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.


7. The Gunman

~~I had more than enough ammo after killing more than two dozen people; I wasn’t even close to done! The only thing that might stand in my way was the cops standing around the school. Who knew when the would just barge in? Once they figured out for sure what was happening then they would probably be in here in no time. But as of right now, they must not know every detail.
 My black sneakers hit the floor with loud pops, which reminded me of a quieter version of the many gun shots I had fired today. In my hands, was the tool that chose which lives to let live, and which to end. I was like God. So much power, I could do almost anything in this school, and nobody would push me, hit me, or call me names. The school was mine, my kingdom. I was the ruler there.
 Class rooms passed me by, and my gun swayed back and forth by my feet, following the motion of the arm that held it. As I walked, my mind wandered back to the past:
 I was in seventh grade, and had just gotten braces to fix my teeth, like many kids do at that age. The braces were colored green and blue, because those were my favorite colors back then. My excitement towards showing my friends was over the top, I had run into school that day, not even stopping to say bye, or I love you to my mom in the black van.
 All my friends were lined up by their lockers, and I approached them, trying to walk cool. But when I arrived, mouth closed so I wouldn’t spoil the surprise, something seemed off. My friends glared at me, and I couldn’t tell why. Had I done something wrong? Of course I hadn’t, I never did anything wrong back then. I was the shy kid that never really talked. There was nothing I could have done.
 One of my friends walked up to me, scowling at me. I leaned back in fear, not knowing what was going to happen next. He stopped, right in front of me and just stared.
 We stayed like that, me staring wide eyed, innocently into is squinted, angry gaze. Then, his fist came out of nowhere. It hit me in my gut, and I fell hard onto my butt, the wind knocked out of me. I sat gasping for breath, trying to catch up, but he never gave me a chance. Another fist came flying in, thudding against my right shoulder, which caused me to cry out in pain.
 Fists hit against me one by one, it wasn’t just my one friend then, it was all of them. There was a circle of people surrounding us, and nobody helping me. They all yelled, “Fight, fight, fight!” As my arms, legs, chest, and stomach got nailed with the punches of my old friends. Not even a teacher came to help me.
I tried to talk, to ask why, but the pain was too great. Then, the first hit to my face came. It hit my bottom lip, up into my top braces. My mouth spewed out blood from my cut lip, and I screamed in pain.
My final refuge was a girl with blonde hair. She stepped in, screaming at the crowd to, “Get lost,” That they “Should have better things to do,” So, the crowd walked away after that, as did the boys. They seemed to feel that their work was done; they were even with whatever I did.
The girl looked down, her wild eyes sparkling in the lights as she offered a hand to help me up. She smiled a sweet smile at me, which I would never forget. “You look pretty beat up,” She said, “You should probably go to the nurse.”
All I could do was nod in agreement, and she put my arm over her thin shoulders and helped me limp down the halls. When we reached the nurse’s office she looked at me and said, “I like your braces.” She turned her head to the side, “Why’d you choose the color red though?” She shook her head in embarrassment when she realized the red was from the blood, “Sorry.” She mumbled.
I laughed, “Its ok,” My swollen lip made a lisp come with my words, “It happens.” I shrugged.
She nodded, “Cool. I’m Ellie, what’s your name?” Her tan hand reached out to shake mine, and I gladly accepted.
“Hello, Ellie. My name is-“

My thoughts were interrupted by a small, scattering noise. It came from a class room a few doors down. I readied the gun in my hand and crouched down, moving quietly towards the door. Then, I shot it open.

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