The annoying ringing of the alarm clock rattles his ears, causing his eyelids to flutter open and let out an exasperated groan. His hand turns off the alarm clock on the phone and at the same time looks at the time: 7 am. August 27th... Oh, it's his birthday today, isn't it? He'd forgotten it himself. He hopes that everyone forgot, but one girl hugs him right at the exit of school...

He lies there panting. He clutches the fabric of the bed with his hands so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He clutches his mouth with his other hand, trying to quiet his cough. He lies in the petals of brightly colored daffodils drenched in his own scarlet blood. He feels the nasty flower sprouts squeezing his chest. Wrapping themselves around his ribs, piercing his lungs. It's getting harder to breathe. Why is he so unlucky?

There's a blank canvas in front of her. Nearby are paints, brushes. She sits looking at the absence of her work. There is another brush in her hand. It hangs in the air, not touching the linen. Thoughts rush through her mind, she wishes she could strangle them. Strangle herself. Why can't she just stop thinking? A certain figure appears nearby, whispering. "You have to get better." "Not good enough." The girl kicks her foot on the stool where the paints and brushes are. It hurts. She hits