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.


3. Ellie

It was nine thirty; I was in the middle of psychology when a scream, followed by a huge, echoing pop, bounced down the hall and into the open classroom door. Everyone sat there, quiet, and the teacher stopped in the middle of his lecture on memory. Seconds turned into a minute. Then, the loudspeaker turnd on and shots echoed both on it and off it. The principal tried, and failed, to mask the panic in her voice as she stated, "There is a gunman in our school. We are now under red-!" BANG! A click sounded over the loudspeaker and her voice stopped.

Nobody said a word as we all waited through the silence, to see if her shaking voice would come back on. It never did, and it never would again. There was no movement in the room, everyone sat around, like nothing had happened. Like it had all been some cruel joke. Then, through the deafening silence, footsteps ricocheted down the hall. Soon, there was a boy standing in the door way. The mask covered his facial features, so the only things really noticeable about him were his brown eyes, his height, which had to be at least six foot two, and his thin body. His arms were too long for his body, almost reaching his knees. He was in that awkward stage of life where nothing really fit. However, the thing I noticed next, that I really noticed, were the guns that awkwardly stuck out of his black sweat pants. Then, the rounds of amunition that would feed the mechanical beasts.

I had never been a gun expert, I could tell a real gun from a fake one, but I could just tell those ones were real. And all that mattered was that they were big, which mean there would be either bigger ammo, or more ammo. A shudder racked through my body as a girl next to me screamed, it was shriller than the first scream heard minutes ago rushing through the open hallway. Boys and girls alike got up and rushed to the corner, and I joined the panicked group. I tucked myself behind the crowd of students so I was least likely to be targeted.

The boy mumbled, quietly talking to himself and nobody could hear what he was saying. I peered over someone's shoulder to watch my teacher slowly approach the boy. "You don't want to do this." The teacher said softly, as everyone watched, terrified, "Put the guns down, we can help you. All you need to do is let us."

That did it, the boy jerked his head to the side like a spastic twitch and growled, "All it takes to get attention in this school is a spot on a team, or a dazzling smile. Well guess what?" He yelled, "GUESS WHAT?! I got a few guns and some bullets and now what? Now everyone is paying attention to me. ME!" He turned the gun and shot the teacher right in the chest, point blank range. No way he could have survived that. "Who's next? Who wants to die?" He pointed his gun towards the crowd and everyone inched back. Nobody volunteered. "Somebody? Anybody? It's a pity nobody wants to risk their life to save somebody else's. What has this world come to?" He sighed and reached blindly into the group. His hand came out with a boy I knew. His name was Daniel Foster, my best friend's twin. He was a cool kid, straight A's, he wasn't a bad kid. He didn't deserve to die.

Before I knew what I was doing, I stepped forwards, my hands shook in fists at my sides. My stomache clenched and unclenched and I took a deep, shaky breath and said, "I'll do it." My voice couldn't have been louder than a soft breath, but everyone heard me. The boy slowly turned to me, and something flashed in his eyes, like he recognized me. Like he knew me. It wasn't a flash of hate, but of warmth and familiarity. My eyes squinted, I knew that kid, but I couldn't place a name. It was more of a feeling; all I needed was to see his face.

He turned back to the crowd; the hatred back in his eyes, darkening his composure, "You would let her die for you? You'd let her risk her life for your worthless ones? Would you? Of course you would, you're all rodents. Disgusting little rodents. You have no reason to live." Then, everything seemed slow motion. The gun moved up, but it was a different gun, a sleek black one. And with that, he fired rapid shots into the group of my peers, and friends, and my friends' friends. My sob of fear, and rage, was lost in the noise. He stopped shooting, after killing everyone but me, and said, "I did you a favor. Nobody would have saved you, they would have let you die. Right in front of them." He looked me in the eyes, without pity.

My glare showed through my tears as I said, "I hope you burn in Hell." My voice was raspy from my screams, and I coughed to clear it. He just shook his head and walked away, but stopped in the door frame.

He turned slowly and said, "We all hope for something." Then he walked away, leaving me with my sixteen dead psychology classmates and a stained red floor.


Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...