Even though everyone was gone, she could still hear the screams of her classmates as they scrambled for safety. Now all was quiet; the

chairs were vacant and the teacher was nowhere near the full wall-length chalkboard. Textbooks, papers, and writing utensils littered the floor so

there was barely a spot left bare. Book bags and satchels lay against many of the desks, waiting for their owners to retrieve them. Nevertheless,

she sat stock still at the desk in the center of the room begging the scene to go away.

She missed the low murmur of the side conversations as the professor gave his lecture on World War Two, the sounds of the zippers

zipping and unzipping as students reached to grab unnecessary things, the soft crunch or slurp as her fellow students ate and drank; yes, she missed

it all. She even missed watching the couples in the class exchange touches of affection and the jocks frequent inappropriate touches just to hear the

women squeal softly. Most of all she missed John.

John was holding her close to his side as they walked into the bustling classroom and he made sure her seat was right by his. Minutes later,

all the students were seated and the professor took quick attendance. Once he was done, the professor launched into his lecture on World War

Two as the students quickly turned their attentions elsewhere with the exceptions of the dedicated students anyway. John kept stealing glances or

moments to hold her hand during the lecture and she felt herself go heavy at the memory.

Not even an hour into the lecture, a knock on the door stopped the professor in his tracks as he left to answer it, his students sitting ever so

quietly in their chairs. Chris, John’s buddy from the football team, walked in behind the professor wearing a black trench rain coat. He stood in

front of the class gazing at the students with such a fierce hatred in his eyes until his eyes landed on John.

“You stole my ticket to the NFL! Now I’m taking yours!” Chris shouted as he pulled out a gun from his coat pocket, cocked it and aimed it

straight at John.

The professor tackled Chris as random bullets were shot in the ceiling as Chris and the professor wrestled for control of the gun. Students

tried to climb out of the windows or through the door. She tried to get John to follow everyone else, but he refused thinking that he could reason

with Chris despite the gun. She watched slowly, as John approached Chris, who had just knocked out the professor. He said something to Chris,

but, before she could even scream, Chris fires the gun lodging a steal stick in John’s heart. Chris fires the gun again, but finds out that he had used

his last bullet on his old best friend. Now, only she, the knocked out professor, Chris, and John’s limp body was left in the room. Shocked, Chris

runs into the hallway and straight into the officer’s arms where he cried. Later on, Chris steps away from the officer while taking the officer’s gun,

cocks it, and sends a bullet flying from the front of his skull out the other side and into the wall behind him.

Numb with grief, she just stood there watching the officers tend to John, the professor, and Chris. People tried to get her to leave, but she

found herself drawn to John’s chair where she sat, even when the university was cleared of all the people.

For some reason, she could not tear her eyes from where John’s shell used to lay. She wanted to feel his touch, his embrace, his kiss again,

but she knew that would never happen. He was gone and so was a part of her. This school would never be the same; it has one less tution fee, one

less football star, one less student, one less man.

Quietness settled all around her as she finally found the strength to cry.