HopperWolf Posted May 30, 2002 Report Posted May 30, 2002 OOC: This isn't really a short story per say, more the draught of one. Which may just get fleshed out or expanded too. What do you think? Anyway, all comments welcome 's why I post it. *** I didn’t understand then, none of us did. The gates had been open in welcome the same as any other time. No one could possibly have suspected what would happen towards the end of that swealterng summer day. The others swarmed around the grounds in the own groupes, their cliques. I was, myself, a part of a select group. Ironically, it was us: the outcasts that no one would even talk to, and we were probably the closest of them all. I saw him when he walked through the gates. I hardly noticed him. He was the anomaly. The self-created outcast, no one talked to him because he wouldn’t talk to them. Even us. He was quiet, that was all. And, of course, because he never spoke back, he was an easy target. But then, everyone was bullied at school; in some way. Even the popular kids had to put up with it from their friends. I saw him again, throughout the day while he walked through the hallways, paying no attention to anyone else. His mind seemingly on school. So, God, why do I find myself in this situation now? The first shot rang out, echoing down the hall while I drank from the fountain. My bag fell from my shoulder as I spun round, hitting my hand on the metal bowl that caught the water. A second shot, piercing through the silent school and then the doors all along the corridor urst open and teachers ran towards the devastating noise. Still the rest of the school was silent. I don’t think I can remember it being that quiet any other time. I ran too, following the teacher’s frantic dash down the hallways. At the end of the first there was a third shot and I burried my head down. No idea what was happening, or what I would do, I had to find out. So here I am, standing in the doorframe of an English classroom, one of the teachers that had shot from the class along that corridor knelt next to me, quietly sobbing. His shoulders shaking and his muffled moans unintelligable. Only he knows what he is saying. I would try to do something for him but I can’t. I’m frozen in horror at the sight before me. At the back of the class the teacher is subtly trying to calm the children who are crowded round her; most in silent tears. They can’t be much older the 12 or 13. In front of them was a puddle on the tiled floor, the liquid spreading between the tiles. The source of the red water stares blankly at the flickering light the hung above. His partner lies a few metres away, face down; her own puddle reaches out to meet his. He is standing in front of me. His eyes eyes are closed and he breathes slowly. His coat, that hangs to his waist, is ragged and falling from His shoulders. Hs hair is a greasy mess. He looks desperate. The gun in His hand is held limply by His side. I can tell what he’s thinking. I can read it in those closed eyes and that forced breathing. I know he’ll raise that gun once more. I know it but I can’t stop it. Still I stand, rooted to my spot. I watch in horror as the barrel of the gun rises. It rests on it’s target and, lazily, He pulls the trigger. A fnal blast from the barrel is deafening. Fascination and disgust oil in my stomach as I can finally move and run towards him as he falls limply to the floor. Adding a third puddle to the floor.
Gyrfalcon Posted May 31, 2002 Report Posted May 31, 2002 Its good writing, but it strikes all too close to home for me. Too many kids have decided to get even and then kill themselves for me to be comfortable with this sort of story, especially considering the fact that I go to a high school. *Counts down the days until he's out of high school* Edited by: Gyrfalcon25 at: 5/30/02 10:07:32 pm
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