Alarmingly Strange Stories
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I should make a list of my priorities. Alas, all I have is a list of enemies. I listed all of the people I didn't like for weeks before I finally took a gun to school with me. I knew what I would do. Well, maybe not. But I do it nonchalantly. Some one once told me "Stop, put down the gun". That was the principal when I strode into his office and took the pistol out of my pocket. I backed out of his office, waving the barrel listlessly. Somebody, possibly Mr. Nathan, had pulled the fire alarm. No doubt Mr. Nathan was anxious to beat the students to the door, pushing the slower ones out of the way. I wheeled on the principal and trained the gun on him. I held it steady for a second, then bowed my head and sighed deeply. The principal sensed I was giving up. I wasn't. Someone once asked me if I was serious. I said "no", and he told me that he wasn't either, that he was cumulonimbus. The principal dove behind a desk as I squeezed the trigger. He stood up and dusted himself off and walked over to me. "Bang", he said, reading the banner that had unfurled from the business end of my plastic novelty weapon. "Bang" doesn't make for a very long story, but it can be interesting if used correctly, or so I am told. I am told a lot of things now. And not by Mr. Nathan. By people who still think they can help. They tell me things, I reflect, nod back to them and reply: "Bang".

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