Author's note: I hope people will think about the working's of a dark mind, of how our society puts a grave... Show full author's note »
The Final CutA catastrophic burst of sound sped through the walls, echoed into his classroom. The teacher, a confident calculative man, froze midsentence. He looked as if he was waiting. Several children began to scream. Though inside he could feel remorseful curiosity burning in his stomach, Clayton strived to be outwardly passive.
More bursts filled the air.
“Everyone stay calm, go out through the window, the teacher commanded with a respectable solidarity. He broke the glass with a small metal wastebasket and began helping kids through. Kids with tear stained faces. Kids shuddering with fear, clambering over each other out the window, thoughts only of themselves.
But Clayton stayed in his seat. The teacher yelled at him, still he did not budge. Two girls pulled on him, screaming at him to leave with them now, before it was too late. Their words lost themselves behind gunshots. They pulled him from the desk, began jerking him towards the window.
Glass shattered from behind. The door opened. The girls shrieked and collapsed to the ground whimpering, dragging Clayton down with them. The gunman approached them slowly, his face beaming psychotically. A last student squirmed out the window, the two girls paralyzed upon the ground pouring tears to nowhere. Clayton rose from the ground but was greeted by moral error. Upon his lips were words that never made it further; he slumped to the ground. And there the words wafted around the cold dead lips like steam from a passive geyser: I deserve this.