When physical education classes gather, the seat next to me will always be vacant, and homework books will always be thrown into the air when they are passed to me.
I counted the ants squirming in the cracks of the ceramic tiles, and suddenly understood how delicate cold violence is: there are no bruises to explain, no wounds to bandage, only the silent Lingchi day after day, grinding the soul into powder in the gap between the sound of morning reading and the bell for the end of get out of class.
Purpose: school violence
