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.


2. Joe

The bus was crowded as I squeezed my way through the isle. Some mumbled, "Watch out freshy." Others just elbowed me painfully on the back, but I kept walking until I reached my seat. I was next to my friend Jake, who wore a yellow sweater the color of a mustard stain. Normally, I would make fun of him for that shirt, but that day just didn't seem right. Something was off.

"I was invited to Katy Andrews' party this weekend, dude! She is SO hot, I scored!" He pumped his fist in the air, and I just smiled distractedly. Jake hadn't felt the oddness of the day. Noticing that I wasn't going to reply back, he stopped talking and leaned his head against the window. It was so cool to watch the houses blur past in a flash of color. It had always calmed me.

Eventually the bus pulled up to the school, and we all filed out in a long practiced line. Then, once we hit the sidewalk, everyone split, going off to their classes or groups of friends. I just walked into the building, where the flourescent lights shone brightly off the polished white tiled floors and right into my eyes.

My classroom was on the main floor, so I didn't have to walk that far. I was already sitting in my glossy blue seat when the bell rang, a peircing noise cutting through happy conversations. It echoed for a few minutes then cut off, leaving a dull ring in my ears.

The teacher took attendance of the kids in class that day, her reading glasses dangling from a chain around her neck as she scanned the students faces. Apparently everyone was there that day, which hardly ever happened. When the teacher was about to begin her lecture, I raised my hand. "Yes Joe?" Her sweet old lady voice asked. It was the beginning of the day, no other students had ruined it for her yet.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" I asked her with a raised eyebrow and a smile.

She rolled her eyes, she never understood why students didn't go before class, we never told her it was because they were packed beyond belief. She huffed exaggeratedly as she signed my pass. I mumbled a thank you and ran from my desk. I looked up the hallway and down the hallway before leaving the classroom behind. There was nobody in site as I walked to the bathroom. When I reached my destination, I unzipped my jeans and stood patiently at the urinal as I peed. When I was done, I zipped my pants back up and exited the room.

The bathroom was in the front of the school, so I was walking past the front doors when I saw a person walk in, all dressed in black. His black ski mask showed his dark brown eyes, full of hatred as the locked onto my small frame, outlined by the open hallway behind me. I slowly backed up, like he was the lion and I was the gazelle. Soon, I caught site of the bullet vest he wore.

A scream tore through my throat as he pulled out a gun, I tried to run but was frozen by fear. The gun moved upwards in slow motion, mocking me, and I finally broke into a run. But it was too late. The gun made a huge bang behind me and I fell to the ground, instantly killed.

And so it began.

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