Problem One

A story I wrote in math class during a test. Pretty ironic I guess...

      The sound wouldn't stop. It was impossible to place. No one thing could account for it. Too slight to classify yet too loud to avoid, the sound pulsated through my ears and vibrated my skull. Over. And over. And over. How could no one hear it? Perhaps there wasn't a sound at all after all. Just the static between ears...

     It wasn't an unusual day at all. Same thing as always; wake up, go to school, and autopilot till I was alone again. Everything started just fine. I woke up, and went to school without incident. The only reason I could think of was a malfunction in the last element of my schedule. And the sound. Maybe both, but perhaps neither. And as I'm sure a criminal psychologist would love to find the real answer of such, really it makes no difference in the end. In any case, I went to my homeroom English class and wrote a paper that the teacher wouldn't ever care to read, then to second period and took notes on a war that no longer mattered. In fact, until I got to third period, I didn't know I had a gun.

       Searching vaguely for my calculator, I touched the distinctive cold metal of a revolver. I could taste the metallic just by looking down at the sleek black material. I knew very little about guns, and wouldn't be able to say without doubt what kind of make and model it was. Yet, there it was in my book bag. My expression never changed as I processed my thoughts, but no one would have seen if it had. Time began to move again, and I returned to my test with my calculator in hand. I suppose that was when I first noticed the sound. Hackles rose on my neck as I tried to clear my thoughts, but still it continued. Twenty minutes passed and I realized I had not even read problem one of my test in my concentration of the noise. I remembered what I had in my book bag, and the distinct metallic taste came back to my mouth. It wasn't a conscious decision to put the gun in my pocket. My mind was still figuring 'x' as I reached in the bag. No thought occurred as I did something I hadn't ever done before.

      The movement attracted no attention. I picked up my test and walked to the teacher’s desk carrying my pistol instead of a pencil. Typing at his computer, he made no notice of the bulge in my pocket. His expression of absolute amazement showed he didn't mind explaining the problem for me even though it was a test.

      "I don't understand," I said quietly, pointing to the question.

       He eagerly began explaining the math while I observed the class. A blond girl caught the eye of the rather nerdy boy beside her, and batted her lashes tauntingly. She turned to her friend beside her and smirked behind a pale hand. The quiet Asian boy in the back was tapping his pencil to a popular new rap beat, having already completed the test. Sheep. Brainless sheep clustered together with no thought or care of anything outside their small herd. I don't think the teacher, or myself for that matter, knew I had the gun to his head before I pulled the trigger.

      Time became slow. Hours passed before Blondie screamed, and the rest followed suit. I don't recall how many times I pulled the trigger, but soon, much too soon the gun clicked. However, Blondie's scream had fallen silent permanently along with a rather many others.

      I felt my jeans pocket and found a couple more clips. As I switched one out, I thought of all the countless books that all say something to the degree of, "With grim satisfaction, I looked at my victims." Personally, I found nothing grim about it. Pure adrenaline ran through my body, and I realized why God does what he does; this is fun. For the first time in a long time, I felt real satisfaction as I was gazing at the shattered pieces of skull and the blood spattered walls. 

      A few people had dashed for the door, but not fast enough to avoid death. They died as with no more honor than a house fly.

      "Get on the floor!" The few remaining people did as they were told. "Stay here." At last the room was silent. But the noise continued. Through all else the noise continues, breaking my thoughts and aligning them in the same motion.

      My moment's enjoyment was interrupted by the echo of footsteps down the hallway. The door was still open from the kids who had tried to escape. I backed toward the door and peeked out behind the indented wall. The hall was filled with people, classmates and teachers alike, running downstairs. Only one teacher was keeping watch and waiting behind for the kids to go first. I admired his bravery as I put an inch of led between his eyes.

     By this point, I knew the administration knew there was an armed student roaming the halls. And if the administration knew I was here then I was also certain that several police departments were sending all units my way. I changed the clip again without a thought as I dashed downstairs through a different staircase leading to the science hallway. Out of the glass doors, I saw the police begin to appear. Cameras were all over the school, so I didn't waste time hiding. They knew my location. No announcement had been had over the intercom, but the hall was deserted.

     I went in the indent of the wall, and caught my breath. I tried to plot my next move, but there were too many variables to work with. I decided to trust instinct instead. I knew I could not take on dozens of trained men who were heavily armed. I saw three realistic options given that much: One, I could give myself up and take a place in prison for all of my remaining life. Two, I could kill myself now and die by my own gun, giving no one else the satisfaction. Or three, I could die fighting. Survival was no longer my priority. I never had anything to live for in any case. It is considered honorable in Japan to die by your own hand, but given the circumstance I'm not so sure such honor would qualify. I decided on my third option just as two doors on either side of the hall burst open.

    Men flew in from what seemed like all directions. They stopped a ways down the hallway.

    "Give yourself up! You don't have to do this."

    I fired the first shot into the wall of police. It was impossible to know who or if I hit someone. The shot was the sign of open fire, and led rained down on me. I fired again, this time in the air. I collapsed and sighed quietly. I closed my eyes. There was no reel of my past, no bright light or harold trumpets. No. As my blood pooled around me, all my thoughts circulated around the answer to number one on the math test I had been taking less than twenty minutes ago.

     I found the answer, and held on to it. It was the last thing I was completely sure of. The chaos quieted, and I relished the silence. I was finally free of the sound at last. I smiled slightly and let the black encompass me.

 

Author's Note

I kept alot of fragments and grammar issues on purpose to make it sound more like a real loons thoughts.

Reviews

[Holly]

Perhaps I have some deeper hatred of the little Asian dude. At least I wrote this in my conscious. If you're dreaming about it then you're fucked up to the core. Teehee.

[Tori]

Holly…..I love you dearly but I worry about you. I love it though. It's very good! I actually had a dream alot like this…….hm. You're a freak. Yet I love the story. Quite enjoyable. And I can imagine you doing all this….and about the asian….was that tommy D: THERES NO WAY YOU COULD'VE KILLED TOMMY!!! NOOOOOO!! NOT NINJA!!!! very good though.