Mrs. Tate

A Story by Ethan Thompson

Short story. What do you think?

She watched him walk in the door but it didn’t register who he was until he pulled the gun out and pointed it at her. She ducked under her desk and screamed. Locks of curly blond hair got in her mouth. He took a shot, there was a little thud, then the class screamed. He shot at her through the desk. It tore through the wood and kissed her foot. Another shot, another little thud. They were roaring. She was still. He kicked a desk, it hit Damen and broke his glasses, for a moment he looked okay then his legs buckled and he cried like he had never cried before. She watched from under the desk. He put the gun up to Damen’s forehead. Damen was still holding his glasses. She closed her eyes. The Liaison officer turned the corner, his gun was drawn and he said “Drop your weapon.” A bullet ripped through his shoulder. The man took a shot her eyes were closed there was a little thud. The Liaison officer’s name was Al, his son was in the classroom next door. He shot at the man. It winged his ear. Red splattered across the cabinets where they kept the work sheets and crayons and the pockets for popsicle sticks when they did well. The man shouted something and shot Al in the head. He fell on top of his gun. There were two more shots and two more little thuds. She stood up and jumped over the desk on to the man’s back. They wrestled for the gun. He grabbed her throat and squeezed so hard that she thought her eyes would pop out of their sockets. She kneed him in the groin. Nothing happened. She tried again. Everything was getting black. And again. He let up a bit and the air felt good then he tightened back down slowly like a vice. She touched the gun with the tip of her index finger, it hopped closer. Everything was getting black. She touched even more of it and it hopped even closer. Everything was black. She grabbed it. It was black.
--