. All my friends are angry. They feel this force. Purple, hot, and smoking. Suffocating. We all are. All my friends are hopeless. They feel the sadness. The blues of our eyes. The stiffness of our bodies. The burned-out brains of me and you. All my friends are numb. They need to save themselves. Save their smiles and laughter. Save the love that once existed and maybe still does between every single one of us. It's hard not knowing what to do.  With every word that leaves my mouth, the room is getting colder. Slower. The pigments are losing their colour. Until the picture freezes into black and white frames. We shouldn't talk, but we all agree we can't stay quiet. It's unlikely that being deadly quiet brings something other than lifelessness. All my friends are acting. They play these roles of Jacky and Belle, unaffected, unconcerned, and not at all bruised or hurt. The show the people on the rostrum see is easy to untangle; a solution just the blink of an eye away, but Snow White is dead, and the seven swans are drowning in the lake of deep blue shining waters. They are drowning, bleeding, and crying, and one of them is screaming out of fear, "Don't worry, help is coming. As long as we have each other, it's going to be fine."  But five out of seven are already breathing under sea ​​level, and the drops of despair are too heavy to bring them back to shore. Are our lives already without a future? All my friends are angry. Because the food, which should be giving life and joy, is stealing their youth and freedom. It takes and takes and takes and gives nothing in return. Food is supposed to bring us closer together, but food is the source of our anger, and we need to eat more than the crumbs to stay alive.