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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14. Reed

~~I was hidden in a bathroom stall, the only one in there. Earlier, I had gone in to pee in a urinal, but then the shots rang out throughout the school. The first thing I had done was dive for the stall, and locked myself in. Not that it would do anything; the doors would open up even if you just barely tapped it.
 I had my phone in my hand, not knowing if I should call my mom and let her know if I was alright or not. My mother was always so busy and hated when I called her phone while she was at work. There was no way to know if this was the exception. So I dialed her number and pressed send.
 It rang three times before my mother picked up, snarling things about how she was too busy to answer my phone calls. She mumbled for a while like I couldn’t hear her, and then said, “What do you want?” Her voice snapped at me, causing me to flinch.
 “I-I was just calling you to let you know I was ok.” My voice wavered, never really setting on a tone. I was trying to whisper but the lump in my throat made it nearly impossible.
 “Well yeah you’re ok, you’re at school. Why would I need to know you’re ok?” Her voice never smoothed out, it stayed irritated and angry. My mother had no clue.
 “The police didn’t call you?” I asked, figuring that the police would have known by now and contacted the parents.
 “I got a call earlier, but I ignored it, I was in a meeting. In fact, I have another one in five minutes so can we hurry this along?” Then she paused, “Why would the police be calling me? Are you in trouble?” She growled, “Do I have to bail you out of jail, because I do not have time for that! I should just let your butt stay in jail!”
 “Mom, yes I’m in trouble. Not that kind of trouble. This isn’t my fault.” My voice broke with a sob, “But mom, I’m scared. What do I do? Help me please; I have no place to hide. The bathroom isn’t a good place to hide. Mom please help me.” I broke down sobbing, I was so scared, and there was nowhere else to go.
 Her voice was quiet for a little bit but then she said, “Is this a joke? Because this is not funny Reed! When you get home you are so grounded!” She continued yelling at me from the other end and more sobs fell out of my mouth.
 “Mom, this is not a joke I swear!” My voice rose too loud and I gasped, terrified that someone had heard me, so I whispered, “There were gun shots fired all around the school. I am in the back bathroom on the first floor but every time a gunshot fires it gets closer and closer and I’m gonna die. He’s gonna find me here and shoot me and I just wanted to talk to my mom. Is that too much to ask? I wanted to talk to my mom one last time before I die.” I cried, pleading for my mother to believe me.
 She was quiet once again, but longer this time. Then she answered back, more kindly, “Are you sure honey?” This was the nicest thing she had said to me in a really long time and I sniffled when she said it.
 “Yes, I’m sure. I’m positive. There is nobody in the bathroom but me and I know he’s going to walk in here. He’s going to see me under the stalls. Mom, I’m scared, and I just wanted to hear your voice one last time.” I stopped talking as I heard footsteps from out in the hall, nearing the bathroom. “Mom, he’s coming. I hear him.” I whispered as quietly as I could.
 My mother’s voice cracked as she asked, “Are you hidden baby? Is there anywhere to hide?” It was quiet on her end, “Go hide somewhere, you’ll be okay. I promise baby.” I could tell by the way she said this that she was just trying to convince herself, not me.
 The door creaked open to the bathroom and I saw the boys black boots with red splotches walk through. He approached every stall door and pushed it open. One by one he worked his way down to mine, and paused. My mother was still talking on the other end of the phone, and I had silent tears streaming down my cheeks.
 I was only thirteen, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to grow up and live my life. Right then, in that moment, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered, as the door to my stall was kicked open and I was spotted was that the last words my mother heard from me was, “I love you mom, forever and always.”
 Then, the gun was raised, point blank in my wet face. So when the gun went off, I felt nothing, heard nothing. My lifeless body fell to the toilet paper covered bathroom floor. The end of my thirteen years.
 

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