The boy was thought of as cocky, too smart for his own good, too eager to tell people of his achievements. As they taunted him he further assured their claims.
Not a day would pass without him claiming true of what they teased him of, yet as the days past his honest rebuttals became a wall protecting him from his torment,
ready to crack and crumble at any time. He isolated himself on the inside while fighting off their words with his ever-cheerful demeanor; ever so slightly the wall began to crack.
Everyday without fail he would return home to bury his restless mind in numbers and equations.
His last day begun just like any other and ended with his peers thinking the same of him, none suspecting the growing trouble festering in his head.
His room secluded him from his hurt, but with time anything will build until the walls which contain it collapse under their load.
As his book of equations lay flat on his desk, he glanced at its pages, unable to ignore the problems which begged to be solved.
He scrawled number after number as his hand did work of which his mind had longer ago mastered. With each stroke a voice in his head asked him things for once he didn't know.
Question 10. Why?
He tightened his grip on his pen and left gouges in his pages as he wrote.
Question 11. What did I do?
His writing became ragged, and he couldn't contain his anguish.
Question 12. Will it stop?
Question 13. How do I stop it?
A note was found near the body, containing 7 seemingly innocent words.