The cold air spilled over her skin as she paced in the chilled outside. The sun was trapped behind thick, grey clouds. The air picked up and leaved danced across the pavement as though in a clumsy tango. Her hair whipped about her head. She stopped pacing and held her breath to listen.
Silence.
She glanced down at her watch. Quarter after eleven.
She swallowed and turned to see two boys approaching her. Her only friends.
One boy with brown hair down to his chin that seemed to accent his dark green eye. He was tall and boney. There was a scar on his angry face. He wore a leather jacket and dark, baggy jeans.
The other boy was shorter and overweight. He had short, blond hair with dark roots and wore glasses. His brown eyes seemed to glow beneath them. He wore a dark hooded sweatshirt and black baggy jeans.
She smiled at both of them, trying to keep her long blond hair out of her face. She rubbed her slender arms to rid herself of the sudden chill that she felt. Goose bumps.
Anxiousness? Fear? Excitement? Reprehension?
There were emotions swirling within each of them, but not enough negativity to make them rethink their plans. What they knew they had to do to create justice for what had unjustly happened to them.
The held hands together and exchanged silent expressions. Of hate. Of fear. Or eagerness. Of love.
The loved each other, but soon they would no longer be with each other. They already had stains on their hands that they refused to be punished for.
They hugged then swung their backpacks from their shoulders to the pavement. They unzipped them and pulled out all of the materials they needed.
The blond girl put on her dark hooded sweatshirt and filled the pouch of it with simple bombs and ammunition. She smiled to the boys and lifted the leg of her pants. Strapped to her leg were two small guns and a sheathed hunting knife. On her other leg, she strapped more small bombs.
The brown haired boy loaded the inside of his jacket with medium bombs and a couple small guns. He filled his pockets with the ammunition he needed. He took a large hunting knife and strapped it to his leg. His eyes flashed when he spotted the big guns.
The blond boy did the same as the girl. He breathed in a deep sigh and exhaled slowly. He could feel his pulse quicken and feel his body shaking. He wondered how she and the brown haired boy were able to keep their composure. He could feel himself falling apart.
She whispered something toe the dark haired boy. He grinned to her, then to the blond boy.
He held up his hand. All fingers were extended.
Five.
Five more minutes.
Almost eleven-thirty.
The each picked one of the larger powerful guns and pulled the straps of their backpacks over their shoulders.
Not much longer to wait now. Soon, revenge will have been had, and justice will have been served. Their justice. This is what they had to do.
They began to walk across the parking lot, guns tucked under their shirts and in their pants. Their shoes padding softly on the pavement. Bodies shaking. Minds reeling. Wind blowing strongly.
The came to the entrance and she looked at her watch. In about a minute and a half it would be eleven thirty. They opened the doors and walked casually inside. They then headed for their assigned destinations.
11:30
Finally, the bell had rung allowing kids out into the hall. They quickly ran to their lockers for their next class books, or mingled with their friends. A few kids leaned against the wall and exchanged whispers about kids they didn’t like for the simple fact that they were different. A larger boy with blond hair threw a small boy into the wall of lockers. His girlfriends, the head cheerleader, looked on in amusement. The smaller boy tried to run, but was grabbed by the collar of his shirt. A teacher came and pulled them apart, glaring more to the smaller boy.
Unjust, thought the brown haired boy as he watched the scene unfold before him as he waited surreptitiously from his spot. The number or kids in the hall had reached it’s climax. It was time for the fun to begin.
After the bell rang, the juniors and seniors were to head to the cafeteria. A couple were down only a few seconds after they were left out of class. Soon, more began to follow. The kids would then go purchase their unhealthy, tasteless cafeteria foods, or consume what they had brought from home.
A tall, thin black haired girl began pushing an overweight junior girl, making comments that turned the blond boys stomach.
He gripped his gun while he waited, fuming, in his covert section of the world.
The black haired girl would get what she deserved.
Upstairs, the hall filled with students. None of them appeared to worry about getting to class on time, but more intent on receiving today’s gossip.
A sophomore girl with a pale face and dark hair who was dressed in black was gathering her books from her locker. As she went to close it, a brown haired girl and two tall light haired junior boys stopped her. They began to call her unrepeatable names and made accusations of her being a witch.
She could do nothing but stare at the trio.
The girl with long blond hair felt her pain; felt her rage. People like the trio wasted good air.
11:32
The brown haired boy pulled one of his small guns from his coat and turned off the
safety and silencer on. He aimed and pulled the trigger.
The blond boy reached shakily into the pouch of his sweatshirt. From it, he pulled a small pistol. As he remembered his instructions, he glanced around nervously. He turned the safety off and his silencer on. Beneath his breath, he swore, then he pulled the trigger.
The girl gripped her rifle tight until her hand hurt and her knuckles were white. People walked near, then away. The were all parasites as far as she could tell, and they’ve all sucked her dry of life.
Spying a group of teens that had contributed to her loss of sanity. She pulled a home made bomb from her pants. Sh bit her bottom lip as she searched for her lighter. She found it in the rear pocket of her pants. After a couple tries, the flame emerged from the green plastic that held it’s life.
She recalled fire being a sign of life. When a person’s fire went out, that person was dead.
Today, the fire would not bring life, but destruction. She put it to the bomb’s fuse and they threw it at the group of kids.
Suddenly, the teacher yelling at the two boys collapsed. Students stopped their routine to stare, some of them snickering at the sight. That snickering soon turned into fearful gasps as they noticed the growing red spot on the back of the teacher’s grey suit.
Feeling the adrenaline fueled by his hatred and the idea of power, the brown haired boy shot at the larger boy who stood blankly, gazing at his teacher.
Twice.
He screamed as his flesh was penetrated by the home constructed metal bullets. His chest began pouring out life through two massive holes. He collapsed, and other’s began to scream.
Upstairs was a sound like an explosion, causing more panic among the students.
The brown haired boy could feel his grief subside and become over taken with the sudden emotion and thought that he never experienced before.
Control.
He was in control of the lives of these people. He was now their God.
He pulled a bomb from his backpack and lit the fuse as he listened to gunshots both upstairs and on the other side of the school. He threw it in the middle of the flock of people. They screamed and were thrown against lockers and to the floor. All in tears. All.
He pulled out his revolver and began shooting random people. Ones that had hurt him in one way or another. People that spoke cold words to him. Made fun of him. Laughed at h im. Stared at him like he was a circus freak.
They all would pay.
The blond boy closed his eyes and waited for a reaction. What seemed like eternity passed before there was a scream. His eyes opened and he saw a brown haired girl waving her bloody hands. He missed the black haired girl who was now turned from the overweight girl to see what was happening.
He missed. He missed.
All of the kids began screaming as they heard an explosion on the other side of the school.
All was well elsewhere. But he missed. He couldn’t control his nerves.
Aiming his gun at the black haired girl again, he used the rest of the bullets in his silenced gun.
Four, maybe five times he hit her. She collapsed.
Dead. Another stain. Dead.
A calmness then took over his mind and body. He killed someone. He took the life away that their stupid God had promised to each of them. He wasn’t ready to stop either.
He took his rifle and emerged from his fragment of the world. He shut off the safety and aimed at the panicking cafeteria. He then began to shoot.
The blond girl watched intently as the bomb exploded before hitting the floor. It didn’t have to. The explosion knocked people to the floor and against the lockers.
Noone had been killed yet, but she was sure that a few had been inured enough for her pleasure.
She pulled a small hand gun from her leg and turned the safety off. She began shooting at the people, not bothering to turn the silencer on. What would the point be when they already knew that something was happening?
Several kids fell from the shock of pain. Only one received assistance from his peers.
This made her mad as she finished unloading her rounds. She took more ammunition from her sweatshirt pouch and reloaded her gun.
Downstairs, she heard an explosion. It seemed like the brown haired boy was successful thus far.
A teacher that she hated came running into the hall to see what was going on. The rage built up and she put four bullets into his chest. A wave of immense happiness washed over her as she saw him hit the floor. His muscles twitched, then he went still. A pool of red enveloped his body.
So much power. She had never felt so good in her life. Everything from the past was released with every bullet puncture.
She continued unloading rounds as the hall began to clear. Leaving one bullet in her small hand gun, she grabbed her rifle and ran out into the hallway. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to her. She was a shadow. As shadow. Nothing more.
Filling once again with anger, she swung the butt of her rifle in a circuitous motion, hitting several people in the head. She then began beating random people with it.
Someone grasped her shoulder. She thrust the barrel of the gun over her should and pulled the trigger, shooting the person in the face. She looked down as the body crumbled to the floor. There was no way to tell who the person was.
Downstairs and across the school there were more gun shots and bombs going off.
She looked at her watch. 11:38 a.m.. In a matter of minutes, they were able to cause so much damage. It was calming. She had time for a couple more bombs and a few more rounds.
11:38
The brown haired boy appeared to the scrambling students as he continued to shoot. People were getting knocked back as they were struck, but they refused to go down.
A blond girl was shot in the back and fell forward. Two boys helped her up before the others could trample her frail body. They ran with her in their arms.
It seemed as though the hall was clearing. There hadn’t been enough casualties here to pleasure the brown haired boy yet. He took out his knife from his pants and began lashing out at random people.
An older boy, perhaps a senior, tried to stop the brown haired boy by tackling him. He fell to the floor on his face with the older boy pinning him down. The older boy began screaming something at him, but he wasn’t listening. He looked up at a clock on the wall.
11:40.
He knew what he was to do, but he had to get up first.
He could feel tears streaming down his round face as he continued to shoot. He had just reloaded his rifle. When he was through, he thought about throwing a lit bomb.
He watched the sheep run to the cafeteria exit that led to the cold outside. He smiled to himself as a boy collapsed.
Nobody would get out that way. The three had allured taken care of petty things like that. They bungied the doors shut so there would be no way to open the doors wide enough for even the most anorexic girl to fit through.
He grabbed another small gun, deciding that it would take too long to light a bomb.
He clicked off the safety and shot a teacher that tried to rush him. He was knocked back, but tried to rebound. His last seconds of his life were a blur as he was shot three more times. Twice in the chest, and once in the neck.
As he collapsed to the floor, a broken rag doll, the blond boy began to walk towards the cafeteria entrance, continuing to shoot the whole time. He reached into his sweatshirt pouch for his lighter and got one of his better bombs from his back pocket.
As he went to light it, he spotted his watch on his wrist.
11:40.
She began to scream as an insane person would. She wanted to scare all of the lively little bees that swarmed. She began to run with the bees. She was now their queen.
She shot at her little worker bees, knocking them to the floor. She jumped on each bee lying on the floor, already in pain.
She grabbed her knife from her leg and let out another battle cry. The knife, it was her sword. These creature, they were an opposing army. They feared her and her power.
Retreating.
They would not survive by retreating. They killed her queen, her sanity. It was they. They who drove her to the brink or insanity.
She cut a person running beside her and began laughing. This, all of this. Sweet revenge was engulfing her in a pool of happiness. She was becoming hyper, no longer shaking.
A boy tried to throw her to the floor. He was suppose to catch her off guard, but he didn’t.
She slit his throat.
Her watch appeared to her.
11:40.
11:40
The older boy wouldn’t let him up. He knew that he wouldn’t . He had to concoct a method of distraction to get him boy off of his back so that he could complete his task.
He could feel the guns and bombs in his backpack pushing into his back. Maybe one of the guns would accidentally go off and shoot the older boy.
The brown haired boy twisted and kicked beneath the older boy. He watched his knife get kicked down the hallway, and soon remembered something.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small gun. He put it to his head and pulled the trigger.
He decided that he couldn’t pass on the bomb, so he continued to light it. He threw it at the group of students that cornered by the door.
He pulled a small gun from his waist and clicked off the safety. Then he put his backpack on the floor and knelt down behind it. He put the fire of his lighter to the cloth. It lit instantly. He kicked it forward.
It was time. He put the gun to his head and held his breath. He shut his eyes and the back pack exploded the same time as the gun.
She giggled. It was time. Time. Time.
Time.
Time had gone by so quickly, it seemed. She wanted more time, but knew they all promised one another what they would do. They would die together. Maybe not physically, but still together.
She pulled out her gun with only one bullet left. She threw her knife at one person, and put the gun to her head. She pulled the trigger.
11:48
The police, fire department, ambulance, and SWAT team all arrived at the school. They sifted through the tide of students pouring from the school exits, weeding out the injured or possible suspects.
The SWAT team ran quickly and silently into the building in attempt to disarm the suspects. By the time everyone was there, it had already been too late. The only way they found any of the suspects was with a halo of redness encircling their heads.
The found almost two dozen people lying on the floor. Tragically, half of those people had fatal wounds. The others were in critical need of medical attention. The authorative figures gathered up the injured and carried them to the ambulances and paramedics that waited outside. There were already dozens of students seeking medical treatment for their wounds.
More police and Care arrived.
After the days end, the casualty total was fifteen, including the parents of all three kids. Their siblings were found locked in closets or the basement. Their parents were found in their beds. It seemed that they were shot in the head at about 2:30 a. m.. The kids had planned the attack maybe months in advance.
After searching the rooms of all three, the police discovered books on guns and homemade bombs, as well as the artillery that they used. Guns, hunting knives, hundreds of home created bombs, and hundreds of created ammunition. Each had a diary and drawn diagrams of where they would hide that day and wait.
In the girls room, the found a note.
