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Mr. Wager Has Entered the Building

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Who’s Mr. Wager? I thought.

“Everyone go to that corner of the room and stay as close to the wall as you can.” Mr. Madison said as he shut the lights and locked the door.

I did what he said as fast as I could while all the other students came at their own snail pace, though the situation was clearly urgent.

I got the sense that we were supposed to be quiet from Mr. Madison's consistent shushing but there was still whispering and giggling.

After a few moments of “silence” I finally asked one of the students who’d gone to public school her entire life and, so, was familiar with everything that happened here, “What’s going on?”

“It’s a lockdown.” She said rolling her eyes.

“A lockdown?”


“How are you sure?”

“‘Mr. Major’s’ here, duh.” To avoid talking to me any longer, she started whispering to one of her friends. I didn't know a Mr. Major but I knew what a lockdown was.

I slid onto the floor and used the wall for support. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my last minutes. In school. In a desk. Nowhere near my family. As cliché as it is, there were still so many things I had to do. Publish my book. Meet someone famous. Become famous. I hadn’t had the time to do half of it because I had school all the time and now, being at school would be the reason I died? That had to be pretty close to the most depressing thing in the world. Right next to a bunch of teenagers playing around while their death could be seconds away. Like it was a joke.

How could they take it so lightly? There was some trigger-happy guy in the school who could come charging into this room at any moment, and they were talking and joking. Weren’t they afraid, he’d hear them and come in?

I took out my cell phone and started typing a letter to my family. When I finished, I made a list of the things I wish I could’ve done; maybe my little sister would do them for me.

The other students continued talking. They glanced at me a few times; probably thinking I was a freak not appreciating how much class we were missing...this was the class I’d made the least friends in.

When I neared the completion of the list, someone on the loudspeaker announced, “the drill is over. Good job, everyone.” Drill? Why had nobody told me this was a drill? “Now,” the woman continued, “Everyone-” there was loud bang and silence on the other end of the microphone. No one in that class looked at me like I was strange, again.

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iwantcoconow said...
Sept. 27, 2009 at 3:08 pm
really nice work
TheRightToDream This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 19, 2009 at 12:01 pm
That was quite the ending.
Fer real.
A few grammtical oopsies (yeah, oopsies) here and there, but nothing a round of editing could do, I'm sure. And when I say a few, I really mean like, one or two. Great job!
Joanna said...
Sept. 2, 2009 at 3:18 pm
Oh dear. Oh dear me. I was not expecting that ending.
The story was very good, as was the writing. There's no doubt about it, you have a lot of talent, my friend.
Awweee... Now I'm sad...
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