Nofel

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Nofel: Nofel is a thirteen-year-old boy in his last year of middle school; he has black hair and dark blue eyes, and he wears a school uniform consisting of shorts, a belt with a metal buckle, and a white short-sleeved button-up shirt with a black handkerchief in the left pocket. He sports a loose black bow tied to the collar of his shirt and shiny black shoes.

Nofel has always been quiet in class, only making friends with his classmate. Occasionally, he has been a victim of bullying but has mostly remained an anonymous student, isolating himself from the rest of the class.

Nofel's mood swings wildly; days of optimism are counterbalanced by periods of crushing depression where he fantasizes about putting a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger. In these dark moments, he spends hours at home in front of his computer, scouring websites for advice on how to commit suicide. Sometimes, he finds himself staring at the medicine drawer his mother keeps at home, wondering which pills and how many he should take to end it all. He's particularly drawn to the painkillers: Nofel has read online that taking a large quantity of them could lead to convulsions, muscle rigidity, and confused states, potentially causing delirium or an irreversible coma. He's tempted, but the fear of diarrhea, vomiting, and the shame of a failed suicide attempt keep him from going through with it.

Nofel's Background: The previous week, the class had an English test where they had to write a story showing off their imagination. Despite Nofel's struggle to open up and his hatred for exercises that forced students to express their opinions, after half an hour of staring at the blank page, he mustered the courage to start writing. Nofel wrote with joy: he created an imaginary world covered in sand with inverted pyramids floating in the sky, detailed a war with gory, vivid specifics, and enjoyed himself so much that he unconsciously included an erotic encounter between two wounded soldiers in a desert camp.

When Nofel handed in his test to the teacher, he felt proud, almost excited at the thought of someone reading what he had written. Deep down, he hoped his story would be read to the class so he could witness the astonished looks of his classmates and hear their applause, at least until the next day. The following day, the teacher began reading the first story: it was serious and mature, with deep reflections on life. At that moment, Nofel felt like an idiot.

Day after day, the stories in class continued; some were mocked for their grammatical errors, others were praised for their mature and profound content. Nofel, increasingly terrified, was frozen with fear at the idea that his story might be read and ridiculed in public.

Then came the day when, at the end of the lesson, the English teacher told Nofel that his story would be read in class the next day. The teacher's tone was almost mocking, and Nofel understood that it hadn't been appreciated, that he would be ridiculed in front of everyone, shamed. Nofel couldn't handle it; he needed to escape, he needed to die.

During the break before English class, Nofel left the classroom for the first time during the break and headed towards the school terrace, on the roof. He sat on the parapet, facing the edge, ready to jump.