"You're the reason Kerri. You're the reason for all of it. You. It's all because of you." I laughed cruelly, never lowering the gun. I hummed the tune of the U2 song to match my words, laughing to myself as she stared at me unblinkingly. The rage clouding her soft hazel eyes brought me great joy, seeing her lose hold on everything was well worth my life and the others I had taken.

"Turn it on, and read this." I said boredly, flicking the folded up piece of paper with my speech on it onto the desk.

Swiveling to face the desk, Kerri leaned forward and unfolded the paper, reading it scrutinizingly; she suddenly frowned and turned in the chair to face me.

"James, are you kidding me?" she spat, dropping the paper back on the desk.

"The man with the gun does not kid." I smirked.

She frowned more and read the page again. As I stared at her, intently watching for sign of an attempt at escape. I felt the anger inside of me double with every muscle, every pore, and every molecule. Her perfect sandy brown hair looked as though a stylist had spent hours giving her the perfect "messy" look. The splatter of blood that had crusted dry on her face only highlighted the freckles on her dainty cheeks, fragmented by muddy riverbeds left from the tears she had spilled over her friends' bodies.

She had the body of a swimsuit model, and oh how she loved to flaunt it. She wore a light summer tank top, a tight button up white shirt atop it. Her society-perfect stomach bare, her jeans tight enough to wonder whether they were real or just painted on. You could say she was just a normal girl, with the "perfect body". That was society's view at least. Kerri was just a skinny girl who couldn't afford to spend the extra money to get the right size pants, or a shirt that covered her belly button.

The blood on her face was the blood on her shirt, on her pants, and on her hands; was the blood of her dearest friends. Monica, and Chelsea were only a few feet from her when I killed them. Cold? Perhaps. Necessary? In my mind, yes.

I know that when people look back at this day, this warm summer day, I will be labeled. The psycho with the gun, the outcast with a grudge, the pathological liar with a need for attention to drastic that no one could possibly fulfill.

Not true, I'm just a normal teenage boy. What happened to me, happened to many others. I am just the first to stand up and say "No."

"Well?" I asked jeeringly, flashing my best smile.

Staring at me grudgingly, Kerri put her hand down on the desk and opened her mouth to speak.

"Ah- ah- ah- No back talk now." I grinned widely. I felt positively giddy; I couldn't help but keep smiling. Something must be wrong with me, but that's an after thought easy to be ignored after a day like mine. When you've killed close to twenty of your classmates, thinking something might be wrong with yourself is quite easy to bypass.

Without saying a word, Kerri picked the piece of paper up off of the desk and pulled the PA mic in front of her.

"Well Kerri," I said softly, pushing the On/Off button to the PA system, "You're on the air."