NAMELESS

 

 

Nameless

 

 

                                

The gun feels good in his hands. It is heavy, but the weight feels good; it’s a comforting kind of weight. His fingers close tightly around the rubber handgrip. He aims the muzzle at the full-size mirror in his room. He lowers his eye and takes careful aim…

            “Bang-Bang… Your dead!” he mutters to himself in the mirror. He keeps the gun raised. He grins. He feels good, Very good. He feels strong. He has great power, and he knows it. He is going to use it. He has the power to channel his anger and pain through the black gleaming gun, and on to others so they can suffer as he has suffered every day under the hateful, scornful, teasing glares of his peers. With this thing, this object, he can get anything he wants, anything at all, and he wants much. There is oh so much that he wants that others have he does not. He wants one thing, and one thing only.
Revenge.

He hears it in his sleep and sees it in his face when he looks in the mirror. He sees it behind his eyes, in his head. Revenge will come to him. He knows it will. He will get revenge against his fellow students, and against the teachers.

            Most of all though, he wants revenge against her. Her name was Andramada. Andramada Stall. It was a pretty name to say the least. The beauty of her name was only matched by the beauty of herself. He, as many other boys, had been a suitor but He as many others had been rejected. Except when it was his turn she had laughed at him, not like she had at the others, but in disgust and hate. She had seemed ugly and distorted in her scorn. Then they all joined in laughing. He had been embarrassed and heart broken. Their laughter and scorn scared and hurt him. They kept on hurting him for weeks after although the joke hadn’t been all that funny in the first place. They just didn’t like him that was all. And when he needed love and comfort and friendship, no one came to rescue him. No. His mom was too busy. His four-year old sister didn’t understand, and his father was too buys with his new girlfriend. He just let all of his anger build up and now…

            His eyes had gone out of focus in his remembrance. It was 6:35. He was going to be late for the bus. He got his stuff ready. No one would check him. He packed his books, a kitchen knife, folders, a gun, homework, some seven round clips… he had 21 shots. Maybe 20…

            They had laughed at him. He hadn’t been. This time He would be the only one laughing.

           *          *          *          *          *

            He zipped his book bag shut. As he walked by his mother in the kitchen she handed him a piece of toast.

            “Breakfast?” she asked hopefully.

            “What do you think?” He         replied coldly.

            “Honey, please,” she begged, but he turned and started to walk out. “Have a nice day at school!” she called out, but he ignored her all the same, while in his mind he thought: Oh I will.

            He was still mad at mom for dad. He was mad through his mom. He took it out on her. It was her fault his dad left. It was her fault. She didn’t do something right.

            He walked up into the bus looking for a seat of his own. He found one and sat down. He slowly drowsed off, and awoke only to find the bus had stopped and they were at school waiting to be let off the bus. He suddenly felt like vomiting, although he had not had anything in his stomach to vomit back up. He was in a cold sweat. He got up. His underarms were damp, and he was so nervous his hands shook. The signal was given and the bus drivers opened the doors. All the kids slowly filed off one by one. He made his way off bus 78, and to his first class, Math, in room 139. When he got there the bell rang and he got out his math homework. His teacher     lectured the class about grades, as usual, and then criticized him about how poorly he was doing, and that:

 If he “ …kept it up He would be in eighth grade forever!!”

 And that he:    

            “…Should actually try for once”, as usual. And it all went through one ear and out the other… As Usual.And, as usual, he counted every second and every minute until the class ended. Finally, it did. It was time.

            The bell rang, and the butterflies in His stomach threatened to send him floating up to the ceiling. He made his way out into the hall, then to the boy’s room. He found an empty stall in the bathroom and emptied the contents of his bag. He took out the gun and the knife. He stroked the knife lovingly, caressing it. He put the knife in his jacket’s inside pocket, where it would be secure properly concealed. Then, he started loading the gun. Suddenly, as he was fitting the clip with the opening the butt of the gun, the bathroom door burst open, and he dropped the clip. It clattered noisily to the floor, but the intruders didn’t notice. They were busy laughing about something, and joking with each other. He jumped for the clip, though he didn’t need to. He got the clip and shoved it up into the butt of the gun. He heard the laughter die down. They were at the urinals. He shoved the gun into his pants, and opened the stall door. The two boys turned to look at him. One was tall…the other, about medium size. He didn’t care. They looked the same to him.

            “Who was that?” the medium sized boy asked, as if he didn’t know.

            “Oh it’s him,” the second and taller boy replied sarcastically. He just stood there looking at them.

            “Whattaya doin’ in there? Hiding?” the first boy asked scornfully. He said nothing. The two boys finished and slowly closed on around him. One cracked his knuckles. The other was wearing a cold mirthless grin. All three boys knew that He was in no shape for fistfight two on one. However one boy had an advantage that the others could not possibly comprehend. 

A gun.

The two boys pressed in on him. He drew his gun from his pants. He relished the looks on their faces. They were paper white ghost faces. Their jaws were slack, and their faces were dumb with disbelief and terror. He smiled.

            “Aren’t you gonna say anything?” he asked smugly.

            “Nothing?” The first boy spoke up:

            “ P-p-please put that thing down,” the boy said, his voice wavering.

            “P-please…” the boy trailed off. His smile was bigger than ever. Then, the smile just disappeared. It was replaced by a look of contempt.

            “In the corner,” He ordered, gesturing to the corner with a wave from his gun.

            “But-but-“ the first boy stammered. He cut the boy off. 

            “MOVE!!” He yelled fiercely. This time no one objected. He noticed that the second boy remained quite.

            I scared him from speech, He mused to himself. Also from bladder control, he noted. This made the smile reappear on his face even bigger then ever.

            “Whattaya-w-what-’’ the first boy stammered, and stuttered.

            “Shut UP” He, the Gunner insisted. Then He thought: What am I going to do? Am I going to shoot them? YES!! NO!! I can’t, I can’t! YES! I have to! If I don’t… then what? He would have to improvise then. Maybe he shouldn’t have done all this in the first place. He felt extremely nervous all the sudden. He tried not to show it in his face, but he was not sure if they say it or not.

            He snapped back to the real world. The two boys were in the corner. The first boy was slightly crouching, as if readying himself to try to dodge any bullets that should just so happen to pass his way. It was a ridiculous stance and He laughed slightly because of it.

          “Turn around,” he ordered. His voice sounded calm and sharp.

          “B-b-b-but,” the first boy stammered.

          “Get on your knees, NOW!!” He ordered angrily. Both boys complied reluctantly. He raised the butt of the gun, above the first boys head. He saw that the boy’s eyes were closed. That was good. He raised the butt of the gun above his head and brought down hard on the boy’s crown. There was a loud and sickening CRACK that echoed throughout the little bathroom. The first boy slumped down and backwards into the urinal, and his own urine. He was pleased to see that the boy was in a puddle of his own urine. That’s where he belonged. As he was reveling in his contemplation, the second and taller boy got from his knees to his feet and put his arms around his neck, choking Him. He dropped the gun as his hands shot up to his neck.

            “Agghhh!!” was all he could manage. Black dots exploded in front of his eyes. Everything was getting dark. There was something in his jacket pocket that could help him he knew it. What was it? He reached down into his pocket. He felt something there and he pulled it out. The something was cold and hard. He knew what he had to do just not why he had to do it. He took the knife from his pocket and thrust into the boy’s belly. The boy immediately let go of Him. The boy’s hands rushed to his stomach, and he fell back onto the wall and slid down. The wound was not a bad one, and the boy would be able to incapacitate him again if He didn’t get the boy first.

            The boy had fallen to rest next to his companion. He was on the ground gagging. His throat was on fire, aflame. He couldn’t talk. He felt like he was going to throw up. His vision was clearing. His eyes were coming into focus. The gun was five feet away from were he lay. He crawled over to where it lay. He picked it up and tried to stand up himself, but failed to do so. He crawled his way to the sink and pulled himself up. He was on his feet now. Good. He slowly made his way to where the boy lay. The boy was holding the knife handle protruding from his stomach. He walked over to the boy. The boy started to say something.

            “D-d-d-o it q-q-ui…” the boy stopped. He stood over the boy and cocked the gun. The gun was shaking. Instead of shooting the boy he pistol-whipped the boy across the face with the barrel of the gun. The boy’s head snapped side ways. There was the sound of two rocks hitting together, and hot, red, thick, oozing blood splattered onto the wall, making a sort of red ink blot impression on the wall. The kind you are asked to look at when you’re with a shrink, He thought. He knew, because he had seen them before. The blood looked like the thing you’d see in a bad horror movie. He watched it slowly drip down the wall. The blood shown boldly against the yellow brick wall of the boys’ room. He lost all track of time. He was perplexed by the blood. It had certain significance, but he didn’t know what was so significant about it, but never the less he kept staring. All blood looked the same. It runs through everyone’s veins. However the boy’s blood was different. It was different because He had caused the blood to leave its master’s body. Know he seriously reconsidered what he was doing. The teacher of his next class, Mrs. Diputs, must be very suspicious. Could he go through with it? Could he do it? Could He do it? Why was he doing this in the first place?

Revenge.

Was it really revenge?

Yes it really was revenge.

Really?

Yes.

OK.

He took out a piece of paper, and on it he wrote:

OUT OF ORDER

USE HIGH SCHOOL BATHROOM.

He put the piece of paper on the door of the boy’s room with a piece of tape (he knew the tape would come in handy, he know it) when he was sure no one was in the hall. His throat burned like the fires of the underworld. He made his way to the water fountain for a long refreshing drink…then to Andramada, or as her close friends called her, Andy. He’d like to be thought of as a good, good friend. Then after a drink, room 136.

 

           *          *          *          *          *

 

Andy was in a study hall. Her next class was…was…science? She didn’t care. She was soooooo bored!! She had just been past a letter from one her girl friends and was reading it.

 

…and so then I got this letter from Bobby, and guess what it said! Yes, he actually asked me out, and I was soooooo excited! Then, I got another letter and…

 

            O my god kill me now!!!  She prayed. The letter was so stupid. Who really cares whose going out with whom? Why was she stuck with loser friends and why… she stopped. Who was that? There was a boy in the hall. His neck was red, and as he walked by the window where she sat, he flicked up the collar of his jacket. Who was he? What was his name? Some how she knew him from somewhere… from where? No matter, she would get some thing to do like homework or something… Something wasn’t right about the boy. He was hunched over and it looked like he was clutching his stomach or something. He was late enough for a detention. The period had started nineteen minutes ago. It was almost half way over. What on earth was he… what was that in his jacket? She stopped. She felt herself starting to perspire in a cold sweat. The cold dead hand of fear grabbed and squeezed her heart hard. Her stomach tied it self in a never-ending infinitesimal, ever twisting, and turning not. In his jacket? Why would anyone want to hide something in his or her pocket…unless it was meant for…if it was meant to…kill? Did he have a gun? NO!! Her mind told herself. NO not here not now not with me not ever!!! She should stop. It’s nothing! You’re just being paranoid. Do some homework or something. She did. She ignored it, but it was one of the biggest mistakes she’d ever make.

 

           *          *          *          *          *

 

He walked down the hall. He did not see Andy watching him from room 136. He did not see Andy realize and then forget. He did not see. He did not see. He never saw. He never saw because he was never taught to see. Seeing is what was really important. He did not see anything. He did not see what he was about to do was wrong. Even worse, he did not want to see, and had no desire to see. The other saw. At fourteen he saw more than many did, and more than he wanted to. The Other, or soon to be The Speaker, as he saw, had been taught to see, like almost everyone else. Many people did see. Almost everyone did, some more than others. Steve was one of the some. The Speaker, also known as Steve, was seeing all that was happening. Also he saw what was going to happen. He saw it a lot, not only on TV but in real life. Steven had been at other places of death, like the place the school might turn out to be…would turn out to be…could turn out to be. Not if Steven could help it. He lowered his pencil to the position it had been in a second before, when he had noticed Andy, who sat behind him. Andy had been reading a very stupid letter and she was very bored. He didn’t look, he saw. He felt. He started to continue his math problem. Some one would be hurt before this was over that’s for sure…if they hadn’t been already. He resumed his math homework. ½ x ¾ =… this was going to be a long day. Steven knew.

           *          *          *          *          *

 

He walked down the hall. He did not see Andy, or the one he would as The Speaker. He was bent on getting a drink and soothing his flaming, burning throat. He made to the water fountain, and a long incredibly refreshing drink. He was very nervous again, in the hall, out in the open. He had to get going. He was reluctant to leave the cool refreshing water. It seemed like his only lifeline. After the cool water his throat felt worse. He tried to clear it.

            “Agghhh…aghhh….” He started coughing relentlessly. This made his throat hurt so bad he nearly started crying. His voice was harsh, and nothing like the voice he knew. It sounded like the crunching, ruffling, clicking of the dried bodies of the Japanese beetles that horded around his Mom’s little garden in the summer. Somehow this made him cringe. He hated the way the beetles had sharp little hooks that dug into your skin. He hated how they seemed to look up at you while their little claws scratched at your skin. They looked up at you and smiled little buggy smiles and said: now we’re together… forever, and ever and ever. He knew this idea was totally irrational, but somehow… somehow, he was very disturbed that his voice sounded like beetles. He did not like beetles, or any insects now that he thought of it. The thought of him and an insect having something in common… he shivered. That was enough of that thank you very much. He had a date with Andy. He had to think on how to go about this.

            Suddenly the sound of footsteps sent him into a cold sweat. He whipped around, expecting to see a teacher running toward him screaming: He’s gotta gun! He’s gotta gun! Or a policeman casually strolling down the hall saying: Random pat downs! Young man, please empty all pockets, please! Random pat downs! Or even worse: a giant Japanese beetle standing on its hind little legs, reared up with two pairs of arms out stretched, saying in a dead beetles voice, His voice: …forever, and ever and ever and ever and…

            He turned to face… a small boy probably in sixth grade walking down the hall, watching him apprehensibly. The boys pace quickened as he walked by, and He watched him closely. The boy walked faster, and faster, until he was past Him, and then slowed and turned the corner to wherever his class was.

He knew how he would go about it. He walked over to the boiler room, which was obviously locked. How to get in? He did not want to shoot. He wanted the element of surprise. If he shot know he would not have it. How… how could he get in? Could he hit it with out making too much noise? He knew what he needed was in there. If it wasn’t he was lost. Could he kick it? No, probably not. Could he… no the knife was in the kid in the bathroom. He decided. He drew the gun, and turned it around. He hit the butt against the doorknob, and to his utter surprise, the doorknob simply fell of and clattered on the ground. What luck! He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was dark and spooky, like the boiler room in the movie based on Stephen King’s IT. He expected to see a wolf manevil child-killing clown named Pennywise. He tried to find the light switch and did. He flicked up, and light flooded the room. No clown. No wolf man. And better, no beetle. But, he did see was a circuit board. He walked up to it. He opened it. Inside, next to each switch, was a piece of tape, on which was written in permanent marker: Hall lights… class lights… and more. The switches were like candy on all Hallows eve. He switched off, the hall lights…the classroom lights…all was dark. From the hall he heard little yelps, and startled screams. His eyes were filled with glee. This was so cool! He did not believe his luck. Now…the games begin…he thought.

 

                                                *          *          *          *          *

 

O m gosh o my gosh o my gosh o my god!! Andy thought. She missed it! She missed it! She was so stupid! She knew it and she ignored it! She was so stupid! She screamed. It was a dark winter morning. Not much light came through the little classroom windows. He, the boy did have a gun. He was coming, and now she knew. She knew who he was…the boy that everyone hurt. That boy. He was going to come for her, and she was going to die. She was going to die! She needed to tell some one.

            “Mrs. Diputs! Mrs. Diputs! I know who turned off the lights, it was the boy he had something in his jacket, and I knew, but I didn’t say anything so…” Mrs. Diputs cut in.

            “Lock down! Lock down! Everyone in the corner! I’ll lock the door! Go!” Everyone stopped for one moment. Then, as if brought from a trance all the kids moved. Twenty-five kids in a little corner? He was coming. He was nearer, and nearer, and there was nothing…nothing she could do about it. She had screwed it all up for all of them. It her fault two times over: once for getting him angry and hurting him, and again for not doing anything when she saw him. She deserved it now. She should surrender her self, she new. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. They were all in the corner now. Andy heard a kid say,

            “I bet it’s just a drill-”

            “It’s not a drill you moron! It’s real! I saw him, he’s gonna kill us! He’s gonna kill us!”

            “Andy Shhhhhhh!” Mrs. Diputs warned.

            “Shhhhhhhhhh!” Andy did shush. They waited…for what seemed like…an eternity.

 

           *          *          *          *          *

           

       He was walking down the hall. Everything was dark. When his eyes finally adjusted he could see he was outside room 140. So close, so close he was now. Four class rooms away from why he was here. He slowly, oh, so slowly walked down the hall. As he walked he counted the class numbers he walked by.

            “One thirty nine…one thirty eight…one thirty seven…” He trembled with excitement.

            “One thirty six!” he muttered in his raspy dead beetle’s voice. He smiled.

            He drew the gun, and aimed it at the window covered in construction paper. She was in there. The only thing separating Him, and Any, was a wall. He had a gun and with it he would get through that wall to her.

            He cocked, the gun and fired.

 

           *          *          *          *          *

 

            Andy heard someone in the hall. He was walking toward them. He was saying something. As his slow footsteps drew closer, and lauder, so did his voice.

            “One thirty seven…” he was saying. She suddenly felt a disgusting squirt of fear in her stomach. He was here, and he was coming for her! No! She thought. No! No! Where were the cops? Who was supposed to come to the rescue? What about the S.W.A.T. teams, huh? Where were they? She didn’t know. Then, a terrifying realization slowly descended upon her, and made her heart sink like a rock into her stomach. S.W.A.T. or the cops or whoever weren’t coming. She was going to die. She would miss her fourteenth birthday in three weeks. That was it. Her first thirteen years were great, but they were over. Now she loved life more than she ever had, or ever would, now that is was over. Suddenly a shot rang out and the window blew in, peppering them with millions of tiny razor sharp pieces of glass. Something whizzed through the explosion of glass, and buried itself in the radiator next to the teacher’s desk, creating a loud hiss of hot air. A piece of glass buried itself tin Andy’s forehead.

            Ow, she thought strangely. It wasn’t fair. James Bond never got hurt when he shot through a window. It wasn’t fair. She realized much too late it wasn’t fair that they had treated him that way, so cruelly and mercilessly. A hand reached through the broken window and started to unlock the door. Screams from all around her echoed in her ears. The end was in sight.

 

…………………………………………………………….

 

            He reached in the broken window, accidentally cutting himself on some broken glass. He just barely reached the lock, but he got it. He opened the door. Many students were crying or screaming now. He was oblivious. He was like a man who has been on a stranded island, drinking nothing but salt water, who has just found a couple Big Macs, fifty piece chicken nuggets, and a couple hundred order of fries. Make ‘em super sized. He saw Andy, and their eyes met. He kept the gun pointed at anyone he was suspicious of…which was pretty much everybody. He walked over to Andy and yanked her on to her feet. He brought her face close to his, and smiled a viscous smile.

            “Andy! Hi! I’m going to kill to you!” he said, as if they had been good close friends for years.

            “P-please don’t hurt anyone! P-please don-”

            “Don’t worry! I won’t kill them yet! Your first!” he said viscously. He jerked her again. He had her by the shirt collar. He started to drag her out into the hall. Everyone cringed away from him. Many kids were crying or praying, or both. Some even soiled themselves. One was calm. Steve. He was in a corner with his head down between his knees. He was waiting for the right moment. He didn’t see him, but Andy saw him. Andy had a feeling he could help. It was an itching, desperate, urgent feeling. She pulled away from Him, but he just pulled harder. She screamed.

            “Please! Please!”

            “Who are you yelling for? No one can save you now!” he yelled angry.

            “No, you’re the one who can’t be saved,” said a deadly calm voice. He spun around, and turned to see a plain looking boy with black hair, and hard cold eyes. He turned to look at the boy in utter disbelief.

            “What did you say?” He asked in a voice he tried to make sound equally calm and deadly voice, but his voice sounded like a cute kittens ‘meow’ compared to the kind of roar The Speaker’s voice had seemed to bring down upon Him. He was still shocked at The Speaker’s boldness.

            “You know what I said,” respond The Speaker.

            “Also you know I’m right,” Steven A.K.A. The Speaker continued. “You also know that you are totally incapable of shooting any one of us.”

            He stood there just starring, trying to figure out what to say. He failed to notice that Andy was slowly starting to step backwards, away from He, The Gunner.

            The Speaker had been speaking.

            “…You will go to Juivie, until you’re old enough to go to jail, or worse…like, death. Lethal injection. That’s the most common…”

            Andy turned slowly, and started to run. Her friend, the lame letter writer screamed shrilly: Run!! He turned, and was raising the gun thinking: I can’t let her go! I can’t kill her now! I can’t let her go! I can’t… when suddenly The Speaker jumped on him from behind, knocking him down, on His face, and dropping the gun. The Speaker and The Gunner grappled on the classroom floor. After a confused fight some one got up, and jumped on the gun, while rolling, and aimed the gun at the other figure, who lunged forward, but stopped when a loud BANG echoed through the small room. The figure fell to the floor.

Blood streamed from the hole, in Steven’s chest. He stood triumphantly over him.

 

           *          *          *          *          *

 

            Flip, flop, flip, flop, flip, flop…

            Pitter, patter, pitter-patter pitter…

The mouse runs from the cat. The cat is nameless. The mouse is Andy.

            Andy ran down the dark hall. Her eyes had yet to adjust to the dark, and she could not see her noise in front of her face. Suddenly, a loud BANG! echoed through the hall. Andy stopped. O no! O no! It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have run, I shouldn’t have! She kept on going, trying to get away from what had happened, and from what might happen. She seemed to run for an eternity, though the hall couldn’t have been more than one hundred yards. She was running then…SMACK!! She ran into something brick hard, totally black and invisible. She screamed, but a lighting fast, crushingly strong hand covered her mouth.

            “Shhhh! Quiet down. It’s OK. We’re here to help. Randy! Al! Take this little girl we’ll go ahead. You stay here, and be careful. He could be anywhere,” the voice said fast and quietly.

            Andy tried to say something, anything, even: Would you like fries with that? but not a word came out, but nothing needed to, because, as the S.W.A.T. man had said: Everything is gonna be…ok…  

 

                                    *          *          *          *          *

 

Steven opened his eyes, to find he was in a world of pain, like none had, or maybe ever would encounter in his life. The left part of his chest was burning as if made of gasoline. He tried to get up, but a hard shoe struck him in his stomach. All the air from Steven’s lungs came from his mouth in a loud and long, whoosh, and for a moment Steven could not get the smallest breath of air. He gasped like a fish out of water, lips gasping wordlessly, and hopelessly. The pain he already felt, with the combined pain of not being able to breath, threatened to send him back into the world of unconsciousness, but he held on for dear life, and he finally got a breath of precious air. His vision swam in front of him. His eyes finally got in focus. An evil triumphant voice was saying something.

“…let this be an example! If any of you, I mean any you, try to pull a stunt like this,” He pointed down at Steven, “you will end up like this.”

Steven tried not to moan, but a little noise escaped anyway. The sound made Him laugh. He had the gun pointing all around him, sweeping the room, from face to face, each one equally pale and terrified.

He started to haul Steven by the back of his shirt collar. Steven slowly started to move backwards, or rather, forwards. As Steven slowly moved back, he saw each face in the room. He saw the pity in the faces of all the people in the room. They all seemed to know what was next, and they did. It was next, but no one ever seemed to do anything about it. Steven saw the doorway slowly pass by him. He felt a little bump as his bottom across the little panel on the floor that kept the door from swinging in. Steven tried to brace himself for what he thought, knew was next, but he couldn’t. He felt dull and disappointed. It was a waste. He had jumped on that creep with the gun, only to get shot and soon killed. He closed his eyes and expected to start crying, or something, but the tears he expected didn’t come.

            Now Steve and The Gunner were in the hall. Steve was on his back.

“Get up,” He ordered.

Steven tried, but he couldn’t. Steven didn’t know why he tried to do what the creep asked him but he tried anyway. The creep probably didn’t realize Steve tried. That was probably for the best. Never the less, He punished Steve with another hard little kick in the ribs.

Steven slowly made it to his knees. He wavered there, and almost collapsed on his side, but managed to stay up. When he looked up, he found he was staring up into a long dark tunnel, at the end of which lay a fast hungry monster ready to speed out and bore itself into his skin, through anything in the way, and out the other side of him if it could.

He cocked the gun.

            “Any last words?” He asked Steven smugly.

He saw Steve’s eyes widen, and something in his face changed, though he couldn’t quite tell what.

            “Well?” He asked inquiringly.

            “Yes,” said Steve, his voice turning triumphant, “turn around.”

He did turn around to find eight, armed S.W.A.T. officers. His eyes widened and all smugness evaporated. He paled and almost dropped the gun.

“Put the gun down kid!!!” One of the men ordered.

“No!”  He replied, “what if I don’t?”

“If you don’t we’ll be forced to shoot you, and we do not want to do that!”

“Ok,” He said, raising the gun to his own head, “I’ll shoot me!”

            This brought many screams from the classroom, one thirty six. Steve said,

“No man don’t do that. Don’t do that!” With that, Steve fell backwards, and closed his eyes, he had just had enough of this he was tired. He laid back and closed his eyes , waiting, just waiting, to hear what came next.

“Please,” said one of the masked men in black, “don’t. It’s happened too many times before.”

            He ignored the man, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger…

 

                                    *          *          *          *          *

 

Andy and Steve walked down the street hand in hand. They were laughing and talking animatedly, and with great emphasis. Andy throws her head back in great hearty laughter. Andy and Steve were on their way to the first day of school in tenth grade. Much time has passed. Andy is now much taller and very, very, beautiful. Steven has filled out to become a handsome young man that all the girls go crazy over, but Andy is the only one for him.

            After what happened a little over two years ago, everyone remembered His name. It was…Dale. What a simple name. How could it be forgotten? No one knew it until Andy remembered it. Then everyone did. His name spread through the school like a wild fire.

Dale left to an institution. He sends letters. They always are written in red crayon, on very wide ruled paper. They always tell about how he is doing. The last told how he got to go out with his parents for a whole week.

Dale will get out in four or five years, maybe less if he is, really, really good. He says his headaches aren’t as bad as they were and he is gaining his memories of what happened.

Also in every letter he signs love Dale, on in the end of every letter he writes: I’m sorry.

Andy is always sure to reply to these letters. She tells him how she’s doing, and at the end of every letter she writes:

 

I’m sorry too…

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Maria]

Wow, I am unsure of what to say. This was definitely very realistic, in so many ways, and I got all the thrills, of joy and sadness, and seeking revenge is what many would like to do, yet at times ,things go awry when seeking revenge. Very well written.