Mission Success

Content warning: school shooting

His alarm clock blares, and he blearily wipes the crumbs of sleep from his eyes. He stumbles out of bed and into a pair of crumpled clothes from the floor. Grabbing a piece of toast on the way out, he checks that all of his supplies are in the car before peeling out of the driveway to his final destination.

She strides into the school in her bright pink raincoat. In one hand, she holds her sparkly coffee tumbler; in the other, a stack of math tests, graded and stickered. She wears an infectious smile and greets the students she sees in the hall as she makes her way into her classroom. She arrives at her desk and looks around to make sure she has all the supplies she needs for class today. Everything looks all set. She plops down in her chair with a content sigh and begins the lesson plan for the next day while she waits for her students to arrive.

The students filter into the classroom slowly, the overachievers arriving early and the slackers slipping in at the last minute. As their friends arrive, the classroom is filled with the buzz of a new day and the gossip of the previous twelve hours. She stands at the door and greets them each with a smile, and almost all of them smile back. He does not. She watches him with maternal concern, but her worries are forgotten as the overachievers arrive at her shoulder with their neat lists of questions from last night’s homework. The bell screeches overhead, and the students recite the pledge in time with the intercom. Class is starting.

He stares blankly at her hands, waving enthusiastically around the board as she writes out the quadratic formula. She eagerly recites a mnemonic for the formula, getting much more delight from it than do her students, but they can’t help but smile a little at her excitement. No one else cares this much about math in the morning. His eyes flicker down to his bag, which is unzipped just enough for him to reach inside. He steeples his fingers to stop his hands from shaking and looks back up at her. It’s almost time.

She surreptitiously steals glances at him. He isn’t usually much of a talker in class, but something about him today seems off. She tries to quell the uneasy feelings growing in her gut, but they linger, making a lie of her smiling face. She finishes her lesson and assigns their homework. They start to work on the assignment with the remaining class time. She meanders through the maze of desks as the chatter begins. As always, not all of it is about math, and the classroom has suddenly become a sea of phone screens. She listens around the room, but her gaze keeps going back to him, and the unease in her gut deepens. She resolves to go check on him and starts to make her way to his desk in the back corner of the room.

He sees her coming. His hand hesitates over the opening of his bag before plunging it inside. She arrives at his desk in the next moment.

“Are you okay?” Her concerned eyes rake over his face, which burns red with embarrassment.

“Yes, ma’am.” He replies, not quite meeting her eyes.

“You sure?”

His eyes finally meet hers. “I’m fine.”

The unease blossoms, curling around her intestines. “Okay.” She sighs and starts to turn but stops. “Just let me know if you ever need to talk. I’ll be here.” She whispers this last part, her hand patting his shoulder, a tender expression on her face. He touches the spot where it rested while his other hand searches his bag. It finds cool metal and closes around it. He closes his eyes, the motivation for his mission playing like a film against his eyelids. He relives the cruel laughter of his classmates, the judgmental stares in the cafeteria from students who ridicule him and teachers who pity him. His resolve strengthens as he slowly pulls his hand from his bag.

At first, no one notices the gun sitting on his desk, entwined with his fingers. But she does. Her eyes go wide with fear for a moment before she catches him staring and puts her teacher mask back on. She approaches his desk slowly and calmly, hoping against hope that she gets there before her students notice.

She has no such luck. The girl next to him happens to glance in his direction, and her gaze lands on the weapon on his desk. She lets out a shriek, and the next few moments erupt in chaos. It all happens so quickly. Shots ringing out, striking students who block her path. They fall, their blood splattering across walls and desks and mixing with the tears that pour down their faces. She instinctively glances down at her own body and gasps at the red sprayed like a fine mist over her clothes and skin. She screams for him to stop, to please stop and just talk to her. Stepping over the gurgling students nearest to him, she finally reaches him.  

“Please.” She reaches out to him as tears silently slip down her face. “Please stop. You don’t have to do this. You can still make this right. Please.”

His cold eyes find hers, as his face warps from teen to terminator. “Make me.”

She sobs despite herself, and as he aims the gun, she grabs his arm, forcing it to the ceiling, screaming for her students to get out, get OUT! She struggles with all of the strength her tiny body can muster until he overpowers her. She slams to the ground among her fallen students. She says a silent prayer as he fires at her chest. Bang! Bang! Then there is only silence.

He stares at her crumpled body for a moment before setting out after the fleeing students.  Before he can leave, a large shape blocks the classroom doorway. The security officer fires. Bang! Bang! He squirms and splutters at the gut shot. He tries to reach for his dropped gun, but the officer gets there first. Blood drips from the corner of his mouth as his head lolls into its final position, a gruesome smile on his face. The town that ridiculed him will never be the same again. Mission success.