Twisted

The men’s bathroom of my high school was quite boring. I hadn’t been in it too many times since I was a bit afraid of public restrooms. The walls were a light and calming blue, but it did nothing to make me feel any better. I stood alone, in my blue jeans and white t-shirt, looking at my pale face.

I was tired. I hadn’t been sleeping well for the past couple weeks. My eyes had dark rings under them and they were sunken in. My cheeks were more pronounced than usual, considering the fact that I haven’t been very hungry much lately. I’m fat and ugly anyway.

At least that’s what I’m told. I’ll walk down the hall at school and hear whispers about how huge and disgusting I am. I’ve stopped eating to get them to shut up, but they just keep finding other things to taunt me about. My clothes, my hair, my voice, my walk, all of it is under ridicule.

I can’t take it anymore.

I don’t know how I snuck it in or kept it a secret until lunch, but I eventually got to the bathroom with my backpack. I opened it up and slowly pulled out the semi-automatic pistol my dad kept locked in his gun cabinet. I rooted through the bottom of my bag to find the magazine with fifteen bullets inside. I shoved it in the bottom of the gun and heard it click.

Home was no fun either. No matter what I did, there was no pleasing my family. I was the black sheep; the one nobody talks about because I’m so bad. They don’t like the music I listen to, the grades I get, the friends I bring home…

Wait, what friends? I don’t have any. It’s not like I want any either. They all just talk behind my back anyway. I can hear them. I know they’re talking about me.

I stared hard at my brown eyes in the reflection. They were so plain and accentuated my straight brown hair. I looked back down at the gun in my right hand.

It’s time.

I brought it up to the right side of my head and slowly pulled back the hammer, sucking in my last breath, shutting my eyes, and clenching my teeth as hard as I could in an effort to somehow lessen the pain that I was about to feel.

Everything went silent. It felt as though Time had stood still for this instant.

What am I doing?

I opened my eyes and looked at my reflection. There I was, ready to die and leave a big mess for them to clean up. I looked desperate, but…

This is wrong.

I lowered the gun down to my side, pushing the hammer back to its original position. I’m not the problem. If I kill myself, I’ll only be running away from the real problem.

Everything sped up again. I could hear laughter outside the bathroom door.

I know what the real problem is.

I watched a smile creep across my face.

The door burst open and a tall teenager, probably in Grade 12, stole a glance at me, stopping in his tracks as he saw me point the pistol at his chest, pulling the hammer back.

“Woah, dude! What—“

“Bang.”

I pulled the trigger. He was thrown back to the wall by the impact of the close range shot. He looked at me in terror as he slid down the bathroom wall, leaving a large bloodstain.

I smiled wider. “Well this is one way to solve the real problem.”

The door burst open again as an adult – one of my teachers from this morning, in fact – investigated the noise. He took one look at the (now dead) Twelfth Grader and looked at me before I pulled the hammer back again.

“Bang.”

I pulled the trigger once more. My teacher flew back in a similar manner as the teen. I didn’t wait for him to die. I merely stepped over their bodies and left the bathroom, smiling as if I had won a million dollars.

Thirteen bullets left.

“Bang.”

Twelve…

“Bang.”

Eleven…

“Bang.”

Ten…