One Saturday, he joined several people for initiation by the fraternity. He sent several text messages to his friends.

Then nothing was heard from him.

Early morning, three cars rushed to a government hospital. There, they deposited him, black and blue. And dead.

One doctor released the body to a funeral parlor, without having the body undergoing autopsy. His son was one of those who brought him to the hospital.

The news of his death had spread out, sparking a wave of outrage. The fraternity involved, and the men who battered him to death, including the student council president who he had considered a friend, hid like cowards while protesting their innocence.

The university made a hoopla, promising investigations and fire and brimstone. The police and the investigation bureau dipped their hands in his blood. The media feasted on the issue.

Six months later, nothing happened.

His birthday had passed, and nothing happened.

Almost a year after his death, nothing has happened.

Except that life goes on.

For the university.

For the police and the investigation bureau.

For the media.

For the fraternity.

For his killers. One of them graduated already.

Except for him. Because he is dead.

Except for his family. Because he is gone.

Except for justice. Because divine justice is unfathomable and works in mysterious ways.

Except for Life itself. For a life snuffed out uselessly is a blow against Life itself.

Except for History. Human memory fails all the time, but History never forgets.

In eternal memory,