I brushed my fingers gently against the blue railing as I climbed up the stairs.

The library was still all the same. That nostalgic smell of the books brought shivers up my spine as my heart reminded of the time I had picked up my first novel. This was a place that brought out the best out of me, eventually spreading its roots to grow into a change of my very core - one that I had never come to regret.

The librarian's curly black hair lined with several streaks of white was still all the same. I really looked up to her until it became evident that I could not bond with her like most of my classmates, whom she has watched growing from age six in this very library, so I gave up on having a favorite teacher altogether. I was also slow in English back then, further intensifying the drift. Yet, I was severely attached to the school and everything within.

The older novels were in tatters and taped up a thousand times, as expected of our school, but they were still all the same. As I looked for more familiarity within them, I came across a book from a series that I always had this weird premonition for... that something would happen if I didn't read it entirely. And what could I say? It did in fact come true in some form. I was an absolute mess ever since online school started and it was definitely because I couldn't get my hands on this book. Definitely.

I couldn't have been the one to hurt...

Don't think about him. Act naturally. Right.

The seats were awkwardly squawking when I sat upon them - still all the same. I pressed the book's pages with one hand as I read relentlessly, hoping that... my nightmare would end when I would be done with the series.

My quiet surroundings of books and chairs and older versions of textbooks and previous question papers and first graders were still all the same.

Unlike me.

My Chemistry teacher stopped by my desk, her head lowered, enquiring if I was able to understand her teaching. I silently nodded. She always encouraged me and gave me false hope that I'd do better next exam, which never came to pass, and I could only wonder when she'd stop training her expectations on me - because I was definitely going nowhere.

"But why does osmosis not happen?" I asked, drawing the diagram of a U-shaped tube. "The solute can't pass through the membrane so it just gets more and more compressed - so more concentrated? Water should try to dilute it... right?"

"That's the definition of osmotic pressure! It's because of the external pressure that water cannot go to the other side for dilution. Hence, it attains a dynamic equilibrium."

"Oh! Oh, okay. And for the other equation - do we use the values of pure water or the water used in the experiment, such as tap water?"

"Pure water. It's because tap water has salts that make the values deviate from the laws."

"Even if we use tap water in the mixture?"

"Yes. And you're on the right track." She beamed at me. "Keep it up."

She might as well have stabbed me.

Please stop faking it... You probably don't even want me around. I'm only a burden to everyone around me.

I sighed and closed my notebook. It was so useless, all of it. It was already drilled in me; I was capable of nothing. I would die at the very bottom of society and it was my inevitable fate.

"...religious."

I titled my head, concentrating on the conversation to get the context. It seemed that my friends were talking about how conservative our country was, accepting of fixed mindsets that benefitted nobody; and the topper of the class was slightly bothered by the same, because she was exactly that.

"I'm kinda one too," I perked up. "You know, I believe in what brings me solace. Like heaven and hell - and reincarnation! When a person dies... they can't be gone forever, right? Come on, God definitely has plans for them."

"Ah! So you believe in God, Ava?"

My lips quivered just a bit before going back to being as natural as they could ever be. "Yeah," I lied through my teeth. "I think He has always been around."

Goodness, I could fool even God at this rate.

"You children haven't even seen a postcard?" My English teacher laughed dotingly as she picked up the marker. "Oh, let me draw a blueprint for you all to follow. It was so common back in my day! And yes, yes, it did have a picture - but that's a picture postcard. The one we're doing is more writing-oriented. No envelopes were used for these. Also, make sure to pay attention to all the details - this activity is an internal assessment!

"Your topic is: Write a postcard to the person you're thinking of as you sit in the airport, preparing to fly to your college abroad. It can be anybody, friends or family or teachers - you have the freedom there. Please note that it'll be your first time alone. Make sure to describe the emotions well! And no, no, you don't have to worry about the time zones and how exactly you'd post the message. You all think so much and so far ahead! I want it done by the end of the class, nevertheless, so I will not be entertaining any out-of-context questions."

I tapped on my neighbor's shoulder - she was the school magazine's editor. I used to be absolutely humbled by the fact that she considered me a friend because we did a group project together. Her English was the most beautiful and expressive thing ever. I prided myself over my stories but... Wasn't I just so delusional? My writing was also getting nowhere, just like me, my life, and my dreams.

Well, I wouldn't be around soon, anyway... So who cared?

I pointed at her notebook, which had somehow materialized a huge paragraph in three seconds flat. It came to my senses that she and all the gifted people - our school was filled up to the brim with that species - demotivated me. "Who're you writing to?"

"I was thinking of writing to a sister. Which I don't have, being a single child and all. Pick a random name for me! I've left some space for it."

"Why would anyone want any siblings?" I threw a grin at her. She had absolutely no idea that the porcelain doll would have never reached me if not for my brother. "How does Astria sound to you? I wanted to be named that when I was a child."

"Ooh, nice. I'll use that, if you don't mind! And who're you writing to?"

"An imaginary friend. Marlon," I said, without a hitch. His name still tore my throat like a shard of glass though. "Awesome name, don't you think? He's going to be that cliché, selfless, infinitely nice, and big heart type of guy."

"Marlon... Huh..." She clicked her tongue in confusion. "I kind of feel like... I've known him?"

The blood in my veins froze over for only a moment before my nerves calmed suddenly. "You know all the people in the world, man. You're so social that it hurts my brain. I don't want to hear that from you."

She noticeably relaxed and chuckled. "You're right."

My Physics teacher was just that chill teacher who didn't give a damn about whether the backbenchers did their work or not; her lessons would only keep moving forward. I always considered her a cute-looking creature who was secretly plotting murder.

"Are you getting it?" She patted my back, probably disturbed by my poker face. I did that a lot in Physics class and it was right in her eyeshot, me sitting in the second bench. And, additionally, I was also just that student who seemed really smart until exams burnt her reputation to the ground.

"Uh... yes."

Doubtfully, she poked in a little more. "So, I suppose you know how the capacitors work in this circuit?"

"Yes, yes. Charge remains the same in series connections and divides in parallel so... When you're doing this problem... You divide the voltage... I think. And, well, you–" I shook my head. "What I'm trying to say is: Charge is constant, voltage is not. We have the charge and the capacitance so we just use the formula and get the voltage."

"Absolutely. After you're done with that portion, you move to the next section of the circuit. Don't forget the picometer to meter conversion. Good job!"

Her words jolted me. I cursed and scratched one full page of calculations. I had not only missed that, but also the charge conversion of microfarad to farad. Even worse, I used the value to get some decimal points off. I was too impatient to sit through it all again to change every power, and so, I readied myself for another tortuous redo.

While I was deep in thought trying to decipher the complex circuit diagram, I happened to glance over to the people sitting nearby for a second, doing their sums with straight faces and no issues.

What would my parents have given to have someone like them?

Maybe I was never normal to begin with and simply blamed Doll for ruining my life, even though I had nothing in that 'life' to speak of. It was as if I really despised being pointed at as the source of all problems, whether it be an incorrect accusation or not.

Why did I strive so hard to live, then?

Why did I feel that I must live so that Marlon wasn't gone for nothing, despite me being nothing?

Why did I still hang on to being alive so badly, even though I only ceased others' heartbeats?

May God strike me dead soon and I too disappear from existence like Marlon.

My Math teacher thought nothing of me. Likewise, I, too, gave her not much of my headspace despite having no qualities in this subject either.

For me, Math was simply a repetitive pattern, an arithmetic progression - I would get confident in one chapter and then the next would push all the pride over like a line of dominoes. Sometimes it got worse and multiplied into a geometric progression of mastering one chapter followed by four chapters of distress.

It made me wonder if I could do anything at all.

"Finally got it!" I slammed my hand on the table. It took me embarrassingly long to realize that bubble sort had a nested loop - and I was constantly trying to do it in one, wondering what on earth the computer didn't understand.

I always wanted to converse with the program itself and explain to it what I was trying to accomplish, but that reminded me of myself, being an average scorer in a sea of talents and all... and so I emphasized with it, instead working harder on removing the error.

"You're finally done with your assignment. Great!" My friend, the aforementioned conservative topper, took a seat beside me to have a look. "Huh... too complicated. I probably did the same thing in, like, thirty lines? Yours is well over fifty."

"Maybe it's the formatting of the input."

"Nope, I don't think so. It's more like the functions you defined are too twisted. There are easier ways to code them."

I ran my eyes over the thousand variables I had created, recalling the nights I stayed up to finish the program. I was trying too hard, desperately grasping upon the only thing I believed I had. My mother told me to focus on the subjects that would actually help me in getting a college, and even my father subtly did the same, but unlike programs, I just couldn't be fixed.

And, of course, others could do better than me in this subject as well, without having to even bat an eyelid.

In the past, it would've hurt to hear that, but for the first time, I allowed her words to go from one ear to another. And it was not only because I had long since accepted my inabilities, but also since being emotionless was wonderful. I could think without feeling!

I was absolutely on Cloud Nine despite having killed–

Don't think about him. Right. He's gone, he's dead, he's the past now.

My friend came back into my focus. I acknowledged her by throwing in some words of agreement. "You're right. Too many identifiers. Maybe it reflects my state of mind? Never mind; at least it's done. I think the process doesn't matter, since Ma'am is only looking for the output. Anyway, how are you going home today?"

She didn't ask about my mental state at all, not having picked it up due to my unbothered tone. Sometimes my persuasive power scared me.

I ran into my previous Math teacher, all the way from eighth grade, while I was packing up for the day. She flashed me a pleasant smile, clearly still picturing me as her ideal, perfect, and top student from so long ago. I did the same, wishing her.

Looking into her eyes slightly pained me, like I had loved her more than I had let on and like I treasured those days more than I could fathom.

If she were to be introduced to the true face of the failure standing in front of her, what expression would she make?

I completely blocked my thoughts out for a good thirty minutes after that. She was a living connector to my model self and I didn't want any second thoughts regarding that.

I tortured myself enough.

As I walked out of the school gates, I texted my father before throwing the phone in the blue e-waste bin. The message read: Not coming home today. Probably won't be able to tell you that secret either. Sorry. Love you, Dad.

I was actually aware that I was quite screwed when I first lost my humanity, and the situation only kept on extending and breaking my reasoning, with no plans to go back. But, honestly, I didn't even care anymore.

I was a creature, after all! Because–

All I could think was about how blind one had to be to have not noticed their son self-harming, and about how I would soon murder the rest of the Lowe family before saying my final goodbyes to a boy I probably loved, hoping that he'd not be lonely up there and finally be...

Complete.

~~

A/N: I know. I'm being too brutal. But I have to. I think.

In other news, sorry for the entire chapter turning into a vent. One thing led to another and... yeah. I know I've been saying this a lot, but once again, I'm just in a phase of bad days. I'm sorry if things aren't up to the mark or if I'm breaking my own plot or if I'm completely screwing things up. I swear, it's not intentional and I'm trying my best... but it's just so hard nowadays.

Anyway! Not meaning to depress you!

This chapter had another version where I wrote in 500 words to physically show that Ava not feeling cut a lot of her personality down. And that's perhaps the next chapter. But this one got kinda long because I wanted to build up Ava's self-degrading thoughts to lead up to her completely broken mindset of making Marlon happy in heaven by having his parents join him, and throw in a some grudges because her father was able to see the worst in her, but his parents couldn't.

And, thank you for reading! I only pray I will be able to finish the story because I thought I'd be almost done at this point (~18K words).