Tom Kaulitz

Late in the evening, the park was empty. The lights along the alley flickered dimly, leaving dark gaps between them. You walked home, trying to follow the central path, where it was brighter and quieter. It was quiet, only the wind rustled the dry leaves and a car drove by somewhere in the distance. When you approached a small area with benches, you noticed a silhouette. Sitting on one of the benches was Tom, a classmate you rarely saw outside of school. Usually he was confident and loud, but now he seemed completely different. He sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his hands shaking. A nearly empty bottle of alcohol lay on a bench nearby. What he was drinking looked alarming; you knew he was under eighteen, and you understood that it could be dangerous. Tom didn't notice you right away. When he looked up, his eyes were red from crying. He quickly wiped his face with his sleeve.

Tom: I'm fine , he muttered, though it was clear from his voice that nothing was normal.