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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9. Ellie

~~The world seemed so surreal, and foreign. Not one part of my mind could comprehend what had happened in this class room. I lifted up my hands to look at the stains of red, covering them. I wasn’t shaking anymore, that was good at least. My eyes burned from not blinking, but I hardly noticed it. I was too lost in thought.
I had offered to die, it is worse, so much worse, to be kept alive. Knowing, that the whole class had just died, right in front of you. The worst thing you could ever imagine. I barely noticed Anna, hunched over by her brother, crying. Her sobs filled my ears, but I couldn’t figure out what they were. I just sat there, knees tucked under me, and head lolled back.
Everything around me just seemed so… Red. I had never liked the color red; it always seemed too bold, too daring. Like it wanted to stick out from the rest of the colors. However, red was always somewhere in the world, on a t-shirt, In a store, anywhere and everywhere. Like, right then, it was on the floor. I thought the floor was white? That pristine white that gave you a headache if you stared at it for too long. Of course though, I must have been wrong. The floor will always be red. Along with my hands. For, even when I would get around to washing them, even when the red would go away. It would always be there, haunting me, mocking me.
Another shot fired throughout the school, claiming another victim, no doubt. Why must there always be a victim? It’s normally the person that always tried to be good, nice, and sweet. The best people are always lost to this world, claimed by the worst of life. Nothing made sense.
My eyes slowly began to blink again, and my hands started to tremble. A sob escaped my mouth, loud. It shook my whole body once, twice, three times. I fell onto the floor, stomach first and cried like a baby.
Anna crawled over to me, and hugged me while I continued crying. My tears kept coming and coming, as I cried on Anna’s pink blouse.
When I pulled away, I was still crying, but I was almost cried out. I looked at the spot on Anna’s shoulder, right beneath her chestnut brown hair, and saw a huge wet spot from my tears. Instantly, I felt guilty. Anna should be the one crying, not me. Her brother was dead, not mine.
More tears threatened to spill over my eyes, and I sniffed, “I am so sorry Anna.” I said, my irregular breathing making it hard to talk. She looked at me with a sad, but reassuring smile.
“What are you sorry for? Crying? You can’t be sorry for that, you just saw this,” Anna pointed at the bodies, and I saw her flinch when her eyes skimmed over her brother.
“I guess…” My voice faded off and I hiccupped, “But none of these people were my friends, your brother’s here.” I looked at his body, now lying peacefully with his eyes and mouth closed. Anna must have done that, it brought a lump to my throat.
“I know,” Anna’s voice wobbled, “Trust me I know.” A few tears spilled from her blue eyes, and raced down her pale, freckled face.
I flinched, and decided to change the subject, “So what are we going to do now?” I asked, my voice sounded like a little kids voice, asking their parents something they really didn’t want to know the answer to.
Anna’s eyes darkened and she shook her head, “I don’t have the slightest idea yet. All I know is that we are stopping the gunman.”
 

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