Tatiana Bazhan
A Better World
Chapter 1: Alex
Night. Alex lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn't come. Not tonight. Not any night, really. A heavy weight pressed down on his chest, a constant companion these past months. It felt like a stone, cold and hard, lodged right behind his ribs. He sighed, the sound swallowed by the darkness of his room.
Depression. That's what the school counsellor had called it after Alex's last breakdown. A fancy word for feeling… utterly broken. He hadn’t gone back to that school to tell him he felt worse.
He closed his eyes, and instantly, they were there. The voices. Whispering, then louder, sharper, crueller.
“GINGER FREAK!”
“CARROT TOP!”
Each taunt echoed in his head, amplified by the silence of the room. It had started innocently enough, the odd comment in the corridor. But it had escalated, day by day, turning into a relentless barrage of insults, snide remarks, and outright mockery. And with the digital age at hand, there was no going back.
The teacher, Mr. Davies, just seemed to look the other way. Did he not hear? Didn't he care? Probably not. Alex was just another kid in a classroom full of them.
His parents? They had no idea. He couldn't bring himself to tell them. His dad, a university professor, always seemed so… preoccupied. His Mum always too busy with the house to listen. He didn’t want to burden them. Besides, he was sixteen. He should be able to handle this, shouldn't he?
He’d tried. God, he’d tried everything. Ignoring them. That didn’t work. Fighting back. That only made it worse. Trying to befriend them? Hopeless. They weren't interested in anything beyond their phones, their stupid online stories, and the latest viral trend. They didn't know what a book looked like, let alone that a guitar could move your soul. They just liked tormenting him and filming it.
Alex rolled onto his side. Maybe he should just get a new place. Switch schools? What would it help? This was the third school in two years. Always moving houses with his people. It was always the same. The whispers, the stares, the relentless pursuit of anything that made him different.
He remembered the last time. The hand-drawn caricatures plastered all over the school corridors, his face twisted into grotesque shapes, accompanied by vile captions. Photos of him taken without his knowledge, uploaded online, attracting a torrent of hateful comments.
He just couldn't face it anymore. Every morning, getting out of bed was a battle. Walking through the school gates felt like entering a war zone. The weight in his chest grew heavier with each step.
His mum kept saying, “You have to finish school, Alex. You need to go to university. Your father’s a professor, you can’t let him down by flunking your exams.”
“But Mum…” he started last week, only for her to cut him off.
“No buts, Alex! We just want what’s best for you.”
He knew they did. But what was the point of a good degree if he was completely destroyed by the time he got there? Alex closed his eyes once more, the darkness closing around him like a suffocating blanket. A single tear escaped and traced a cold path down his cheek. He was so tired. So, so tired.
Alex opened his laptop, searching for the answers. “How to stop bullying at school?” and “How to overcome depression?” he typed, hoping for solutions. He stumbled upon a website offering help to teenagers in tough situations. He read:
“YOU ARE NOT ALONE!”
The words caught his eyes.
“YOU WERE BORN TO MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE!”
A message followed:
“You can help those who need you. Meeting tomorrow at 6 PM in the abandoned house.”
Alex hesitated, a mix of fear and hope welling up inside him. Could this be the answer he was looking for? Or was it something else entirely?
Chapter 2: Emily
Emily was running away, trying to escape from herself and the illusion of her family.
That evening the kitchen light cast a harsh glare on her father. He was slumped at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey glinting beside him. Crumbs of bread and bits of chicken lay scattered on the newspaper in front of him, though he wasn’t eating now, just drinking. Mum had moved into her room weeks before, and every night the girl could hear her muffled sobs through her dream.
He hadn’t always been like this. She remembered… well, she tried to remember better days. But the alcohol seemed to have washed them away, leaving only the ugly present.
The dam broke last Tuesday. Mum couldn't take it anymore. Emily understood now that it was dangerous, too dangerous to confront the drunk. But her nerves snapped. She stood in the doorway, her voice rising with each word.
“I wish you were dead, you monster!” she screamed, her face red and blotchy. “I hate you! You've ruined my life!”
He exploded. He kicked the kitchen door off its hinges with a sickening crack. Then he swept his arm across the table, sending glasses and plates crashing to the floor.
“Dad, please! No!” Emily begged, but he didn’t even seem to see her. He was lost in his own rage, a beast unleashed.
The horror of that night was never to be forgotten. The people who were supposed to be Emily’s safe place had become something else. That staggering, slurring man was not her dad. And her mum’s face that streaked with mascara and tears was not the face of the calm, strong woman she knew. They were strangers, monstrous versions of themselves.
Fear and shame became Emily’s constant companions. There had been times, back before Mum moved into her room, when Dad would wet the bed. Emily was so ashamed. At first, Mum would pull off his wet trousers and underwear, her face tight with disgust. Then, she just stopped. In the morning, he'd strip off the soaked clothes himself, a look of weary disgust on his face before shuffling towards the bathroom. The heavy, acrid smell of urine would linger in the big room for days. Sometimes, he wouldn't even make it to the bathroom, and the hall or the living room would be stained. He'd vomit in the bath, leaving Mum to clean it.
His binges would last for three or four weeks, turning the house into a living hell. He gave his wages to Mum, but when he needed money for a drink, he would first beg, and then force it out of her. The gentle giant, slowly dissolving into a monster.
Emily just wanted him to stop. She just wanted her mum to smile again. She just wanted her family back.
Chapter 3: Jessica
Jessica's stomach rumbled, a loud, embarrassing groan that echoed in the otherwise silent library. Her head swam, and the edges of her vision began to blur. Black spots danced before her eyes. Five days. That was all. In five days, she’d managed two oranges, a single boiled egg, and a handful of leafy greens. There was also the chicken, but she didn’t count that. She’d bolted to the loo and brought it right back up.
“I need to lose weight”, she thought, clutching the edge of the table for balance. “I'm too fat.”
The numbers flashed in her mind, a brutal, unforgiving equation: 54 kilograms. 169 centimetres. It was disgusting. Ann, from her form, was so much better. She floated through the halls, a wisp of a girl at a mere 49 kilograms. The older lads noticed her. Everyone wanted to be her boyfriend. Jessica? Invisible. She was always on her own.
A wave of nausea washed over her, and she closed her eyes, willing it to pass. This had to work. She needed to be thin. She’d even bought a pair of jeans a size too small, stuffed in the back of her wardrobe. A goal. Motivation.
The bell rang, jolting her back to reality. Another lesson. More staring, more whispered comments she could only half-hear, more loneliness.
She stumbled out of the library, fighting to keep her head up. The corridor was a blur of faces, all laughing and chatting and belonging. Jessica felt more invisible than ever.
Later that day, during break, it happened. One minute she was standing by her locker, trying to remember what pages of history she was supposed to read, the next, she was on the floor. The world swam around her, a distorted mess of noise and colour.
Then, nothing.
When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the cold, hard floor beneath her cheek.
“Jessica? Jess, are you alright?”
It was Mrs. Davison, the history teacher. Her face was etched with concern.
“I… I think so,” Jessica mumbled, trying to sit up. “What’s happened?”
“You’ve fainted, dear. Just now. Lucky I saw you.” Mrs. Davison helped her up and led her to a nearby bench. “Are you eating properly, love?”
Jessica looked away, shame burning in her face. “Yeah, fine,” she lied.
Mrs. Davison sighed.
“Look, Jessica. I'm not daft. You look pale as a ghost. You need to take care of yourself. Your health is more important than… well, than anything.”
Jessica didn't say anything.
“Come on,” Mrs. Davison said gently. “Let's get you to the school nurse.”
At the infirmary, Nurse Thompson took Jessica's blood pressure and asked a few questions.
“Are you feeling stressed about anything, Jessica?” she asked, her voice kind.
Jessica hesitated.
“Just… school, I guess,” she mumbled.
The nurse nodded.
“School can be tough. But you need to make sure you're eating enough. It will affect your school.”
She paused, then added softly, “You're a lovely girl, Jessica. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”
After the nurse left, Jessica sat for a long time, staring out the window. Mrs. Davison's words echoed in her head: “Your health is more important than… anything.”
She thought about Ann, about the older lads, about the clothes a size too small. She thought about the black spots in her vision, the rumbling in her stomach, the cold, hard floor under her cheek. Just a couple of days. She needed to be patient. She needed to weigh 49. Then she would eat and do sports. Then she would be attractive.
Chapter 4: Mike
Mike was 15, and his life felt like a rubbish sitcom. Ever since his parents split, his mum, Carol, had been on a relentless quest for “the one.”
The problem? “The one” seemed to materialise, unpack his suitcase, and then vanish in a puff of smoke, roughly every four weeks.
Each new boyfriend came with new rules.
“Mike, you need to be more respectful,” Barry would boom, settling into Mike's dad's old armchair and demanding the telly remote. Or, “Michael,” as Graham insisted on calling him, would declare war on Mike's music.
“That racket! It's hardly classical, is it?”
Mike's strategy was simple: make their lives a misery until they couldn't stand it anymore. He'd leave his dirty laundry everywhere. He'd “accidentally” break things. He'd blast his music at all hours. And he'd perfected the art of the sarcastic remark.
“Nice shirt, Barry. Did you get it from a jumble sale?”
“Graham, are you sure you know how to cook? Smells like the house is on fire.”
Carol, though, was livid.
“Why can't you just be nice, Mike?” she'd scream, her voice cracking. “Just for once! Is it too much to ask?”
“They're not my dad,” Mike would mutter, kicking at the skirting board. “They're just… temporary.”
“They could be permanent if you weren't so impossible!”
The tension in their small house was always thick. Dinners were silent affairs, punctuated only by the clatter of cutlery and the barely-concealed glares between Mike and the latest intruder. Carol would try to make conversation, but it always felt forced, fake.
One particularly grim Tuesday, after Mike had “accidentally” spilled a glass of orange juice on Trevor’s brand new laptop, Carol snapped. The argument started in the kitchen, then spilled into the living room, escalating with terrifying speed.
“You do this on purpose, don't you?” Carol shrieked, her face red. “You want to ruin everything!”
“They ruin everything!” Mike yelled back, his voice trembling. “They come in here and try to tell me what to do!”
“They try to bring some stability into this house! Something you clearly can't do yourself!”
Then, Carol said the words that would forever echo in Mike's mind. Words that would change everything.
“Sometimes,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face, “sometimes I wish I’d never had you. I should have had an abortion.”
The air went still. Mike stared at his mother, his mind reeling. The words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut.
He couldn't speak. He just turned and ran, slamming the door behind him. He ran until his lungs burned, until his legs ached. He didn't know where he was going, he just needed to get away.
Carol’s words replayed in his head, over and over. “I wish I'd never had you. I should have had an abortion.”
He stumbled to a park, collapsing onto a bench under a gloomy sky. The world seemed grey, lifeless. Was he really just a mistake? An unwanted burden?
A dark thought began to creep into his mind, a chilling solution to the unbearable pain. If he wasn't wanted, if he was just a problem, maybe… maybe it would be better if he wasn't here at all. The thought of disappearing, of escaping the constant turmoil, was strangely appealing.
He stared blankly at the murky pond, the water reflecting his own despair. The idea of ending it all, of simply ceasing to exist, became a dangerous, seductive whisper in his ear.
Emily arrived at the park just in time. One look at Mike and she understood everything.
“Hey,” she said, her voice filled with urgency, “You are not alone! You were born to make the world a better place!”
Like Alex, Emily had also found the website dedicated to helping teenagers. She knew she wanted to help others; it was far better than watching loved ones suffer.
“You can help those who need you,” she continued, her voice softening. “Meeting tomorrow at 6 PM in the abandoned house.”
Mike thought she was talking nonsense, but then she took his hand. Her hand was warm, filled with life. In her eyes, he saw the same vitality. Her lips… He tried to push the thought away. He just agreed to meet her at the abandoned house tomorrow.
Chapter 5: The meeting
Alex approached the abandoned building. It was 5:50 PM. His heart pounded in his chest. He tried to calm himself, muttering under his breath, “You can help those who need you.” As he got closer, he saw Mike. They used to play basketball together at their old school.
“Alex! What are you doing here?” Mike asked, surprised.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Alex replied, a little breathless. “I got a message online. It said someone needed my help and told me to come here.”
“Sounds familiar! Some strange website. Thought it was a prank at first, but… well, here I am,” Mike said, looking around nervously.
They began to question each other about how they had ended up there, until together, they started repeating the words written in the message:
“YOU ARE NOT ALONE! YOU WERE BORN TO MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE!”
Across from them, Emily seemed to be ignored by the others, but she was secretly observing Alex. Tall, slim, and with red hair, he was striking. Handsome, curly hair framed his face. And his eyes – a gaze full of determination to change the world. And his fingers. She involuntarily imagined those fingers touching her face, then trailing down her shoulders.
Just then, Mike introduced her to Alex.
“Alex, this is Emily. Emily, this is Alex.”
Their eyes met briefly.
“Nice to meet you,” Alex said, a slight smile playing on his lips.
“Hi,” Emily replied softly, her cheeks flushing slightly.
But Mike, oblivious to the unspoken connection, interrupted.
“Right, well, it's 6 PM now. This mysterious stranger from the website should be showing up any minute.”
The three of them started calling out, “Anybody here? Hello?”
No answer came. Only silence. The apprehension grew.
“Maybe this is a joke after all,” one of the boys said, trying to lighten the mood with a weak smile.
But then, Emily noticed an envelope. It lay on a stone. Opening it, the teenagers read,
“SHE NEEDS YOUR HELP! OR SHE WILL DIE BECAUSE OF HER DIETING.”
Below the words was a photograph of… Jessica, lying on the floor near her locker at school. Further down the page, there were detailed instructions, outlining what each of them should do and say.
“Okay, this is getting serious,” Alex said, his voice firm. “Let’s read this carefully. We need to figure out what's going on.”
