heartbeats before the laughter started.
Someone whispered too loudly: "Look at his face."
Another chuckled: "Brains, maybe. But looks? Zero."
The whole class rippled with cruel amusement.
And me? I smiled.
Not outwardly, but inside.
Because I knew him. And I thought I had buried him.
Ken had been in my middle school.
Back then, I made sure that e he never had friends.
I spread rumors. I made the others laugh at him.
Back then, i thought it was harmless.
I thought it was funny to tease him. I thought it made me shine.
Until his parents died.
I can still remember the day he broke down in the hallway.
His cries were raw, not the kind that people could mock anymore.
That day, guilt pierced me for the first time.
From then on, I stopped.
I told myself I would never hurt him again.
I kept my distance in high school, believing it would absolve me.
And yet… fate laughed.
Because there he was, standing in my classroom again.
And everyone laughed at him. Just like before.
And he endured it.
That was who he was—quiet, determined, like a tree bending but never breaking.
I thought maybe he would fade into the background again, like always.
But then came the afternoon when I saw him fall.
He was carrying books down the stairwell.
Someone bumped him. Maybe someone pushed him.
Or maybe he slipped. I don't know.
But he went tumbling down, landing hard on the floor, i rushed forward before anyone else could.
I wasn't thinking—I just acted.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
His knees were scraped, his palms bleeding.
He tried to smile, but it came out twisted, broken.
I tore tissues from my bag and crouched beside him.
I cleaned his cuts, My fingers trembled, not from disgust but from the strange weight of his eyes staring at me.
Watching me bandage him like I was the first person in years to touch him with kindness.
And that was when it began.
From that moment, Ken stuck close.
He followed me, but not annoyingly—like a lost child finally finding home.
He laughed when I teased him.
He helped when I asked, sometimes when i don't.
He listened with eyes so wide it was as though the world outside my words didn't exist.
And, for a while, it was good.
He was my shadow. My friend.
And when I laughed with him, I saw something I hadn't seen in him since childhood:
joy.
But I should have known better.
I should have known joy was fragile.
The night he confessed… I remember every detail.
The sky was bruised purple, the air heavy with summer heat.
He stood in front of me, bouquet trembling in his hands, face redder than I had ever seen it.
"I… I like you, Sarah," he whispered, voice cracked with nerves.
My heart pounded.
My breath hitched.
Because I wanted to say yes.
God, I wanted to.
But then guilt screamed in my head:
You don't deserve this. You don't deserve him. You destroyed him once already.
So i did something no one shouldn't have done.
I laughed.
A cruel, ugly laugh that didn't belong to the person I wanted to be.
I laughed until my stomach hurt, until he stood frozen, bouquet wilting between his fingers.
Then I said it.
No.
He asked why with a voice so small it broke me.
And I… I crushed him further.
"Because of your looks," I told him, finger pressed to his chest like a knife.
I walked away, but his voice stopped me.
"What's wrong with me?"
And I lied again. I told him the truth disguised as poison.
"Because of your face"
Because I didn't deserve his heart.
Because I was a coward.
That night, Ken sat alone.
And I thought—foolishly—that would be the end of it.
I was wrong.
A month later, he returned.
And he wasn't the same.
The moment he walked through the doors, the girls gasped.
His face—God, his face—it was sculpted, refined, like someone had carved away the softness and left behind sharp perfection.
His body, once lanky, was tighter, his posture straighter.
It wasn't just a glow-up. It was a transformation.
And the whispers started.
"Is that really Ken?"
"He's so handsome now."
"Brains and looks—he's perfect."
And Ken smiled.
Not at them. At me.
He came to me with a bouquet, the same nervous tremble in his hand, but confidence in his eyes.
"You said you wanted someone handsome," he said, voice almost breaking, "so I became one."
I froze.
He admitted surgery.
Diet.
Exercise.
He had changed himself for me.
And I hated him for it.
Not because he was ugly.
Not because he was handsome.
But because I was the reason.
Because my words, my rejection, my cruelty carved him into something he wasn't.
So I lashed out.
I told him he was still hideous in my eyes.
I told him the only reason I stayed close was because of his brains.
I told him girls would want him now, but it would never be me.
He broke.
Right there in front of me, his eyes wide, glassy.
He shouted, voice trembling:
"You were the only one who ever smiled at me! You made me laugh again! You—"
He cried.
And then he called me names.
Words sharper than any knife.
And I snapped.
I turned around and shoved him.
*******
The world slowed.
I saw his body teeter at the edge.
Saw his arms flail.
Saw his face still searching for me even as gravity claimed him.
Then the sound.
That sickening thud.
And silence.
Blood painted the ground.
His eyes, still open, staring blankly.
Students screamed. Teachers rushed.
I stood frozen, my hands shaking, the echo of his voice screaming inside my skull.
I had killed him.
********
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and lies.
They told me I fainted on the rooftop, that I was found unconscious.
The police asked questions.
I lied. I told them I didn't see him jump.
That he was gone when I arrived.
But the truth was carved into me:
I pushed him.
His funeral was worse than death.
Students sobbed with guilt, though they were the same who mocked him.
Teachers bowed their heads, though they ignored him.
Everyone wore grief like masks, but I knew none of them carried what I carried.
Because I knew his heart.
And I broke it.
At night, I opened my photo album.
Pictures of us smiling, laughing.
And the memories twisted.
Because none of it was real. Not for him.
For me, it was convenience.
For him, it was salvation.
And I destroyed it.
I whispered "sorry" until my throat bled.
I curled on the floor, clutching the necklace he once gave me.
And I told myself the truth:
I was his murderer.
*******
Months passed.
The school turned his locker into a shrine.
Flowers, notes, trinkets.
I never dared look.
But his grave—I visited every day.
My tears watered the soil.
My apologies rotted in the air.
And then… he came back.
It was late afternoon.
I saw a shadow slip across the hall and I followed, desperate.
It led me to the rooftop, sealed shut, but I forced it open.
And there he was.
Ken stood at the edge, smiling. His face—not scarred, not bloody, but as I remembered when he was happiest.
"Ken…" My knees buckled.
Tears blurred my vision.
I choked on my words, sobbing apologies into the empty air.
He just smiled.
"I was never perfect for you," he said softly.
And then he vanished.
The world shattered around me.
That night, I sat in my bedroom with the necklace in one hand and a glass of white substance in the other.
"no you were wrong," I whispered, voice shaking.
"You were the one who was too perfect for me."
I kissed the necklace, drank the liquid, and closed my eyes.
My last thought was of his smile.
Stream Commentary; Tape #36. "The worst She could say is no"
(The screen flickers. Static runs across the dark stream before Zack's hooded figure fades into view. His silver hair catches the dim light. His strange black goggles reflect a faint glow, like the hollow eyes of something watching from the other side)
(He doesn't speak at first. He just sighs. A long, heavy exhale)
(Then, in that smooth voice of his, he finally breaks the silence)
"So… that was Sarah's confession. The story of Ken. What do you think, little listeners?"
[@Ovesix:She destroyed him. Piece by piece. And she knew. She knew what she was doing. Don't tell me it was guilt or cowardice. She crushed his heart twice. First with her rejection, then with her contempt. And all he wanted was love]
[@Jaija: Why?! Why did she laugh at him?! He was so happy just having her as a friend! He smiled because of her! And then she laughed in his face and—ugh! Humans are disgusting. Cruel. Monsters!]
[@642: Ha! She called him hideous? That's rich. She was the real ugly one. Hideous heart, rotten soul. He carved his face for her, broke his body for her, and still she spat in his face. If I had been there… oh, if I had been there..…she would've been the one falling]
[@Enchomay: Ken was just a boy. A boy carrying grief no child should ever carry. His parents gone. His classmates wolves. The one person he thought could save him turned out to be his executioner. Tell me, Kai, tell me—why are humans so cruel to their own?]
[@Jaija: And what do you see now? Flowers on his locker. Tears at his grave. Crocodile grief. A shrine of guilt built too late. Humans love to honor the dead they destroyed]
[@Ovesix :I keep seeing his eyes. Wide open. On the ground. Staring, but not seeing. He wanted to be loved. That's all. And she gave him nightmares instead of love. I hate her. I hate them all. And yet… I pity him more. Poor Ken. Poor, poor Ken]
(Kai sits in silence, the sound of his breathing the only thing audible. Then he leans forward, voice cold but steady.)
"Anger, sadness, disgust… all are valid.
I hear it in your voices, my friends.
And you, dear viewers—I know you feel it too.
Maybe even guilt, if you've ever laughed at someone like Ken.
Maybe regret, if you've ever been a Sarah in someone's story."
(Voice sharper, colder)
"But let's be clear. Ken didn't die because he was ugly.
He didn't die because he confessed.
He didn't even die because of Sarah's rejection.
He died because society made him believe his worth was a mask he had to wear.
That he had to cut himself open and remake himself into something worthy of love.
That is the sin. That is the rot. That is humanity."
[@Ovesix:And Sarah? She ran from her guilt until it drowned her. She called herself a murderer—well, she wasn't wrong. But isn't it funny? Humans never realize they're murderers until the body hits the ground]
[@Jaija:Ken just wanted a smile. That's all. Just a smile that meant something]
[@642: 'No, Ken. You're not for me.' Hah! She should've just spat in his face. It would've hurt less!]
[@Enchomay:She did love him. Once. In her own way. Twisted, warped, poisoned by her own shame. But love twisted into cruelty is still cruelty. And it kills all the same]
[@Ovesix:Humans… always more afraid of their own feelings than of blood. And when the blood finally comes, they act shocked. Monsters, wrapped in skin]
(Kai spoke softly, almost intimate)
"If you take anything from Ken's story… let it be this: the worst thing you can give a person isn't a 'no.'
The worst thing is to make them believe they were never enough to deserve even the chance.
Words are sharper than knives, children.
Rejection can bruise—but mockery, shame, humiliation… those kill."
(His tone hardens)
Don't ever let your silence turn into someone's rope.
Don't let your cruelty be the weight that pushes them off the edge.
And if you ever find yourself tempted to laugh at someone for their face, their body, their difference… remember Ken.
Remember Sarah's tears.
Remember the grave they both share
(with a smirk, voice dropping low)
"And now, my little viewers, it's time for the next story.
Oh, you'll love this one. Or maybe hate it.
It's called…"
"Humans Were the Real Monsters After All."
[@Ovesix:. After Ken's story, that's almost redundant]
[@642: Monsters? Oh, I like this. I hope it's bloody. Humans deserve bloody]
(Kai chuckles. The sound is low, unsettling, a sound that feels like it comes from somewhere deeper than his throat)
"Good. Good. Keep your anger, my guys.
Keep your sadness. You'll need it.
Because the next story will show you what you already suspect:
that the creatures under the bed were never the ones you should've feared.
It was always the ones in the desk beside you. The teacher at the board. The friend at your side."
(He leans close one last time, voice a whisper against your ear)
"Stay tuned.
Don't look away.
Because what you are about to hear about human darkness….
Is darker that you ever imagine