• Once, when I was a part of a circus club in our school, I tried to explain the rules of a game we'd been playing in P.E class. No one seemed to understand. They said, let's just pick another game, we don't have enough time. No one was on my side. I got totally pissed off, I dunno if I was stressed or something, but then It happened.
    I hit my best friend on her face.
    The world really seemed to stop for a moment. My hand hurting for the hit, I stared at her, she stared back.
    I turned around and ran away.
    I picked my coat and shoes and ran out of the hall, out of our school, outside... And then, I stopped. I turned back, thought about apologizing... But the door was locked already, since it was so late.
    I couldn't go back.
    In the evening, I sent a text message to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." I knew it wouldn't help at all.
    "I'm still not talking to you tomorrow", she answered.
    "I know."
    Maybe it was the punishment for my short temper. We're not friends anymore. She found new friends, and they're propably a lot funnier than me.
    I deserve it, I know. I deserve more than this. I didn't feel bad enough when it was over.
    Sometimes I want to ask myself from that day, that small, lazy brat, spoiled with loving parents and super good learning ability, "Why did you do it?"
    But the ansver would, of course, be: "I don't know."
    Hey, can you still feel it? My hand hitting your cheek, strongly. I bet you can. I can feel it, tickling on my right hand.
    It must have been horrible, to be hit. You didn't do anything at all! You were my best friend, and really kind. You never did anything bad to me.
    I'm sorry. I know we can't be friends anymore, but please forgive me. Even a little bit. I'm sorry.
    I'm a cheerful person nowadays. I don't get angry easily. Me and my new friends hit, scratch and fight each other everyday. It's fun and we don't mean anything by it.
    But sometimes I still remember what I did to you,
    and feel quilty for being so happy nowadays.
    You know, it's just like that locked door, the past. The mistakes I made.
    They'll remain as scars on my skin, and yours too, never disappearing.

    The door is already locked.