She new she shouldn't have worn her sister's sweater without asking. But it was so soft and so pretty.How would she even begin to tell her sister that her beloved pink sweater had been ruined. Earlier that day at recess, Tiffany the school bully, had again made her a target.
Dad had shown her how to load and fire the weapon... that was before he shot himself in the head last fall. He just hadn't been the same after his last tour of duty in Afghanistan. She went into her sister’s room, took off the torn pink sweater, folded it carefully and laid it on the bed. Then she found her sister’s notebook and a pen and wrote a letter of apology. She then hid the sweater and the letter of apology under her sister’s bed, knowing that it wouldn’t be found until after… Mom wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She had plenty of time. Mom would never notice. She went into her mother’s room, pulled her dressing chair in front of the tall armoire and opened the door of the top cabinet. There it was… Dad’s M-16. It made her sad to see it. Her dad had been a decorated hero in Afghanistan, receiving a purple heart and a medal of valor after his last tour. He hadn’t felt like a hero. He felt like a killer. He couldn’t get the images of his fallen brothers-in-arms out of his head. He felt he should have been able to do more to save them. He didn’t deserve the privilege of going home to his family intact, while his friends and comrades lay dead, their families mourning their passing, while his only injury had been a few little shrapnel wounds and bullet wounds to his shoulder and thigh. He didn’t deserve to live. That was what he’d written in the note he’d left. He apologized and told us how much he loved us. He said we’d be alright since he’d left us a sizeable life-insurance policy, which, since the two years had long passed, would cover for suicide. If he loved us, why did he leave us? She wiped the tears from her eyes, sobbing once and then taking a deep breath. She took the assault rifle and a fully loaded magazine from their place. She almost started to cry, knowing that this was the weapon her dad had used on the battlefield. She was determined not to cry. She wanted to be strong like her dad. She resolved right then that she would never cry again. Then the rage welled up in her. It wasn’t fair. If her dad could die, those bastards at school certainly deserved to die. They’d made her life hell ever since her family moved here right before her father was deployed that last time. Her dad understood. Mom grew up in a perfect world, it seemed. She wouldn’t understand, and she didn’t want to burden her mom with the details… ‘Just ignore them.’ she’d said... That didn’t work... That wouldn’t make her fit in. It might work if she were ‘normal’ like the other kids, but she wasn’t. She was ‘odd’... nothing specific, nothing you could put your finger on, just ‘odd’. Year after year, one teacher after another would contact her parents, telling them that they needed to get help for their daughter. She hated that. They thought she was broken... weak. She didn’t want help. She would take care of this on her own. She was not weak and she was no one’s victim. They would learn that tomorrow.
She took her father’s assault rifle out back and walked about a quarter of a mile into the woods. Her hands shook slightly as she caressed the weapon in her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment, her mind shut off to the soft crunch of autumn leaves beneath her feet and the cool still air around her. She envisioned the revenge she’d planned for the following day. She looked forward to seeing the terror in Tiffany’s eyes right before she shot a hole through that smug, arrogant face of hers. She stood still now. She felt her heart racing as she tightened her grip on her father’s M-16. She wanted to take a few practice shots, just to make sure everything was in working order. She took the safety off and cocked the weapon. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears now as she leveled the bead on a tree stump a few yards ahead of her. Her hands felt weak from the adrenaline, but she focused and squeezed the trigger. The bang was deafening above the silence of the forest and the pounding of her heart. Pieces of tree trunk sprayed out in all directions, leaving a gaping hole where the 45mm cartridge found its mark. Her heartbeat slowed, the adrenaline flow stilled. There was a certain satisfaction to firing that first shot. She was certain the gunshot wouldn’t attract any attention. People fired guns out here on a pretty regular basis. Contented for the moment, she headed back to the house, looking around briefly to make sure no one saw her with the gun. She hid the weapon behind her, lining it up from behind her hip to her right leg as she entered the back door to her house, just in case her sister or mother had gotten home early. She listened for a moment, until she was certain that she was still alone, then walked down the hall to her room. She partially dismantled the M-16, just as her father had taught her, and placed the barrel, the butt and the magazine in her backpack, ready for school tomorrow. She wanted to make sure things were in order. She first straightened up her room and lay out her clothes for the next day; her favorite pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, black t-shirt. Next, she performed what her father had often referred to as a ‘FOD walk-down’ to scour the house for any ‘foreign object & debris’, so that her mother and sister wouldn’t have to worry about it. There were no dishes in the sink and the laundry had been done the night before. She then returned to her room and composed a letter to her mother and sister.
She felt strangely calm as she folded the letter. She pondered where to put it so it would be found, but wouldn’t be found too soon. Then she had another thought; her father's Desert Eagle. She climbed back up to the top shelf of her mother's armoire and found the case in a far back corner. She knew her sister would be home soon, so she had to act quickly. She carefully arranged everything back to the way it had been so her mother wouldn’t know anything had been disturbed. She placed the letter where the M-16 had been, upright against the back of the armoire so it would be easily found upon investigation. Her mother would have no reason to look in the top shelf of the armoire unless she had reason to believe the weapons were missing. Then she ran with the Desert Eagle in its case, tucked tightly beneath her arm into her room and shut the door behind her. She sat on the floor with her legs crossed, the case on the floor in front of her. She opened the case and gazed down at the gleaming semi-automatic pistol inside. She'd always loved her dad's Desert Eagle. He had taught her how to dismantle, reassemble, maintain, load and most importantly, how to use it. She recalled how, when she'd fired it, the kick nearly knocked her over. The power was intoxicating. Just holding it in her hands gave her a tremendous sense of power. She knew she wouldn’t have time to take it for a test run as she had the M-16; but she’d never had a problem with it. It had never jammed, not once. It had always worked flawlessly. Her father told her how he had used it on the battlefield and that it had never once failed him. She ejected the magazine from the pistol and looked it over. She blew across the top, where the cartridges were visible, just like her father had done. Then she loaded the magazine back into the weapon, placed it back in the case and loaded it into her backpack with the M-16. Just then, she heard the front door open. Her sister was home. Her heart pounded as she slid her backpack under her bed and did her best to act as normal as possible so as not to tip off her sister that anything was amiss. She managed to get through that evening without any major issues; though her mother did ask why she seemed so distracted. ‘Just tired I guess.’ She lied, avoiding her mother’s gaze. That night, she barely slept. In the quiet, she could hear her heart pounding. She relayed her plan of action for the following day.
When morning finally came, she rose before her mother or sister. She brushed her teeth and dressed herself in the clothes she’d set out the day before and sat on the edge of her bed… just sat because she couldn’t really bring herself to do anything else. The adrenaline flowing through her veins made her feel shaky and weak. She’d never been so nervous in her life. After a while she heard her mother walking down the hall as she always did, do get breakfast ready for the three of them. The very idea of eating made her sick. She knew she wouldn’t be able to choke anything down this morning. She didn’t want her mother wasting her time preparing food that she wouldn’t be eating, so she went out to the kitchen to tell her mother that she wasn’t hungry and to not make anything for her. ‘Are you sick?’ her mother asked, placing a hand on her forehead. ‘You don’t have a fever.’ ‘No.’ she replied. ‘I’m not sick. I just don’t feel like eating.’ Her mother looked at her for a while, but she couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? You’re shaking.’ ‘I’m okay Mom.’ She lied again, still averting her eyes. She knew her mother worried about her. After all… she wasn’t ‘normal’. The doctors all said she’d never be ‘normal’. She was ‘ill’. That was the word they’d cautiously used in her presence. It made her angry. She was ‘ill’… not stupid. She knew what they meant. After today, however, her mother would never have to worry again. She sat in her room while her mother and sister ate breakfast. She couldn’t think of anything to do to distract herself while she waited. Her mother called her several times asking if she was sure she wouldn’t have anything to eat. It made her sad that her mother was concerned. She didn’t want her mother to worry, but she knew she would always be a burden as long as she remained. When it was time to leave, she grabbed her backpack. The parts of the M-16 clanked a little and scraped against the plastic case that held the Desert Eagle. Her hands still shook as she hoisted the pack over her shoulder. Thinking quickly, she stuffed an extra sweater in her backpack to insulate the parts of the M-16 from clanking together, then she took her keychain out of the pocket of her backpack and jangled the key loudly against the bronze ‘Marines’ keychain pendant to disguise any further noise her arsenal might make. At the door, she hugged her mother extra tight. ‘I love you Mom.’ She tried to keep her voice from shaking and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She hoped her mother would only notice retrospectively the extra tight hug and the extra emphasis she placed on her final words to her. ‘Bye Angie’, she said to her sister as they headed in opposite directions toward their respective schools. She wanted to tell her she loved her too, but it would seem too weird. She had written it in her apology for the torn sweater and in the final letter to her sister and mother. She would know. Then she turned away and began walking the four blocks to school with her pulse pounding in her throat, nearly choking her, and still trembling from the massive adrenaline flow. She’d always hated school; not for the reasons the other kids hated it. She actually enjoyed learning and didn’t’ even mind the work. What she hated were the kids; those sadistic, parasitic vultures who feed on suffering of others. They tormented her on a daily basis. Sometimes it was just a small group… like those stuck-up rich girls with the trendy clothes. Sometimes it was a mob who surrounded her, asking her stupid questions like what planet she was from and what it was like there, why she was so weird…. Stupid questions like that.
No one ever confronted her by themselves. Her one source of pride was her ability to fight. Her father had taught her and she’d earned a reputation. She’d been in several fights within the first months after moving here, mostly with boys, and she’d handily beaten the proverbial crap out of them. She smiled as she recalled with pride how word had spread so quickly. It wasn’t enough though… fear is not respect, and safety in numbers had overridden any fear they might otherwise have had. She was still alone… she knew she would always be alone because she wasn’t ‘normal’. It wouldn’t matter after today. She wondered if she’d be able to go through with it. What if no one provoked her? Would she go through the day with her arsenal in her backpack? Or would this be a typical day in which someone would have to say something stupid… call her a name... ask her stupid questions. Tiffany and her stuck-up girlfriends, their collective noses in the air would likely stalk her from one end of campus to the other, making sarcastic comments about her hair, her shoes, her clothes… the fact that she had no friends. That would be the cue. The thought of it made her pulse race. She knew Tiffany would likely be waiting for her; waiting to impress her stupid, stuck-up friends with how cleverly she tormented the loner. When she reached the school campus, she slipped behind the first portable building; the one that housed her classroom. She checked to make sure there was no one else around, and then she crouched on the ground, opened her backpack, and pulled out the barrel and butt of the M-16, fitting them together like a soldier… like her dad. Her heart pounded harder as she pulled out the magazine and clipped it into place. She felt strangely powerful yet anxious.. it was an odd combination. It would be impossible to completely hide the assault rifle in her backpack now. She tore a small hole in the bottom of the backpack so the muzzle would slip through to the handgrip. The butt barely extended beyond the top of her backpack. It would be unlikely anyone would recognize what it was. She took a deep breath and walked out from behind the building and headed out in the open, daring anyone... especially Tiffany, to say something stupid; waiting for someone to provoke her to wage her assault and take her revenge.
She stood in the sunlight with her back toward the wall of her classroom. She wouldn’t want anyone coming up behind her, she’d planned carefully. For months she’d imagined this, had played it out in her mind, over and over again. Then, in the distance, she saw her… Tiffany was bouncing along with her little crew of stuck-up phonies in their over-priced designer clothes which they seemed to believe made them better than those who couldn’t afford them. Tiffany had spotted her, stopped mid-stride and said something to her friends, pointing in the direction of their classroom. She smiled slightly as her Tiffany and her friends walked in her direction. Her heart seemed to vibrate as the adrenaline flowed through her. Revenge… the word kept repeating itself in her mind… She slung her backpack down to the crook of her left elbow , reached in with her right and slid her hand around the grip and her index finger on the trigger as Tiffany and her crew approached. As she locked eyes with Tiffany, she slid the muzzle from the hole in the bottom of her backpack to make sure it wouldn’t get stuck when the time came. Tiffany stood, hands on her hips and looked her over with a sneer, her minions emulating her posture as they stood behind her like a bunch of mindless imbeciles. She carefully situated her backpack so she could keep her grip on the assault rifle while still keeping it concealed from Tiffany and her minions. She needed then to say something, she needed a trigger.
She smiled slightly as she noticed the purplish knot over Tiffany’s eye where she’d punched her the previous day for tearing her sister’s favorite sweater. She replayed the events of the previous day in her mind: She’d told her it was her sister’s sweater, but Tiffany didn’t care, and with that obnoxious sneer on her face, she’d grabbed the sweater, tearing it at the seam under the left arm. ‘Oops!’ Tiffany taunted. ‘Did I tear your sister’s pretty sweater?’ She and her friends laughed scornfully. That was when she cracked Tiffany in the face. Tiffany reeled backward, looking stunned and then called her an obscene name, but sensibly stood her ground. She waited for Tiffany to make a move; she’d been waiting for an opportunity to fight her off-campus. This was perfect, just a block away, she was free and clear… but just then someone grabbed her from behind. She pulled loose from the hands that held her, only for more hands to grab her. Three boys held her arms. She recognized two of them; older boys from one of the other classes. The third didn’t look familiar. He was much bigger than the other kids. He looked old enough to be in high school. Tiffany, looking rather smug walked toward her as the boys held her. She positioned herself sideways, balancing her weight on her back foot so she could kick Tiffany when she approached. Unfortunately, the older boy noticed and positioned his leg so she couldn’t defend herself. Tiffany walked up to her with that smug sneer and slapped her across the face. ‘See ya, loner!’ Tiffany called over her shoulder as she walked away. The boys had hauled her backward and thrown her to the ground, the shorter one called her a freak and the other kids laughed as they all walked away, some calling her various derogatory names. That was the event that had finally pushed her over the edge. All the way home, seething with rage, she’d begun to formulate her revenge. Initially she thought of tracking down Tiffany when she was alone… but she was never alone. Then she thought of all the other kids who’d tormented her since she started school. She couldn’t beat them all… they’d made her life Hell… she hated them… there was only one thing she could do to stop the torture. Her train of thought, recalling the previous day had only taken about half a second. She stared down Tiffany, waiting for her to say something stupid, fingering the trigger on her father’s M-16, waiting… ‘What are you staring at, loser?’ Tiffany sneered. Her friends snickered behind her.. it wasn’t enough… she needed more. ‘Why’d you bring the whole dog pound with you, Tiffany? Afraid to face me alone?’ She waited… Tiffany and her minions took the bait and let loose with a barrage of insults and obscenities. ‘Loner’, ‘Loser’ and of course, ‘why don’t you go back to your own planet, space cadet?’ The corner of her mouth curled into a smirk… that was the trigger she’d been waiting for. She pulled the assault rifle from her backpack and pointed the muzzle at Tiffany’s face. At first Tiffany and her minions fell back, gasping and shrieking… but then Tiffany spoke up. ‘What is that, a toy? Do you think I’m afraid of a water gun? You wouldn’t actually shoot us… jeez, yer so stupid!’ She wanted to see the terror in Tiffany’s eyes. If she’d shot her in the face just then, she wouldn’t get that satisfaction. She pointed the assault rifle at Tiffany’s right knee and pulled the trigger firing off several rounds and obliterating Tiffany’s kneecap.
The moment she’d been waiting for, the reaction she had so hoped for; Tiffany screamed in agony and terror, her minions shrieked and cried, stunned that the gun was real. Two of the minions turned and started to run but she cut them down with several more rounds. One stood, frozen with fear. Two others curled up on the ground and one more clung to Tiffany, crouching behind her as though her ‘fearless leader’ would somehow protect her. All of them were crying. Tiffany looked up at her with terror in her eyes. ‘P..p..please… don’t k..kill me.’ Tiffany whimpered pathetically. This was exactly what she’d hoped for. She laughed darkly. She looked Tiffany in the eyes, savoring her weakness, her terror and then squeezed off a few more rounds, taking out two more of Tiffany’s friends just to hear her scream and beg again. ‘Tiffany..’, she called. She wanted to look into her eyes and see that terror one last time before… Tiffany met her gaze… and she fired several more rounds into that smug face she hated so much, killing her instantly. The rest of the campus was in chaos; people running, screaming. A few brave (or foolish) souls came forward. ‘Listen’ one teacher started. ‘You don’t want to do this.’ It was Mr. Wright. ‘This is the coward’s way…’ that was as far as he got before she put one through his forehead and he fell to the ground. ‘Coward…’ she spat, disgusted. A coward would have curled up in a ball and taken the abuse. Then she walked forward. She wanted to make the most of this. She was hunting. In her mind she could see every face that had sneered at her, called her names, tormented her… made her life Hell. She tracked them down. She spotted them, one after another: Brad.. that fat, ugly face with the fat, ugly voice, who’d started calling her ‘Space Case’ the first week after she started school. The moment she spotted him, she cut him down. Andrea.. another snob, just like Tiffany… too good, too popular, too pretty. She waited for the begging, the screaming and then she cut her down too. She caught someone out of the corner of her eye, coming toward her fast. Without even stopping to see who it was, she fired another round at her would-be assailant. It was Mr. Wilson, the janitor. She was a little sad that she’d had to take him out. He always seemed like a nice guy. He died a hero. She respected that. One after another, she cut down the bastards who had made her life so miserable. Then she saw Mr. Sweeney. She had hoped she’d find him. Months ago, he had approached her, feigning concern, offering a façade of friendship..and then he’d kissed her on the mouth and groped her. She pulled away from him and he told her not to tell anyone.. they wouldn’t believe her anyway because everyone knew she was ‘crazy’. She hadn’t told anyone. She hadn’t wanted her mother to worry and no one else mattered, no one else would believe what Mr. Sweeney had done. The memory of it sent a new wave of rage and hatred through her. She’d wanted to kill him ever since and there he was, cowering near a bench with several students. When she approached him, he grabbed a girl who was curled up nearby and held her in front of him to use as a shield. The girl was too small to use as a shield. She locked eyes with the terrified little girl. This girl had never done anything to her. ‘Don’t be afraid.’ She said to the little girl. ‘I won’t hurt you.’ Sweeney loosened his grip on the girl, apparently thinking she was talking to HIM. ‘Oh no, Sweeney,’ she addressed him. ‘You should be afraid.. I’ve wanted to kill you for a long time.’ His eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth, probably to beg for his worthless, pathetic life but before he could speak, she obliterated his ugly face with a barrage of gunfire. She felt sorry for the little girl, who screamed in terror as blood splattered everywhere and Sweeney’s disgusting body slumped to the ground beside her.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. She wasn’t even sure how many people she’d taken out or injured. Some, she deliberately left alive to live with their cowardice and to tell the story of how the longer they’d tormented had come back for revenge… others she just wanted dead. She took out several others before she saw her fourth grade teacher from last year… Mr. Mack. He’d always been so nice, so patient. He’d called her mother, concerned about her wellbeing, but he encouraged her. He said she was ‘very intelligent’ and had encouraged her to pursue her goals and not let the labels people placed on her discourage her. She locked eyes with him. Her throat tensed up as she saw the fear in his eyes. ‘I won’t hurt you Mr. Mack.’ She assured him. He still looked frightened. ‘Please p..put the gun down…’ he stammered. ‘I’m sorry Mr. Mack… I can’t do that.’ She turned and walked away, careful not to turn her back on him. As she walked away, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, coming toward her. She turned around and pointed the riffle at his chest. ‘Please don’t make me hurt you Mr. Mack. I don’t want to hurt you.’ She choked. She swallowed hard as he backed away, hands up in submission. She hated to see nice Mr. Mack like that, but she wasn’t going to let anyone get in her way now. She went down a hall where more kids and teachers ran screaming and crying from her. She liked this power. She took out several more of her tormentors. Then she saw Jason. He had defended her on several occasions. He’d told the other kids to leave her alone. He was cute and popular, but he still had compassion.. it was an odd combination. Popularity and compassion almost seemed an oxymoron. The echoes of the last rounds she’d fired off faded along with the screams of the students and teachers. There were people crying, and a few people groaning in agony as they lay bleeding on the ground behind her. She locked eyes with Jason and saw the fear in his eyes. She hadn’t wanted his fear. ‘Please don’t kill me.’ He gasped as he stood facing her. ‘I’m not going to kill you Jason.. You were about the only one who was ever nice to me.’ She swallowed hard.’ Then she heard footsteps coming from behind her. She swung around, rifle ready. It was Mr. Mack again. ‘Mr. Mack…’ she called to him as he froze on the spot. ‘Please don’t try to stop me.. I don’t want to hurt you.’ She could hear the sirens approaching. She closed her eyes for a moment. She had done what she’d come to do. She had taken out her enemies and had taught others a lesson they’d never forget. She looked from Jason to Mr. Mack. From the corner of her eye, she saw uniformed SWAT officers approaching from either side, crouched with guns drawn. It was over. She slid her backpack down her arm, reached in and pulled out her father’s Desert Eagle. She unlocked the safety and placed the muzzle to her temple. ‘No!’ Mr. Mack cried out. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this!’ ‘Yes, it does Mr. Mack… I’m sorry.’ She glanced from Jason, to Mr. Mack to the SWAT officers, closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. That night on the news, the lead story began ‘Today a ten-year old girl with an M-16 assault rifle, shot and killed fourteen schoolmates and a teacher and injured eleven others before taking her own life…’
tired from a long day at school. Her shoes untied, a tear tricked down her cheek. Obviously it had been one of those days. ( Now what happens? Join it. )
She new she shouldn't have worn her sister's sweater without asking. But it was so soft and so pretty.How would she even begin to tell her sister that her beloved pink sweater had been ruined. Earlier that day at recess, Tiffany the school bully, had again made her a target.
ReplyDeleteMom had said to ignore Tiffany, but that hadn't worked. It seemed no matter what she did Tiffany had it out for her.
ReplyDeleteShe'd had enough and all the way home she'd been formulating her revenge. She knew where her mom kept the M-16.
ReplyDeleteDad had shown her how to load and fire the weapon... that was before he shot himself in the head last fall. He just hadn't been the same after his last tour of duty in Afghanistan.
ReplyDeleteShe went into her sister’s room, took off the torn pink sweater, folded it carefully and laid it on the bed. Then she found her sister’s notebook and a pen and wrote a letter of apology. She then hid the sweater and the letter of apology under her sister’s bed, knowing that it wouldn’t be found until after…
Mom wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She had plenty of time. Mom would never notice. She went into her mother’s room, pulled her dressing chair in front of the tall armoire and opened the door of the top cabinet. There it was… Dad’s M-16. It made her sad to see it. Her dad had been a decorated hero in Afghanistan, receiving a purple heart and a medal of valor after his last tour. He hadn’t felt like a hero. He felt like a killer. He couldn’t get the images of his fallen brothers-in-arms out of his head. He felt he should have been able to do more to save them. He didn’t deserve the privilege of going home to his family intact, while his friends and comrades lay dead, their families mourning their passing, while his only injury had been a few little shrapnel wounds and bullet wounds to his shoulder and thigh. He didn’t deserve to live. That was what he’d written in the note he’d left. He apologized and told us how much he loved us. He said we’d be alright since he’d left us a sizeable life-insurance policy, which, since the two years had long passed, would cover for suicide. If he loved us, why did he leave us?
She wiped the tears from her eyes, sobbing once and then taking a deep breath. She took the assault rifle and a fully loaded magazine from their place. She almost started to cry, knowing that this was the weapon her dad had used on the battlefield. She was determined not to cry. She wanted to be strong like her dad. She resolved right then that she would never cry again. Then the rage welled up in her. It wasn’t fair. If her dad could die, those bastards at school certainly deserved to die. They’d made her life hell ever since her family moved here right before her father was deployed that last time. Her dad understood. Mom grew up in a perfect world, it seemed. She wouldn’t understand, and she didn’t want to burden her mom with the details… ‘Just ignore them.’ she’d said... That didn’t work... That wouldn’t make her fit in. It might work if she were ‘normal’ like the other kids, but she wasn’t. She was ‘odd’... nothing specific, nothing you could put your finger on, just ‘odd’. Year after year, one teacher after another would contact her parents, telling them that they needed to get help for their daughter. She hated that. They thought she was broken... weak. She didn’t want help. She would take care of this on her own. She was not weak and she was no one’s victim. They would learn that tomorrow.
She took her father’s assault rifle out back and walked about a quarter of a mile into the woods. Her hands shook slightly as she caressed the weapon in her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment, her mind shut off to the soft crunch of autumn leaves beneath her feet and the cool still air around her. She envisioned the revenge she’d planned for the following day. She looked forward to seeing the terror in Tiffany’s eyes right before she shot a hole through that smug, arrogant face of hers. She stood still now. She felt her heart racing as she tightened her grip on her father’s M-16. She wanted to take a few practice shots, just to make sure everything was in working order. She took the safety off and cocked the weapon. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears now as she leveled the bead on a tree stump a few yards ahead of her. Her hands felt weak from the adrenaline, but she focused and squeezed the trigger. The bang was deafening above the silence of the forest and the pounding of her heart. Pieces of tree trunk sprayed out in all directions, leaving a gaping hole where the 45mm cartridge found its mark. Her heartbeat slowed, the adrenaline flow stilled. There was a certain satisfaction to firing that first shot.
ReplyDeleteShe was certain the gunshot wouldn’t attract any attention. People fired guns out here on a pretty regular basis. Contented for the moment, she headed back to the house, looking around briefly to make sure no one saw her with the gun. She hid the weapon behind her, lining it up from behind her hip to her right leg as she entered the back door to her house, just in case her sister or mother had gotten home early. She listened for a moment, until she was certain that she was still alone, then walked down the hall to her room. She partially dismantled the M-16, just as her father had taught her, and placed the barrel, the butt and the magazine in her backpack, ready for school tomorrow.
She wanted to make sure things were in order. She first straightened up her room and lay out her clothes for the next day; her favorite pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, black t-shirt. Next, she performed what her father had often referred to as a ‘FOD walk-down’ to scour the house for any ‘foreign object & debris’, so that her mother and sister wouldn’t have to worry about it. There were no dishes in the sink and the laundry had been done the night before.
She then returned to her room and composed a letter to her mother and sister.
She felt strangely calm as she folded the letter. She pondered where to put it so it would be found, but wouldn’t be found too soon.
ReplyDeleteThen she had another thought; her father's Desert Eagle. She climbed back up to the top shelf of her mother's armoire and found the case in a far back corner. She knew her sister would be home soon, so she had to act quickly. She carefully arranged everything back to the way it had been so her mother wouldn’t know anything had been disturbed. She placed the letter where the M-16 had been, upright against the back of the armoire so it would be easily found upon investigation. Her mother would have no reason to look in the top shelf of the armoire unless she had reason to believe the weapons were missing. Then she ran with the Desert Eagle in its case, tucked tightly beneath her arm into her room and shut the door behind her. She sat on the floor with her legs crossed, the case on the floor in front of her. She opened the case and gazed down at the gleaming semi-automatic pistol inside.
She'd always loved her dad's Desert Eagle. He had taught her how to dismantle, reassemble, maintain, load and most importantly, how to use it. She recalled how, when she'd fired it, the kick nearly knocked her over. The power was intoxicating. Just holding it in her hands gave her a tremendous sense of power. She knew she wouldn’t have time to take it for a test run as she had the M-16; but she’d never had a problem with it. It had never jammed, not once. It had always worked flawlessly. Her father told her how he had used it on the battlefield and that it had never once failed him.
She ejected the magazine from the pistol and looked it over. She blew across the top, where the cartridges were visible, just like her father had done. Then she loaded the magazine back into the weapon, placed it back in the case and loaded it into her backpack with the M-16.
Just then, she heard the front door open. Her sister was home. Her heart pounded as she slid her backpack under her bed and did her best to act as normal as possible so as not to tip off her sister that anything was amiss.
She managed to get through that evening without any major issues; though her mother did ask why she seemed so distracted.
‘Just tired I guess.’ She lied, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
That night, she barely slept. In the quiet, she could hear her heart pounding. She relayed her plan of action for the following day.
When morning finally came, she rose before her mother or sister. She brushed her teeth and dressed herself in the clothes she’d set out the day before and sat on the edge of her bed… just sat because she couldn’t really bring herself to do anything else. The adrenaline flowing through her veins made her feel shaky and weak. She’d never been so nervous in her life.
ReplyDeleteAfter a while she heard her mother walking down the hall as she always did, do get breakfast ready for the three of them. The very idea of eating made her sick. She knew she wouldn’t be able to choke anything down this morning.
She didn’t want her mother wasting her time preparing food that she wouldn’t be eating, so she went out to the kitchen to tell her mother that she wasn’t hungry and to not make anything for her.
‘Are you sick?’ her mother asked, placing a hand on her forehead. ‘You don’t have a fever.’
‘No.’ she replied. ‘I’m not sick. I just don’t feel like eating.’
Her mother looked at her for a while, but she couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? You’re shaking.’
‘I’m okay Mom.’ She lied again, still averting her eyes. She knew her mother worried about her. After all… she wasn’t ‘normal’. The doctors all said she’d never be ‘normal’. She was ‘ill’. That was the word they’d cautiously used in her presence. It made her angry. She was ‘ill’… not stupid. She knew what they meant. After today, however, her mother would never have to worry again.
She sat in her room while her mother and sister ate breakfast. She couldn’t think of anything to do to distract herself while she waited. Her mother called her several times asking if she was sure she wouldn’t have anything to eat. It made her sad that her mother was concerned. She didn’t want her mother to worry, but she knew she would always be a burden as long as she remained.
When it was time to leave, she grabbed her backpack. The parts of the M-16 clanked a little and scraped against the plastic case that held the Desert Eagle. Her hands still shook as she hoisted the pack over her shoulder. Thinking quickly, she stuffed an extra sweater in her backpack to insulate the parts of the M-16 from clanking together, then she took her keychain out of the pocket of her backpack and jangled the key loudly against the bronze ‘Marines’ keychain pendant to disguise any further noise her arsenal might make.
At the door, she hugged her mother extra tight. ‘I love you Mom.’ She tried to keep her voice from shaking and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She hoped her mother would only notice retrospectively the extra tight hug and the extra emphasis she placed on her final words to her.
‘Bye Angie’, she said to her sister as they headed in opposite directions toward their respective schools. She wanted to tell her she loved her too, but it would seem too weird. She had written it in her apology for the torn sweater and in the final letter to her sister and mother. She would know.
Then she turned away and began walking the four blocks to school with her pulse pounding in her throat, nearly choking her, and still trembling from the massive adrenaline flow.
She’d always hated school; not for the reasons the other kids hated it. She actually enjoyed learning and didn’t’ even mind the work. What she hated were the kids; those sadistic, parasitic vultures who feed on suffering of others. They tormented her on a daily basis. Sometimes it was just a small group… like those stuck-up rich girls with the trendy clothes. Sometimes it was a mob who surrounded her, asking her stupid questions like what planet she was from and what it was like there, why she was so weird…. Stupid questions like that.
No one ever confronted her by themselves. Her one source of pride was her ability to fight. Her father had taught her and she’d earned a reputation. She’d been in several fights within the first months after moving here, mostly with boys, and she’d handily beaten the proverbial crap out of them. She smiled as she recalled with pride how word had spread so quickly. It wasn’t enough though… fear is not respect, and safety in numbers had overridden any fear they might otherwise have had. She was still alone… she knew she would always be alone because she wasn’t ‘normal’. It wouldn’t matter after today. She wondered if she’d be able to go through with it. What if no one provoked her? Would she go through the day with her arsenal in her backpack? Or would this be a typical day in which someone would have to say something stupid… call her a name... ask her stupid questions. Tiffany and her stuck-up girlfriends, their collective noses in the air would likely stalk her from one end of campus to the other, making sarcastic comments about her hair, her shoes, her clothes… the fact that she had no friends. That would be the cue. The thought of it made her pulse race. She knew Tiffany would likely be waiting for her; waiting to impress her stupid, stuck-up friends with how cleverly she tormented the loner.
ReplyDeleteWhen she reached the school campus, she slipped behind the first portable building; the one that housed her classroom. She checked to make sure there was no one else around, and then she crouched on the ground, opened her backpack, and pulled out the barrel and butt of the M-16, fitting them together like a soldier… like her dad. Her heart pounded harder as she pulled out the magazine and clipped it into place. She felt strangely powerful yet anxious.. it was an odd combination. It would be impossible to completely hide the assault rifle in her backpack now. She tore a small hole in the bottom of the backpack so the muzzle would slip through to the handgrip. The butt barely extended beyond the top of her backpack. It would be unlikely anyone would recognize what it was.
She took a deep breath and walked out from behind the building and headed out in the open, daring anyone... especially Tiffany, to say something stupid; waiting for someone to provoke her to wage her assault and take her revenge.
She stood in the sunlight with her back toward the wall of her classroom. She wouldn’t want anyone coming up behind her, she’d planned carefully. For months she’d imagined this, had played it out in her mind, over and over again. Then, in the distance, she saw her… Tiffany was bouncing along with her little crew of stuck-up phonies in their over-priced designer clothes which they seemed to believe made them better than those who couldn’t afford them. Tiffany had spotted her, stopped mid-stride and said something to her friends, pointing in the direction of their classroom.
ReplyDeleteShe smiled slightly as her Tiffany and her friends walked in her direction. Her heart seemed to vibrate as the adrenaline flowed through her. Revenge… the word kept repeating itself in her mind… She slung her backpack down to the crook of her left elbow , reached in with her right and slid her hand around the grip and her index finger on the trigger as Tiffany and her crew approached. As she locked eyes with Tiffany, she slid the muzzle from the hole in the bottom of her backpack to make sure it wouldn’t get stuck when the time came.
Tiffany stood, hands on her hips and looked her over with a sneer, her minions emulating her posture as they stood behind her like a bunch of mindless imbeciles.
She carefully situated her backpack so she could keep her grip on the assault rifle while still keeping it concealed from Tiffany and her minions. She needed then to say something, she needed a trigger.
She smiled slightly as she noticed the purplish knot over Tiffany’s eye where she’d punched her the previous day for tearing her sister’s favorite sweater. She replayed the events of the previous day in her mind:
ReplyDeleteShe’d told her it was her sister’s sweater, but Tiffany didn’t care, and with that obnoxious sneer on her face, she’d grabbed the sweater, tearing it at the seam under the left arm.
‘Oops!’ Tiffany taunted. ‘Did I tear your sister’s pretty sweater?’ She and her friends laughed scornfully. That was when she cracked Tiffany in the face. Tiffany reeled backward, looking stunned and then called her an obscene name, but sensibly stood her ground. She waited for Tiffany to make a move; she’d been waiting for an opportunity to fight her off-campus. This was perfect, just a block away, she was free and clear… but just then someone grabbed her from behind. She pulled loose from the hands that held her, only for more hands to grab her. Three boys held her arms. She recognized two of them; older boys from one of the other classes. The third didn’t look familiar. He was much bigger than the other kids. He looked old enough to be in high school. Tiffany, looking rather smug walked toward her as the boys held her.
She positioned herself sideways, balancing her weight on her back foot so she could kick Tiffany when she approached. Unfortunately, the older boy noticed and positioned his leg so she couldn’t defend herself. Tiffany walked up to her with that smug sneer and slapped her across the face.
‘See ya, loner!’ Tiffany called over her shoulder as she walked away. The boys had hauled her backward and thrown her to the ground, the shorter one called her a freak and the other kids laughed as they all walked away, some calling her various derogatory names.
That was the event that had finally pushed her over the edge. All the way home, seething with rage, she’d begun to formulate her revenge. Initially she thought of tracking down Tiffany when she was alone… but she was never alone. Then she thought of all the other kids who’d tormented her since she started school. She couldn’t beat them all… they’d made her life Hell… she hated them… there was only one thing she could do to stop the torture.
Her train of thought, recalling the previous day had only taken about half a second. She stared down Tiffany, waiting for her to say something stupid, fingering the trigger on her father’s M-16, waiting…
‘What are you staring at, loser?’ Tiffany sneered. Her friends snickered behind her.. it wasn’t enough… she needed more.
‘Why’d you bring the whole dog pound with you, Tiffany? Afraid to face me alone?’ She waited…
Tiffany and her minions took the bait and let loose with a barrage of insults and obscenities. ‘Loner’, ‘Loser’ and of course, ‘why don’t you go back to your own planet, space cadet?’
The corner of her mouth curled into a smirk… that was the trigger she’d been waiting for.
She pulled the assault rifle from her backpack and pointed the muzzle at Tiffany’s face.
At first Tiffany and her minions fell back, gasping and shrieking… but then Tiffany spoke up.
‘What is that, a toy? Do you think I’m afraid of a water gun? You wouldn’t actually shoot us… jeez, yer so stupid!’
She wanted to see the terror in Tiffany’s eyes. If she’d shot her in the face just then, she wouldn’t get that satisfaction. She pointed the assault rifle at Tiffany’s right knee and pulled the trigger firing off several rounds and obliterating Tiffany’s kneecap.
The moment she’d been waiting for, the reaction she had so hoped for; Tiffany screamed in agony and terror, her minions shrieked and cried, stunned that the gun was real. Two of the minions turned and started to run but she cut them down with several more rounds. One stood, frozen with fear. Two others curled up on the ground and one more clung to Tiffany, crouching behind her as though her ‘fearless leader’ would somehow protect her. All of them were crying. Tiffany looked up at her with terror in her eyes.
ReplyDelete‘P..p..please… don’t k..kill me.’ Tiffany whimpered pathetically.
This was exactly what she’d hoped for. She laughed darkly. She looked Tiffany in the eyes, savoring her weakness, her terror and then squeezed off a few more rounds, taking out two more of Tiffany’s friends just to hear her scream and beg again.
‘Tiffany..’, she called. She wanted to look into her eyes and see that terror one last time before… Tiffany met her gaze… and she fired several more rounds into that smug face she hated so much, killing her instantly.
The rest of the campus was in chaos; people running, screaming. A few brave (or foolish) souls came forward.
‘Listen’ one teacher started. ‘You don’t want to do this.’ It was Mr. Wright. ‘This is the coward’s way…’ that was as far as he got before she put one through his forehead and he fell to the ground.
‘Coward…’ she spat, disgusted. A coward would have curled up in a ball and taken the abuse. Then she walked forward. She wanted to make the most of this. She was hunting. In her mind she could see every face that had sneered at her, called her names, tormented her… made her life Hell. She tracked them down. She spotted them, one after another: Brad.. that fat, ugly face with the fat, ugly voice, who’d started calling her ‘Space Case’ the first week after she started school. The moment she spotted him, she cut him down. Andrea.. another snob, just like Tiffany… too good, too popular, too pretty. She waited for the begging, the screaming and then she cut her down too.
She caught someone out of the corner of her eye, coming toward her fast. Without even stopping to see who it was, she fired another round at her would-be assailant. It was Mr. Wilson, the janitor. She was a little sad that she’d had to take him out. He always seemed like a nice guy. He died a hero. She respected that. One after another, she cut down the bastards who had made her life so miserable.
Then she saw Mr. Sweeney. She had hoped she’d find him. Months ago, he had approached her, feigning concern, offering a façade of friendship..and then he’d kissed her on the mouth and groped her. She pulled away from him and he told her not to tell anyone.. they wouldn’t believe her anyway because everyone knew she was ‘crazy’. She hadn’t told anyone. She hadn’t wanted her mother to worry and no one else mattered, no one else would believe what Mr. Sweeney had done. The memory of it sent a new wave of rage and hatred through her. She’d wanted to kill him ever since and there he was, cowering near a bench with several students. When she approached him, he grabbed a girl who was curled up nearby and held her in front of him to use as a shield. The girl was too small to use as a shield. She locked eyes with the terrified little girl. This girl had never done anything to her.
‘Don’t be afraid.’ She said to the little girl. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
Sweeney loosened his grip on the girl, apparently thinking she was talking to HIM. ‘Oh no, Sweeney,’ she addressed him. ‘You should be afraid.. I’ve wanted to kill you for a long time.’
His eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth, probably to beg for his worthless, pathetic life but before he could speak, she obliterated his ugly face with a barrage of gunfire. She felt sorry for the little girl, who screamed in terror as blood splattered everywhere and Sweeney’s disgusting body slumped to the ground beside her.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. She wasn’t even sure how many people she’d taken out or injured. Some, she deliberately left alive to live with their cowardice and to tell the story of how the longer they’d tormented had come back for revenge… others she just wanted dead.
ReplyDeleteShe took out several others before she saw her fourth grade teacher from last year… Mr. Mack. He’d always been so nice, so patient. He’d called her mother, concerned about her wellbeing, but he encouraged her. He said she was ‘very intelligent’ and had encouraged her to pursue her goals and not let the labels people placed on her discourage her. She locked eyes with him. Her throat tensed up as she saw the fear in his eyes.
‘I won’t hurt you Mr. Mack.’ She assured him. He still looked frightened.
‘Please p..put the gun down…’ he stammered.
‘I’m sorry Mr. Mack… I can’t do that.’ She turned and walked away, careful not to turn her back on him.
As she walked away, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, coming toward her. She turned around and pointed the riffle at his chest.
‘Please don’t make me hurt you Mr. Mack. I don’t want to hurt you.’ She choked. She swallowed hard as he backed away, hands up in submission. She hated to see nice Mr. Mack like that, but she wasn’t going to let anyone get in her way now.
She went down a hall where more kids and teachers ran screaming and crying from her. She liked this power. She took out several more of her tormentors. Then she saw Jason. He had defended her on several occasions. He’d told the other kids to leave her alone. He was cute and popular, but he still had compassion.. it was an odd combination. Popularity and compassion almost seemed an oxymoron.
The echoes of the last rounds she’d fired off faded along with the screams of the students and teachers. There were people crying, and a few people groaning in agony as they lay bleeding on the ground behind her. She locked eyes with Jason and saw the fear in his eyes. She hadn’t wanted his fear.
‘Please don’t kill me.’ He gasped as he stood facing her.
‘I’m not going to kill you Jason.. You were about the only one who was ever nice to me.’ She swallowed hard.’
Then she heard footsteps coming from behind her. She swung around, rifle ready. It was Mr. Mack again.
‘Mr. Mack…’ she called to him as he froze on the spot. ‘Please don’t try to stop me.. I don’t want to hurt you.’
She could hear the sirens approaching. She closed her eyes for a moment. She had done what she’d come to do. She had taken out her enemies and had taught others a lesson they’d never forget.
She looked from Jason to Mr. Mack. From the corner of her eye, she saw uniformed SWAT officers approaching from either side, crouched with guns drawn.
It was over. She slid her backpack down her arm, reached in and pulled out her father’s Desert Eagle. She unlocked the safety and placed the muzzle to her temple.
‘No!’ Mr. Mack cried out. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this!’
‘Yes, it does Mr. Mack… I’m sorry.’ She glanced from Jason, to Mr. Mack to the SWAT officers, closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
That night on the news, the lead story began ‘Today a ten-year old girl with an M-16 assault rifle, shot and killed fourteen schoolmates and a teacher and injured eleven others before taking her own life…’