freed by gunfire

School shootings bring thy freedom

As I watch them all die all I can do is stare emotionless until their screams are silenced by death. All of them dying traumatically, slowly disappearing into an unknown afterlife. The life fades from from their eyes as they beg their last breaths away. The girl to my right who sits beside me lays back in her chair, arms dangling, blood pouring out of various injuries, injuries that I inflicted. Each drop of her blood that hits the floor counts another year she's lost, another memory she'll never have, another person she'll never meet. The boy to my left shakes on the ground, his hands grasping at his neck. He looks up at me, the look of betrayal in his eyes. Blood pours from his mouth as he tries to mutter his last words. He's drowning in his own blood. What once fueled him is not killing him. I get up from my desk and walk towards the front of the room. My teacher sits in her chair with her face pressed against her desk. Blood drips down framing the fragments of a ruler that litter her back. I turn towards my classmates, dead and hopeless. Their lifeless stares into the nothingness say it all; my work here is done. I turn to leave, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from my messenger bag and light one, carefully placing one between my lips. I exit my old classroom and walk down the halls littered with the filth that once were considered human beings.. My gun hits my back with every step I take down the stairs. When I reach the front doors that will soon open to my new life, I hear faint footsteps behind me. I pull the AK I have slung around my shoulder forward and aim it at the girl who is sneaking behind me. She throws her hands up, dropping a can of pepper spray. I can smell the fear crawling through her body as she starts to sob. She knows that she's going to die and that she'll never see another day. I shoot her and she falls into a sleep that she'll never wake up from. I open the doors, releasing myself into freedom. The clean air cleanses my senses, erasing the lingering scent of blood. The lights shine down on me, the red and blue flashing, welcoming me to my new beginning. I spread my arms out and take in the rain of gunpowder, screaming in delight as the pain frees me. I close my eyes and begin to fall into a never ending darkness. When I hit the red damp pavement, I know...

I'm home.                                                    

                                                                                                                                                           b.m.s

Author's Note

I hope you like this!!!! :)

Reviews

[Sir Harold Chesterhill ..]

Top! Simply top Ol' Bean! This kind of blood and mayhem reminds me of the Sepoy Mutiny whilst I was serving as a young and robust Leftenant in His Majesty's Service in the darker regions of Punjab. In my youth I was eager to put to effect the skills that the late Maharaja had taught me in dealing with his Punjabi. So I don't need to tell you that the bloodier parts of the Sepoy uprising, with all young chaps dying whilst singing The Minstrel Boy gets a British Gentleman's blood going, what? In fact, after looking over those old memoirs I'll have my best man Geoffrey place my best ether and ointments in the sitting room for a long winded body lengthening session! Bully!