No matter how many times he looked back, thought about that moment, reminisced about that day...it always came back to the silence. The pure, unmistakable silence of the moment. The moment when, despite all the faith and hope he'd always had, Mark knew that he was going to die. When he was caught in the moment, staring at the barrel of a gun. He'd never even seen a gun in person before. And yet when he looked up, hardly breathing, staring at the gun? All he remembered was the silence. There was no sound. Absolutely none. Like God had stopped the world for that moment, pressed the mute button.

Mark remembered the moments leading up to that silence. Remembering how he'd stepped into school that morning, same as always. He was the popular one at school - the jock - football player. Demanding stature with the attitude to match. A player - all the girls wanted him, but he in turn wanted all the girls. He was never seen with just one girl. That would've been 'taboo'. At that time, at that school, it wasn't about having a relationship. It was about how many people you could hook up with, how many girls would give themselves to you. That was school. The status quo that he had to live up to.

There was a certain boy he would always pick on - what was his name? - John. John something-or-other. Everyone picked on him - it wasn't just Mark - but who wouldn't? John was straight-up weird. He acted weird, looked weird. He was the whole package of weird. Mark led his football group daily to pick on him - like it was his job. But that was expected of him, wasn't it?

So walking into school that day, Mark wasn't surprised by the increasing loudness of everything. Students conversing, yelling, laughing...that was school. That was his life.

It was a bit after second period. Mark got an excuse and left the class for the restroom. While walking down the hall he came upon John the weirdo himself - standing there, staring blankly at the wall.

"Well, if it isn't Johnny boy." That's what he said to him - that day, in the hallway - and he remembered John turning to him, a different shine in his eyes. Such a sinister look...one clenched fist full of air, the other fist wrapped around a pistol...

Mark remembered staring at the gun, staring at John, taking a step back, considering the option of running, yelling. But he just stood there, watching John, knowing what would happen next, knowing...And as John raised the gun...silence. It always came back to the silence. The silence of that moment.

And right then, hearing all the voices around him, hearing the dying footsteps of people coming and going...Mark regretted it. He regretted his life, how he'd lived, how he'd acted. But it was too late, wasn't it? It was too late. Mark knew that then, as the darkness closed around him, as he heard the students dying screams. He knew that then.

The last thing he heard was silence. Like God had stopped the world for that moment, pressed the mute button. Like God was up in heaven, shaking his head, looking down at the moment - saying nothing. Such unbelievable silence.