Bang

How long have they teased me? How long have I craved the sweet taste of revenge? As I walk down the hall, into my class, I wonder this. In my usual black jacket, my usual black clothes, my usual hateful attitude, I wonder this. Sitting down, the teacher smiles. Bastards. All of them, motherfucking bastards. The wounds I have on my arms…the way they look at me…the way I know they’re talking behind my back…I can’t take it anymore. I’ve tried to control my mood, the hate and sorrow and rage that floods me when I look at one of my fellow students. But they don’t know I’ve stopped taking the pills, stopped sleeping again. Started cutting again. If they knew…they’d talk again.

No. No more. No fucking more.

Yesterday, I bought a gun. I bought a gun and a hell of a lot of ammunition. I’ll make them all pay. For what they’ve done to me. For the words, for the smirks, for the mocking laughs…for their smiles while I suffered and for the ignorance to what this dark ‘Goth’ has in her mind. Yes, I’ll make them all pay. Just like I’ve been dreaming about forever. This passive-aggressive, seemingly sadistic young woman has been though too much. The death of my mother, the emotional and verbal abuse of my father and stepfather, the words of my fucking brother, the comments…it’s all too much. My hand strokes the gun lovingly. It’s a Desert Eagle, a nice semi-automatic pistol and perfect for my purpose. One of my fingers strokes over the trigger. It feels so perfect... Yes, my precious, yes. You will be my guide out of this shithole.

I stand, ignoring the teacher’s order to ‘please sit down.’ “No,” I reply, and glare at her. She starts to speak again. Her mouth moves and she asks if I want a referral. Funny, I’ve never gotten one before. Neither have I received a detention. My grades may be shit, but I’m not a bad student. Or so she thought.

As she begins to command me, I draw the gun. Students scream and scramble away from me. The teacher screams and begs me to put it away. I raise it to my head, and ask, “Me or you?”

“W-We can get you help!” she cries. She means the institution. I can see it in her eyes. In the eyes of all the students as well, actually. They think I should be locked up. They’re scared of me. They want me to put the gun down and let those fuckers take me away. No. No. I move it from my head. I’ve had practice. I’ve shot my head with no bullets in the gun, shot little animals to death…so fucking fitting, now that I think about it. She sighs with relief.

It’s the last sound she makes.

Bang.

I move it fast and shoot her once in the forehead, watching her cripple over and collapse, shuddering. Students are screaming and crying now. I walk calmly to the door and lock it, feeling content and comfortable now. “There,” I say, kicking her corpse lightly. “Much better without her nagging at me. I don’t need help, really. I know exactly what I want to do with this gun. Now. You, there. With the denim jacket. Get up.”

He obliges. It’s him I want dead next. He used to mock me. “Please don’t shoot me,” he begs. “Please, please don’t shoot me!” He’s crying, the tears rolling out of his eyes like a waterfall. Annoying me.

I walk over to him and place the gun to his head. “If I remember correctly, you used to mock me. Call me weird and stupid for being a loner. For enjoying my solitude. Fuck off. Take your last words now.” I stroke the trigger. He screams please and sobs viciously. Quite frankly, if he wants that to be his last word, then fine. Please will be his last exclamation, one screamed out in fear and desperation. He shivers and silently begs me with his eyes. Pleading me not to do it silently. Agreeing with the teacher that I should be hospitalized. No.

Bang.

Blood and brain matter sprays everywhere. I wipe it off my cheek. Messy, it is. I wipe the gun off and kiss the hot barrel, thinking of what I can do to make this better. There are more screams and I can hear people pounding on the door, threatening to break it down if I won’t open it willingly. Guess they’ll have to break it down. I fire it off until I run out of ammo, five more shots. This gun is a .50 AE, and I bend to pick up more bullets. I fill it, then turn. Seven are dead, and I’ve only use for six of these bullets.

I fire them off into random people, and then I look at the mess I’ve created. The teacher lays there, the bullet hole in her forehead bleeding profusely. The students I’ve shot lie in different positions, one twitching as his head pours blood everywhere. Twelve dead now. Soon to be thirteen.

As the door cracks open, I turn and raise the gun to my head. “Goodbye,” I say, thinking. They’re shocked to see me, of all people, committing this massacre. The quite, reclusive woman in the corner is a murderer? Since when? Since forever, I would answer, would someone ask. Constant fucking laughter…it’s driven me insane, I suppose. My answer never comes. Suicide has always been a thought of mine. Only know, my last attempt, will it work. The ones before it, no, they did not work. But this one will. I sighed. My last words slip form my mouth. “It only takes one shot, you know.”

Bang.