I had a dream that I died last night. I guess this is what the dream meant.

My mother is someone who believes that dreams have no impact on your real life and she taught me to believe that but right now, crunched on the rooftop of one of the buildings in my school, I was about to die and I was forced to disbelieve my mother's words.

It was pathetic as tears stung my eyes but I was unwilling to cry. I could only whimper with my hands curled around my stomach like a lifeless snake.

If I knew this would be the reward of putting down those feelings of mine in a paper because I could not tell anyone, I would have swallowed my secret and taken it to my grave without a second thought.

I could not tell anyone what I was going through because the moment I do, they will know my secret and when they do, I will never get to live a normal life again and have my mother smile to me till she shows those dimples inherited from her.

I swallowed the blood that kept oozing out of the wound I got from a punch on my mouth. I hate the smell and taste of blood. I was covered in bruises and blood so that could give you an idea of how much I hated my whole existence.

The fact that I hate myself did not mean I wanted to die. I had an even stronger will to live than ever in my life because I was determined to get my revenge.

My parents were as rich as they were religious except for my mother who was a specialist in my father's hospital. She was only religious because my father wanted her to be, she was a psychiatrist.

I knew that soon, perhaps in a decade, I will inherit the wealth and power of my father and I will turn every one of them into cadavers for the medical students I might even use them for a practical class.

I had to live. I had a month before I graduate from this school and move abroad. When I get back, I won't be someone they can bully. So, live!

It was cold and I was not wearing the white padded jacket my mother bought for me because she remembered my face the moment she saw it online. I left it on my seat and bad luck made me run into these hooligans who caught me on my way from the restroom. Real bad luck, right?

You might not understand everything I have been saying so I think I will start again and try to make this clearer. I wrote this in a pretty good phase of my life when I met . . .

I was about to spoil it all but I will start all over again sorry for wasting your time.

My name is Kwan Minjun and as I said earlier, I have only a month before I graduated from high school and move abroad to study medicine in one of the best universities in the world.

I am right now faced with death itself because my secret got exposed.

I think I messed up the introduction but since I am not a professional story writer, I will continue this way so that I don't take too much of your time.

I am faced with death on a cold evening on a rooftop.

Well, to give you a little spoiler, the guy I had a feeling for that made me aware of my sexual orientation read the confession I wrote in my diary and was disgusted to the point that he wants me dead.

He was only a youth and sincerely did not plan to kill me when he pushed me off the rooftop but it all happened that way.

I was beaten and physically weak although I was not in any way mentally weak and since I did not know what was about to happen, I could not prevent falling to my death.

Do I regret confessing to my diary about being bisexual?

No, but I regret bringing my diary to school because the housekeeper told me she was asked by my mother to do a thorough cleaning job in my room and I was scared that she might see it.

I came from the wealthiest family among my classmates and I was the top student in the class so no bully was bold enough to disturb my peace. This had me wondering why they had to pick my diary, and instead of giving it to me, they read it.

Still thinking about it makes me perplexed. I was very popular among the girls not just because of my family's wealth but because just like my name, I was a very handsome youth.

Well, considering that, shouldn't that be a good reason why the guy I had a crush on would be happy about it?

Well, even if he was happy about it, he could not let it show because he was not the person who picked the diary, rather a bully did and they told him.

They afterward began venting their long-accumulated jealousy and hatred towards me as they began bullying me. I was blackmailed and I could not tell anyone about it, well I guess that is the thing about a real blackmail.

To conclude the part about my death, I was raised by the already rumpled collar of my shirt.

The person raising my whole body which was not small because I was 5ft11 was four inches taller with a bulky figure he looked like a professional bodybuilder except for the excess body fat that made him look like a professional sumo wrestler.

No offense.

Well, I must say that I died very stupidly. Somehow, I could swear that it was planned by destiny and fate although I did not believe in any of them then.

Well, that crush of mine was supposed to punch me as the last warning to me about crushing on him but things went wrong there. It was dark and soon I felt like I was bungy-jumping.