The Punch
June 23, 2021

I felt my eyes blazing, suddenly I remembered the anger when someone stole my lollipop when I was 8. Then came the diamonds my mother spoke about. “Exquisite were they created, but the best diamonds are conjured from the heart.” I was crying while my eyes searched for a target on the wall to pierce, as if a hole was conceivable. If diamonds were so beautiful, why did it ache when I made them? My arm felt like hanging poultry in the night market. I thought it was strange since I never in my whole life felt tired even when writing a whole Beowulf analysis. The bank of my thoughts abruptly felt like a thrumming waterfall evolving into a still river. It was quiet. I looked to my side where my hand that was supposed to be a lazy slob was curled into a blushing fist. I was startled at how I was inclined to such inhumane actions. Finally, came the sting that tickled my bones and flesh.

That was the first time I punched something.

If you’re worried about the wall, maybe it’s best you worry about my hand that was smashed by its unforgiving structure. I knew it was wrong to partake in foolhardy tendencies. But it felt so right. The reason why I did it is something I would have to feel again and again and again. There seems to be no end of its cruel madness. I was hoping you wouldn’t ask, but since your eyes are roaring. I’ll tell you.

I made one mistake in my math test.

STOP LAUGHING! This is also why I didn’t want to tell anyone, and NO! It isn’t foolish at all. I wanted to be the best in my class, to know that I have what it takes to become the top. However, no matter how hard I tried. My average was always 3 points away from our precious number 1 student. Each night was an eye workout; where all my eyes did was search, stare, cry, and paint the digital
screen plastered with bountiful websites that talked about the attachment theory of Bowlby and math problems. My paint was a mixture of numbers and words to form a masterpiece—some sort of Mona Lisa. Something I hoped would at least be a memorable piece my teacher would not feel bored to read. Because everywhere you look and everything you can read has already been tainted by the deadly virus named COVID-19. The death toll has been rising, and hopefully is very much unidentical to the loopy
sign called infinity. Everything has changed, and it never stops. We don’t go to school, we stay at home, log into a website, join a video call and sit in front of a computer, lock eyes with it and listen to the teacher with other students. School never stopped, studying became an escape rather than a responsibility. One thing that stopped was my uncle Will’s heart.

15 years old

Share This