Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Invisible

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Have you ever felt invisible? That no one knows your name and won’t ever learn it because frankly, they don’t care? That when you finally graduate from this prison called high school, people will hear your name at graduation and ask “who’s that?” Have you ever felt the need to do something desperate to make sure you won’t be forgotten? That’s how I feel. Every day I am forgotten by my peers and sometimes even my teachers. After school I go home and cry. I cry because all I want is a friend: someone to go shopping with, someone to eat lunch with, and someone to spill all my deepest and darkest secrets to. However, unless I do something about it, all I ever will be is invisible.

Ring. Students slowly start to trickle into the classrooms, obliviant to the lump standing in the middle of the hallway: me. Little do they know what’s about to happen next. I feel the side of my backpack to make sure the gun was still there. It was. As I lower my hand back to my side, I hear laughter down the hallway and I start to sweat profusely. The laughter reminds me of how much I want to laugh, but it’s been so long that I don’t think I know how to laugh anymore. The late bell finally rings and I am utterly alone, tormented by the fact that once again everyone ignored the “freak show” in the hallway. I find a brick wall and I sit down against it. As is sit there, I think about my life and what led me to consider doing such a desperate attempt to keep my name from going into oblivion.

I was not always invisible. At one time I had friends. At one time I was able to laugh. At one time a teacher was able to call on me without having to ask me what my name is. As I think about these things, a lone tear slides down my cheek. I knew that what I was about to do would cause pain and suffering too many people. However, the thought that kept running through my head was they deserved it. How come I had to suffer when everyone around me was happy and content with his or her life? It was unfair.

I stood up and a psychotic grin covered my face. I opened my backpack and took out the cold, sleek, fully loaded gun. Now everybody will finally know my name. They will remember it for the rest of their lives. They will remember me. With the gun in my sweaty hands I feel a sense of power. I had the power to decide who lives and who dies. I get to play God, even if it’s just for a little while. Slowly I begin to make my way to my first set of victims. These victims included people I had gone to school with my whole life, yet they still don’t know who I am. But they will. I arrive at my destination and look through the window. The classroom contained a bunch of students staring intently at the board on which the teacher was giving notes.

I opened the door and started firing at will. With each bullet I fired a sense of relief washed over me. I will not be forgotten. Screams filled the air. Students were huddled under their desks trying to invade my bullets. I stopped and looked around me. I saw several students huddled around bodies crying. Their pain, my gain. As I watched this I found myself smiling. I turned around and left the classroom because there were many other places I wanted to visit. As I walked along I was singing, “All the other kids with the pumped up kicks. You'd better run, better run, outrun my gun.”

The door to my next destination was locked; this was only to be expected, gun fire isn’t exactly silent. Unfortunately for these students, the door had a window. I shot the window and it shattered into pieces. I opened the door from the inside and I glanced around. The people in this class were intelligent; they turned their desks on their side to make a wall. I didn’t care. Once again I began to shoot bullet after bullet. Once again screams filled the air and this gave me satisfaction.

I always knew when I hit someone. The screams of the injured were always louder than those who just screamed out of fear. They sounded different too. Over the sound of my gun I could hear police sirens. HA! They won’t take me away. I left that classroom stained with blood of its occupants. I then began to search all over the building for an empty room. Eventually I came across one. As I look at the door to the room, tears began to freely fall down my face. It only seemed fitting that the room I would end my life in, was the room I spent every lunch in for the past three years.

“Hey you! Hold it right there!” I heard someone say behind me.

Even now, in my darkest hour, I was still referred to as “you,” This set me off, so I swiftly turned around and shot the person in the center of his chest. I looked to see who it was, and I saw that it was one of my old teachers. I stared at his lifeless body and expected to feel remorse, but I didn’t.

Something must be terribly wrong with a person when they can kill someone and not feel anything. I felt numb, that whatever happened I wouldn’t feel anything. I turned the circular knob of the janitorial closet, like I had so many times before. This place was my only sense of security at school, this secluded place. I sat down on my favorite, blue bucket and cried. I couldn’t handle the pain anymore. The ache in my heart seemed as if it will never subside. As I cried I thought about what I had done and what I will never get to do. Still I felt numb. My future never was bright, so why should that change now?

I checked my bullets in my gun and I only had one left. One bullet was enough for what I had to do. I knew I would not regret my decision. I accomplished my mission: making sure I will be remembered. I pressed the gun to my head and took a deep breath. My finger on the trigger was trembling. I took one last glance at my hideaway and pulled the trigger. Darkness.




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback