The Gunman

A bang. A pop. A explosion. Whatever you choose to call it, made its way through a school, changing lives in an instant. A gunman had made his way to the shool, done with the years of torture and bullying. It was his time to make a statement. This story follows many different perspectives of the shooting going from parents, to victims, to survivors, and even to the shooter himself. Read the feelings of people trying to escape.

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6. Anna

After the footsteps of the shooter faded, I still stayed hidden in the cramped locker space. There was no way I was going to risk walking out into open space. However, after a few minutes, my breathing turned irregular and shallow. The locker’s slits didn’t help much with delivering oxygen. So I stayed there, with my knees touching my chest, which began expanding less and less. My head began to spin, and I heard a noise. A small, whimpering noise. But a noise none the less.

            I looked around, wondering if I had imagined it, if my mind was playing tricks. But then I heard it again, a small whimper. No louder than a mouse, but the quietness of the hall helped me hone my ears onto it. It came from the classroom that the shooter had walked out of.

            The quiet whimpers soon turned into quiet sobs that made my heart break in sorrow. The locker made no noise this time as I opened it, and stepped down, stretching my legs out. My feet carried me swiftly, yet quietly, over to the room where the sobs emerged. There was a girl there, she looked familiar. Her soft, straight, blonde hair spread across her back, fanned out from shoulder to shoulder. It was speckled with red dots, which stood out. After a few seconds, I connected the red dots with the red floor, and the red floor with the bodies. And the bodies with blood.

            A soft gasp escaped my lips, and the blonde haired girl turned around. I knew this girl. We had grown up together, shared secrets together, and argued occasionally. She was my best friend. “Ellie!” I whispered harshly, and ran up to her, “What happened?” I knew the question was stupid, I obviously knew what happened. I was just so flabbergasted. Nothing seemed real.

            Ellie’s eyes looked up to me, they were bloodshot from the tears. Her bottom lip quivered, and her breathing came out unevenly. I didn’t even think she knew I was there, the way her eyes were glazed over. She didn’t even really focus on anything, just stared at nothing. I wished I could do that, go off into my own land, escape the madness for just one second.

            Then, I saw it. Well, not it exactly. Him. My brother lay on the floor, eyes open in the last expression he would ever make, fear. Dried blood was all around him, caking the floor and his clothes, and matting down his hair to his forehead. A body was on top of him, a body of a girl with more than three gun shots on her. Two were in her face, she was unrecognizable.

            My brother’s mouth was open, in a final scream, a final noise. He wasn’t just a regular brother to me; he was a companion, a friend, my twin. Tears streamed down my face as I gaged over the smell of the bodies.

            Ellie still sat there, sobs escaped her lightly parted lips, but she didn’t appear to realize it. My still shaking hands reached over and cupped her face, “Ellie? Listen to me; we are going to be okay. Hear that? The cops are here, they will help us, and they will save us.” The think I didn’t say was, they had been here for over half an hour and they hadn’t done anything. Why hadn’t they done anything? As of right then, we were all alone. On our own.

            The fact that my brother was among the dead only made me mad, and I wanted revenge, needed it. “I’m going to need your help Ellie, you hear me? I need you!” I shook my friend hard, snapping her head back and forth, but she didn’t even flinch. Her unblinking eyes looked at  the ceiling like it held all the mysteries to life.

            My hands unlatched from her shoulders as I gave up on her. I turned around to face my brother, my breath catching as I closed his eyes with my hand. My goal was no longer to get out of the school, it was to keep the shooter in it. This meant war.

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