A lot of people wrote a ton of trays. You want specifics. It became this thing we all did sometime last year, around the start of school. It was a game of tag basically. And what's a game without rules? That was Yaoyorozu's idea. She devised the system, set the guidelines, enforced the rules.
No comment can be more than twenty-five words long.
And it was important, very important, that every comment remained anonymous, like a twisted Secret Santa, but you know, way different. The opposite of a gift.
There was a bright-blue piece of laminated poster board, about half the width of an index card.
In red-letter it said: Tag. Your. Turn.
Another rule: You have twenty-four hours to post the next message.
That was important too. You had to keep it going, you know, and not think about it too much.
(That was the trick, the "not thinking.)
When it was your turn you had to post a secret comment on Jirou Kyouka's stupid page, then you slipped the note back into Momo Yaoyorozu's locker, and she tagged somebody else. "You're it." That was how she controlled the game. If you didn't go along, you were out.
Not out of the game, you were completely cut off. Silent treatment, cold shoulder, and if you were unlucky a future target. Momo joked, "You'd be sent to outcast island."
Nobody wanted that. A fate worse than death, we used to think...until we actually saw death, or at least its aftermath. Not the scream but the echo of it. What do scientists call it? The Aftershock? Once you feel that shiver down in your bones the, cold permanence of oblivion, a few days on outcast island didn't seem so bad.
We treated it as a joke.
I can't deny it, it probably makes me sound like the biggest jerk on the globe, but it was funny at first. We laughed about it We tried to write the nastiest, filthiest, wildest
challenge, and we all looked forward to reading the next crazy message. A lot of people were reading it at first. We loved when something got a big reaction in school.
For example:
I'd rather crawl inside an aardvark's asshole than spend two minutes with you.
That's creative and humorous, at least I thought so at the time.
Wrote way meaner. I had a hard time deciding which animal it should be: a rhinoceros, grasshopper, donkey, chicken, and so on. (Decisions, decisions.) At first I used the word poophole, but I changed it at the last minute.
Who can no for sure, art is subjective. (I know)
After a while, most of us just got bored.
I am, you should realize by now, a complete idiot.
YOU ARE READING
From the Water Tower
FanfictionIzuku Midoriya, he may or may not have been friends with the girl who killed herself. That girl may or may not have been bullied. Izuku may or may not have participated in that. A teacher suggest that Izuku writes down his thoughts in a journal. Wri...
