school shooting

A faint echo of an automated bell fired in the dead school halls. The deafening pulse of a conscious alarm rang in her mind; you could see it in her eyes, darting to the occupied yet spiritless desks. In lines, they were army corporals, standing stiffly to attention. All four legs were needed, accommodating the weight of the hefty school books used as pillows for the jaded students. Blank faces stare out the sooty windows; they were smudged by the chalk stained hands, distorting the image below. Four stories up, the miscellany of cars were beginning to look a lot like a colony of sleeping ants’. A dusty red pickup truck parked next to the spoilt girls new BMW, she would be less than impressed to see the rusty farmer-boys intentional joke. An accumulation of absent-minded adolescents’ bikes thrown in the rough direction of the bikes stands. Rushing students attempting to make it through those big swinging doors -twice the size of the juniors-  before the bell sounded. The bells that doubled as an alarm for her, just another day staying alerted; she would gaze towards the time-worn chalkboard, only intaking words that lowered her mentally. Words that force her mind to stay caged in the rotting box; she had freedom trapped in her hands, never releasing. She was getting drowned out by the voices in her head that were never intending to stop; voices amplifying when her body slouches in half, concealing herself inside the plastic chairs that are slowly destroying her. The back of her chair is a bodyguard shielding her from spitballs. Firing with the accuracy of a bullet, metaphorically piercing the complexioned skin of the girl who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. One at a time, gradually dissipating her faith in humanity, breaking her to the point where these four walls meant nothing to her but confusion and neglect. Those four walls are enclosing her freedom and peace. Those windows, three stories up, bolted shut to “keep us safe”; keep us away from the concrete pavements the football team celebrates their win as they spill out of the bus. Those doors, solid blocks of wood, gave us no way of seeing through, keeping us from the drama beyond the classroom. This school, so innocent. One word can have a big effect, “loner” and she’s gone. Triggered.

Deathly screams devastate the hustling hallways, the ringing in her ears filters out. The gunshot snap quickly escaping, leaving her empty eyes to hang in their sockets. Vacant desks abandoned in a rush, books swiped off leaving random pages left open. Old coffee stains, from the shaking hands of a highly-caffeinated student, contour the page. Alarmed faces were plastered on the classmates who not dared to look up; it was becoming a more distorted image than before. All stories above, windows were smashed from misfired bullets that have become a crime scene to the fusion of people below. Ants no longer asleep, the swarm decamping. The girl more than relieved to see the farmer-boy turn up next to her smashed in BMW, it became her only ticket out of their nightmare. Dumped dirtbikes are ditched for a dreaded desertion from the victims. The doors leading out of the school held open by a lifeless body draped against it. Bloody handprints paint the door, smudged from frantic students shoving each other around. Everyone trying to escape her as her alarms stayed on repeat, those voices in her head instructing her, possessing her. Words scribbled on the board, forever to haunt the school with her thoughts. Her mind finally frees itself, all thoughts stream out drowning the board in everything she’s never been able to release. Stiff plastic chairs have become useless, unable to block the force of a single bullet with the accuracy of a well-placed spitball. A literal stab to the heart for some, because of the shots from the girl with the overflowing mind. It had become uncontrollable, she was unable to carry the weight of the world anymore. Too much pressure, crushing her down; she would sink down into the floors, now stained red and carpeted by broken glass and shrapnel within these four walls that direct her. These four walls that her purposeful wandering destroyed. These windows, bolts blown off, never been safe for us above the concrete pavements that support the tear-stained faces. These doors, the only thing shielding her from the police while they have no clue how close they are to the killer and the drama she’s caused. One surge through the door and she’s gone. Free.






One Reply to “school shooting”

  1. At times you sound repetitive. Watch your sentence starters- you use a lot of “An” and “The”. You need to ensure that your choice of structure has a stylistic purpose- why use a long sentence in that particular place or a semi colon one at the end. When you begin to think about this I think you’ll be able to get rid of the repeated feeling.

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