Trigger warning: school shootings

• Samuel •

The sound of the gunshots rang loudly before ricocheting off the cafeteria walls, an explosion of white and blue cement peppering the crimson floor. Looking around frantically while cowering under the rickety tables, I catch the reflection of my own emotions in a number of terror-stricken faces. My ears quickly become accustomed to the sound of rapid fire while my brain can’t keep up with anything. It whizzes and whizzes and whizzes and spins and spins and spins and the world comes to a stop and I'm sure everyone is in a freeze frame because how could they not be? and I can’t think about anything else except that this is a very bad situation and how did this happen and why is this even happening and everything and nothing at all makes sense and the only thing that perpetually pops into my frazzled mind is the distorted face of the person with the gun and his immaculate black shoes right in front of my line of sight and everything that came before. Before.

***

The assembly played out like it usually did on a weary Monday morning; students piled in slowly but surely, taking way too long for the teachers liking to settle down. The teachers, albeit feigning a concern of discipline and speed towards the teenagers, floated around lazily, gossiping with their counterparts about those same students and how they don’t get paid enough. I shuffled into my usual seat near the back, just about ready to doze off. Seriously, school starting at the ungodly hour of 7 bloody 30 in the morning should be a crime. 

Our headteacher, Mr Bates, approached the podium with the usual spring in his step and early morning vigor, although we all knew that the substance in his thermos was always alcohol. I would have felt sad, empathetic for him almost, if he didn’t make it his life's mission to substitute his crappy job for a faux sickly sweet tone. Just as he was about to start his routine motivation speech that, spoiler alert, didn’t actually motivate anyone, Rowan slipped into the seat beside me. I honestly don't know how he did it. Every. Single. Time.

“What the hell, dude. This is like the fifteenth time you’ve managed to get past the teachers.” I usually just laugh at the rest of the times he’s done this, but the guy seriously needs to teach me some skills.

“Who said I did?” a smug smile tugging on his right cheek, showcasing his small dimple.

“You sweet talked them again?” Unbelievable.

“Not them per se, just Miss Roscow” he shot me a wink as we both snickered quietly. Miss Roscow had a soft spot for my best friend,and honestly, I didn’t blame the poor woman. He had an undeniable charm that paired perfectly with his features and school track record; captain of the lacrosse team, an immaculate mop of bed-head deep brown hair,dazzling smile at just the right moments, and a surprisingly consistent A grade in most of his subjects. He was basically the American jock cliche, and I, Samuel Becker, his much needed, equally glorious (well, I’d like to believe) sidekick.  

We spent the rest of the assembly making inside jokes and laughing on the low, cautious of the spread out teachers who’s beady eyes were on the prowl for unruly highschoolers, though we did notice Miss Roscows frequent warm smile directed towards Rowan, and knew we were protected. 

It was always chaotic after assembly, and it made sure that there was never time for social interaction in the five minute interval to get to class or get sent to Bates’ office. I barely got in a quick head nod to Nessa and Jack before heading off to physics. 

There was nothing unusual about that morning. No signs to warn us of the calamity that was about to hit. In fact, it passed faster than most Monday mornings, where lunch usually came around too slow. Nothing at all that could have prepared us for the heinous act inflicted upon River High on that cold Monday afternoon.

• Nessa •

I see Sam fling himself to the ground halfway across the cafeteria, covering himself behind the worm out legs of the table. Our table. All I want to do is run to him and try to find Jake and Rowan and run away away away far away from all this chaos and people screaming and crying and shouting and breathing and then not breathing? and people running everyone is running so why am I not running? I’m not running because as I’m about to command my paralysed body to move, someone grabs my arm from behind. My lunch tray falls to the floor covered by shot down people, people in my classes, people I talk to, people I know. It hits someone's limp body, and the tomato ketchup I had wanted to accompany my curly fries made it hard to distinguish between the blood. And god, there was so much. There was so much blood. 

***

My eyes scan the bustling hallway for my friends, and involuntarily make it a point to seek out someone a bit more specific. 

He’s always late and you know it. 

Rowan wasn’t the type to show up early for anything. “If you want to make yourself known you’ve got to stand out. For me, standing out is being fashionably late to all events requiring my timely presence. I mean, imagine actually being on time” and then he would laugh his throaty laugh, and I would stare in awe at how he could make unflattering behavior look good. 

Sam's head of curly blonde hair catches my attention, but the chairs surrounding him are all taken up, and I’m acutely aware of who intends to inhabit the only vacant one next to him. I can’t help but stupidly smile at the thought while I scout my way towards Jack, standing in the middle of a crowd. Of course he is. 

“Jack the lad, breaker of hearts, star of the show, apple of everyone’s eye, and teller of wild, but quite unfortunately, very hyperbolic stories” my voice perks up at the last part for performance sake as the group of guys and girls erupt into obnoxious, teenage laughter. Jack rolls his eyes and lets a smile take over his face as he pulls me into a side hug. 

“Vanessa, like you haven’t made that embarrassing joke a million times already” he tousles my hair as I shoot him a poisoned look. I wasn’t naive to the fact that my group of friends was the popular clique in school, and though I wasn’t particularly elated about that juniors aspired to be like me, I knew that I had to save face. Saving face included not having my meticulous hairstyle ruined by Jack. 

“Could you like, not?” I shoved him playfully, conscious of the teachers that were eyeing our expanding crowd. Jack noticed it too, and we linked arms to our seats, keen not to get kicked out. 

Mr Bates walks onto the stage and I’m ready to blank out for the rest of assembly when Rowan, back and head crouched, slinks his way next to Sam a few rows in front of me. No surprise that he wasn’t caught, somehow he never is. Today was Monday, so I knew I wouldn’t see him properly until lunch time. So, instead of blanking out, I covertly stare at the back of his head and occasional side profile for the rest of the hour.

• Jack •

I see the shooter before anything else. Time slows down and I question whether I’m seeing things clearly. My heart lags, but it feels like it’s completely stopped. After a few hours, or was it minutes, seconds? After a few however long, it has. It has and I know it because I look down at my chest and it’s coming out-it’s ripping right out and leaving a ruby pool in the hallway. I start to feel warm, fuzzy, like the sensation that washes over you on a clammy summer's day where your family is cooking on the barbeque and all there is to do is to revel in the moment of being a carefree kid. But the feeling doesn’t last, and all of a sudden I’m freezing, cold, cold so cold like the time all those years ago when I decided to test if I could fit 10 ice cubes into my tiny mouth. I don’t feel tethered to my body anymore, rather, I can see myself sprawled in an awkward position in the hallway. I’m not moving. I’m lifeless, but up here, in the sky, I’m floating. I’m floating and I hear a voice. It’s muffled, like it’s coming from underwater, but I make out every word. “Jack’s down. He’s dead. He’s dead!”

***

It’s never a struggle for me to fit right into a crowd, which is why my urge to regale the stories of the weekend was immediately satisfied when I sauntered into assembly on Monday morning. I had spotted Carson’s squad straight away. I didn’t even need to make an effort, he immediately called me over and probed about the techniques I had in store for the new lacrosse season. I started speaking, and naturally, everyone listened.

Right as I got to the climax about how my granddad used to teach me how to play sports effectively at his river lodge, Nessa’s voice emerges to instigate a chorus of giggles and snickers. I know my retort will only start her morning off. Our friendship, after all these years, had extended to a sort of sibling love. Just as I’m about to continue my story, she nudges my arm and nods her head in the direction of teachers. I don’t know why, but I abruptly feel a surge of unease. Like something is about to happen, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Either way, I decided that avoiding an early morning lecture might abate it, and joined Nessa for the rest of Mr Bates' torture session.

• Rowan•

The Ruger-Mini 14 felt unusually cold in my hands. I had practiced with this specific gun so many times before, and I had no idea why it felt foreign in them right now. Maybe it was the fact that I was having second thoughts about the whole thing? No. I quickly reassured myself, knowing full well that this is what I needed to do. To make it all better, to show them what I was truly capable of, this is what I needed to do. And first on my list, the ones who have been on my list since the very beginning, are the ones who’ve made me believe I was worthless every single day of my miserable life. I open the doors to the school, and take in a deep breath before firing. Jack, Vanessa, and Samuel. I’m coming for you.

***

You see, the thing is, I have no friends. I haven’t had friends since I started school. I haven’t had friends since the popular kids decided that, for the rest of our time in River High, I would be their punchbag. I would be the ones they’d call fat, ugly, dumb, worthless. I would be the one, I’d always be.

Considering the circumstances, it isn’t absurd to imagine that to substitute the absence of genuine care and affection from any actual friends, I would resort to creating ideal imaginary ones. Jack, Samuel and Vanessa, my perpetual bullies, but in my mind they were my best friends. You see, in reality, Jack is the jock, playboy of the school, and Sam his necessary lackey. Then you have Vanessa, the token cheerleader and sweetheart of the school, with the most obvious, disgusting crush on Sam. That should have been me, and in my imaginary world, it was. In that world, these are my ride or dies, and I’m the protagonist. I’m the main man and none of the depression I face in real life can get to me. In my world, my friends wouldn’t believe that I’d ever shoot up the school, because I’d have absolutely no reason to. But even my world had to form cracks someday. Reality was too harsh.

In reality, my “friends” would make a laughing stock of me everyday. As a result, I was quite the opposite from my fantasy self; I was fat, the worst asset on the lacrosse team, unappealing to the eyes of everyone who had a hyper-reality version of beauty, and had consistent appalling grades. My dad’s anger issues at home topped it all off, and perpetually had me coming late for Monday assemblies. No matter how many times I’d explain my situation, Miss Roscow would launch a tirade at me every Monday, notifying my fellow bullies of my presence. 18 years. 18 damn years, and this was just highschool. I couldn’t bear the thought of another horrible 18 in the indifferent, real world. In the adult world, you're expected to know exactly who you are. Was I really going to go into it labelled useless to the society? If this wasn’t the time, then I’d never get a chance to make my legacy known.

***

Lunchtime was the best time to nip it in the bud. Everyone would be busy getting ready to assemble into their cliques, and the teachers would all be in the staff-room. It would take at least 7 minutes to make it to the cafeteria in time.

I had everything prepared.

It was time.

There was no turning back now.

I swing open the doors.

The first person I see is Jack, though I had mapped out my victims movement fastidiously beforehand. 

There was no room for mistakes.

Boom.

My first bullet hits him right in the chest.

Perfect.

My eyes manoeuvre their way around the screeching students. Annoying how they all think they’d be special enough to shoot. 

I finally spot Sam under their stupid table. I make it a point to walk towards him agonizingly slow, firing a few random shots in random directions to set the mood. 

I smile when I’m right in front of him. I smile because I’m finally the star of the show in reality. All these years, they thought they were in control, but after I blow out the brains of him, Nessa, and a few other irrelevants for fun, it’ll be known that I am alive. 

I am worth it.

And I will always have the final shot.