The school is nearly silent as students shuffle in, huddled against the drizzle. On the notice boards, fresh “Just Say No” posters are pinned beside last year’s anti-bullying campaign, their bright colors dulled by time. The air hums with anticipation, everyone knowing today brings another lesson on the dangers that lurk just beyond the school gates.

Teachers usher everyone into their places as the local police officer takes the microphone. Officer Grant, with a stern jaw and tired eyes, surveys the crowd. "We’re here to talk about choices," he begins, his voice echoing, "and the consequences that follow." The students groan, already familiar with the warnings, but a hush falls as the video begins—images of broken homes and hospital rooms flicker across the gym.

Darren leans against the trunk, guitar case at his side, laughter in his eyes. The Narrator, Darren’s best friend, sits nearby, watching the group pass around a pack of cigarettes and a battered tin of rolling herbs. They joke about the morning’s assembly, feigning bravado, but there’s an unspoken rule—hard drugs are off limits. "Nobody’s that stupid," someone says, and the circle nods, the words settling uneasily in the fading light.

Darren spends longer and longer in the bathroom, his laughter quieter, his eyes shadowed. The Narrator visits, noticing the change—how Darren asks for money, spinning stories that never quite add up. "It’s just for a new amp," he insists. But the music becomes a backdrop to restless silences, and the bathroom door stays closed too long.

Darren[/@ch_2] sits cross-legged on a busy corner, strumming his guitar, a battered hat at his knees.] Passersby drop coins, their faces averted. Darren plays the same song, fingers trembling. His old friends drift away; rumors replace conversation. The Narrator searches sometimes, hears stories—Darren seen near the railway, or sleeping in the park. The city swallows him, his music a faint echo beneath the hum of traffic.

Darren[/@ch_2] slumped in a threadbare chair.] The Narrator enters, heart pounding. "Darren?" Silence answers. The world narrows to the stillness of the room—the scattered evidence of a life unraveled, the cold finality in the air. The Narrator closes his friend’s eyes, dials emergency services, and waits in the growing silence.

Darren leaves behind no money, only a worn guitar and a scattering of memories. The Narrator watches as teachers resume their campaigns, posters reappear, and life returns to routine. "Just say no," rings hollow now, a mantra echoing through empty corridors. The Narrator wonders if anyone truly listens, or if every warning is just another story waiting to be repeated.