|You're Too Late
Author: dancin-in-the-rain PM
Christie's late... for Derek? It's been too late. This is the story of a two teens, one hurt and confused; the other a normal girl who could never have guessed the day's events. A trial oneshot that was co-written to show the two sides of the story.Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy/Suspense - Chapters: 2 - Words: 2,171 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 2 - Published: 07-27-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2551131
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Lizard: Okay...so here's my half. It's a lot shorter than my cousin's, mainly the writing styles I s'pose. She just about said it all, so...R&R peeps!! On with the story!
I was up before my alarm clock shrieked at me. Digging through my clothes, I found the baggiest shirt, pants, and jacket possible. I grabbed my notebook, ripped out a piece of paper, wrote a note, and shoved it under my pillow. I can't go back.
Finally I now pull out my bottom drawer and grab the gleaming metal object hidden beneath my socks. Staring at it only for a moment, I shove my deceased fathers hand gun into my belt.
As I drive to school in my old Chevy, I can't help thinking it's the last time. Today it will all be over. Today, they will all get what they deserve. And so will I. Except...
I pull up to a stoplight and pound on the steering wheel. Her. Does she deserve it? Yes...she has to, they all do! I tell myself. If she doesn't, then this is all wrong...all wrong...Stop! It's too late now, I won't think about it. The light is green, I drive on, the gun burning me the whole way.
For one moment I hesitate, then climb out of my truck and walk, head down, to the school. The bell rings just as I close my locker and students swarm in. My homeroom, English, is at the other end of the hall. I try to hurry, but can't escape. He grabs my shoulder, twists me around, pins me to the locker... I don't listen to the insults anymore. I just comfort myself with the thought that this is the last time. After all there's no turning back.
The last time they'll call me names, make jokes at my expense, hurt me...soon it'll all be over. He drops me and I twist away from him and his followers. Glancing up, I see her watching me with sympathy, then walking away. Why did I have to look up? I shake my head and hurry to class.
English is no different, but it's the last time, so I don't really care. They can bully as much as they want, and they will, but soon they'll regret it...very soon. Our teacher just told us to go to the gym for an assembly. Exactly what I've been waiting for.
I'm standing in the back of the gym watching as it fills. Once they stop coming in, I'll close the last door...and that will be it. The last student steps in and passes; calling me a foul word as he goes. But I don't mind. It's the last time.
Hood up, head down, I walk to the door. My hands don't even shake as I close it. I almost feel proud of myself. I turn around, one hand wandering to my belt. My fingers brush the gun's handle, grasp its cool surface. I slowly pull it our, then lift my head. The first shot is easiest; no one saw it coming. The target screams, falls...and all is chaos.
Too late, too late...
My eyes scan the room, searching briefly for targets...another shot. I don't check to see if I missed, I know I didn't, too much practice.
One after the other they are hit, and my hand never wavers, my face never changes. People charge at me, but I can't stop now...
I've come to a clearing in the sea of terrified students, and there she is, watching me in horror. Her mouth moves, forms the word 'why?' as tears stream down her face. I aim the gun...and my hand shakes.
Too late, too late...
Is it? My face begins to fall, my eyes begin to fill.
Too late, too late.
Does she deserve this, can I do it?
Too late. Too late.
Can I turn back?
Too late! Too late!
I pull the trigger.
Her body lurches backwards and she cries out in pain then stares at me in horror before collapsing. My hand drops. What have I done?
She is still watching me as I fall to my knees and break completely. I hardly notice lifting the gun again, this time to my own head. That one word swirls through my mind. Why? Why?
Because it's too late. Because it's over. Because I have to.
My eyes meet hers. "I'm sorry," I whisper. The last time.
Soon it will be over, I'll escape. I smile. Soon I will be free. Her eyes beg me not to, plead with me to drop the gun.
I squeeze the trigger.