Boom... | Teen Ink


July 8, 2011
By Victor_Hagar SILVER, Dublin, Ohio
Victor_Hagar SILVER, Dublin, Ohio
6 articles 0 photos 30 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It's always important to give your arguments impact." Fallout 3, Strength Bobble-head.

Christopher went through his school one last time. It wasn’t good memories that came to mind, but terrible, gut retching rage that flowed through every fiber of his tortured being. The times where he was only minding his business, just trying to finish school. . .

No, he can’t let emotions take control. He had to be quick and precise, and letting all the anger show will just alert people to his plans.

Ducking into the office he greeted the secretary, and moved on to the security office. There he knocked on the door politely, and waited for an answer.

“Come in.” Officer James called. Christopher turned the latch, let himself in, and closed the door behind him. “What d’ya need son?”

“Oh nothing really sir,” Christopher said with calculated innocence. “I think that someone broke into my locker, and was hoping you could review the tapes for me.”

Looking around the room Christopher saw the television in the corner broadcasting the security feed live, and next to it was a device that saved all data onto a flash drive. In front of it, Officer James sat with his back to the screen, turned to look at Chris.

“Well, son, there’s a stolen item notification sheet you can get from your councilor, and that’s about all I can tell ya. I mean, I’d love to help, but if I review the tapes without proper permission I’d lose my job.”

Bastard, Christopher thought, He’s thrown his hand in with the rest of those Godforsaken tools.

“I understand, but what was taken was a necklace I got from my mom before she died.” This at least was true, but it happened a long time ago. Christopher used this as an excuse, to disarm Officer James’ suspicions. Christopher let crocodile tears well up in his eyes. “I mean, it’s so important to me. . .”

“Well. . .” Officer James said, “I guess I could help, but ya can’t say nothin’ ya hear?” He turned his back on Christopher, and started rewinding the tape.

“Yes, yes I won’t.” Chris slid the knife out of his holster hidden in his backpack strap. “I won’t tell anyone.”

As Christopher crept closer and closer, he carefully went over how to do it in his head. No slashing, the knife’s not made for that. Just a fast, jagged stab in his neck, but the heart or stomach will do fine. He raised himself from the heels of his feet, to the toes, arching his back in preparation for the force required to end Officer James.

“Now son,” Officer James said suddenly. Christopher quickly hid the knife in its holster, stepping two steps back. Officer James turned in his chair, and Chris allowed himself an inner sigh of relief. Before the officer looked at his face he changed the look of a psychotic murderer into the look or an upset teenager. “When did ya find the locker busted?

“Well, it was about the time I arrived at school. My lockers in the two-hundred range, by the way.”

“Okay, so the place is in the east wing,” The officer returned his full attention to his security equipment, and he pressed a switch on the screen. The television blanked for a moment, and then changed to show rows upon rows of lockers. “And the time is before about . . . seven-thirty.”

The analog clock that was in the corner of the screen reversed from seven thirty and all the way to midnight. No culprit was shown, only the lockers standing like golems in the hallway.Officer James was about to inform Christopher, but when the warning bells came it was too late.

The officer swiveled in his chair just in time to see the blade come down and into his chest. With two hands Chris yanked the blade out of Officer James, releasing as whole vat of blood onto the carpet. Officer James fell to the floor, eyes wide with disbelief, trying to comprehend what just happened. He couldn’t speak, only clamp his hands to his lower chest and try to stop the bleeding.

“Aw man, I guess I need to stab you another time.” Christopher showed his diabolical eyes and his shark-teeth grin to the Officer. The officer tried to escape by scooting backwards, but the wall was there, and it would not absorb him into safety.

“No,” Officer James whispered. Christopher walked confidently over to him, where he stood, admiring his work. “No, you can’t!”

“Yes, “Christopher said, bringing the knife down. “ I can.” Blood seeped out of the wound in unhealthy amounts. Didn’t matter though, Officer James was long gone.

The knife was stuck in at least two ribs, so it took Christopher almost all of his strength to wedge the blade out of the corpse. Once done, blood gushed out, which Christopher took great lengths to avoid. After all, his work wasn’t done quite yet, and if he had blood on his shirt than no matter how innocent a voice he had, or how happy a face he wore, he would be recognized for what he was:

A demon.

He cleaned the blood off of the knife by wiping each side on the corpse’s shirt, and then he returned with a clink into its hidden sheath. With a cloth from his back pocket, he rubbed the sweat from his brow. Finally he took the keys that hung from James’s belt loop and slipped them in his backpack, though they barely fit because of the excessive amounts of plastic explosive inside.

After leaving the room he secured the lock with a key he had removed from the key loop. Seeing an aide walking by he took his chance.

“Excuse me Ms. Richards,” Christopher said after carefully reading her name tag. “Can you make sure that Officer James isn’t interrupted? He seems a little down lately, and I don’t want him to be disturbed.”

“All—alright.” She said with a flush. “But who are you exactly?”

But by then he was already off, down the hall, and to the left, already slipping one of the half-brick explosives in the waste bin, covering it with the other trash that accompanied it. He had two types of bombs with him today: the small half-bricks, and the large full-bricks. Both kinds wired to explode when he pressed the button on his watch, both kinds extremely powerful.

After setting three more half-brick bombs randomly throughout the office, he moved on to the main hall, where students were casually making their way to home room. He took long careful strides that brought him all the way down the hall to the cafeteria.

On his way he placed four more half-bricks in a purse, two backpacks, and the basket in the back of a wheel chair. The fools didn’t even notice.

The cafeteria was big enough to fit half the student body inside, according to his calculations and knowledge. Inside the great room, there were four pillars that helped support the building. With electrical tape he secured four half-bricks to each of the pillars; to mask their purpose he had made them to resemble electrical outlets.

In the center of the room, Christopher finally removed a full-brick from his back pack. On the ground he set it, and overtop of that a cardboard box that he unfolded, also from his pack. With bold lettering, he wrote on top of the box:

Science Project, Please DO NOT touch.

To make sure, he also sealed this down with electrical tape.

Onwards he went, humming a delightful tune composed by Beethoven. One of his unfinished works, but it was glorious and complete with its ability to amuse his inner mechanizations. Where he was heading—the gym—was all the way down the hall, and Christopher took this opportunity to place five more half-bricks, though he wasn’t quite sure where he placed them, only that it would be a grand explosion indeed.

When he reached the gym, he paused to take inventory of the explosives he had left. He couldn’t count them all, but he could estimate that he still had the majority of bricks left. When you had a big back pack, you could have as much fun as you’d like—and then some.

Whistling now, he placed two full-bricks on either side of the currently vacant gym, and then one right in the center for fun. Like the full-brick in the cafeteria, he hid these under taped-down boxes.

With this done, he had the rest of the hour to place all the remaining bombs in whatever fashion he deemed appropriate. And with all gusto, he zoomed through the school, placing half-bricks in lockers, bathrooms, the janitor’s closet, the janitor’s cart, in every single classroom, in trashcans, in vending machines, in the band room, in the locker room, in the girls locker room (he paused there to swipe a few. . . mementos, shall we say?) Also, he placed the bombs in purses, backpacks, knapsacks, pockets, waistcoats, and even in some cases, shoes. All said and done two-hundred and fifty seven bombs were scattered throughout the school. And the best part? No one knew it but Christopher. Even if someone—when someone found it, they might just hold onto it because of its strange appearance. As well as its appearance being strange, it was undetectable by k-9 units, and even the most seasoned bomb squad vet couldn’t tell what it was at first glance. Or maybe even the second one.Walking tall, Christopher went back into the office and from there into the principal’s office, where he greeted the principle with animosity.

“What’s up f***-face?” Chris said. The principle looked up to Christopher with confusion. Apparently he didn’t comprehend the fact that someone could have insulted him.

“Excuse me, sir?” The Principle said.

“You heard me, F***-Face.” Christopher walked right on over to him, leaned over the desk and stared right into his eyes. The principle tried to stand but Chris shoved him right back down.

“What’s the matter with you?” The principle shouted, but his anger diffused into cold fear when he saw the long knife in Chris’s hand.

“Now, principle, were going to have a little question and answer, understand?” When the principle didn’t respond right away, Christopher punched him with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife. The principle was allowed up, where he again took his seat. “Understand?” Chris asked again.

“Yes. Yes! Just don’t hurt me please!” The principle was slapped with the knife hand, leaving a gash above his ear. Blood trailed from there downwards, staining the nice black suit.

“Don’t beg, please, it’s demeaning.” Christopher pointed the knife at the principles nose. “First question, what’s your name.”

“M-m-Mr. Coffman.” The man was sweating profusely out of his armpits and his stomach. Gross.

“Alright, Coffman, onto the real stuff. Do you remember three years ago, when four students were caught drinking while driving?”

“Y-Yes, yes I do. It was on an October night I believe.”

“October twenty third, to be exact Mr. Coffman. Now, continue. What happened that night?”

“Well, it’s hard to remember . . .”

“Please, Mr. Coffman, I can tell you now that there hasn’t been more than one legal incident involving minors from this school since that night, and I am sure that you aren’t so quick to forget the troubles of this school that easily. Am I right?”

“Yes, it’s just that the pressure . . . you see, I have a wife and daughter at home.” Christopher nodded at this.

“How old is she, the daughter.” Chris asked.

“She turns eighteen in a month. Please, don’t kill me; I’ve got to get home to them.”

Christopher gave his shark grin. “Relax, I won’t kill you,” Yet, he thought. “Now, I’m going to lay down the facts, Mr. Coffman, and you’re going to listen without speaking, understood?”

Mr. Coffman nodded.

“Well, those four caught for drinking and driving were part of the football team at this school, and you see, we were this close to making it to the finals that year, so we couldn’t just expel them, we had to keep them. But the four students didn’t just drink and drive. No! They ran down an innocent person in the process! AND DO YOU KNOW WHO THEY HIT?”“No! I don’t know who—”“ MY BROTHER! THOSE BASTARDS KILLED MY BROTHER!!”

Christopher leaped over the desk and wrapped his hands around Mr. Coffman’s throat, squeezing the life out of him. Mr. Coffman tried to resists, but it was futile; his pudgy arms were not a match against the trained strength of Christopher. The principle’s face turned from red, to purple, to blue.

When it was over, Chris stepped around the desk and to the intercom on the far wall.

All over the school, speakers began announcing that it was time for a tornado drill and that all students must report to either the gym or the cafeteria, whatever was closer.Christopher joined the throng as it went in either direction in the hall, but exited the building rather than continue on with them.

Outside, Chris walked all the way out of the school grounds, and a quarter of a mile beyond that. There, he turned, and looked at the school.

“Who decides who lives and who dies?” He said to himself. “Some say themselves, more say God. I say that I decide. Goodbye, high school.” Christopher pressed the button.

In the thirty seconds that was the explosion’s timed delay, Chris thought to himself. Was he a demon after all? No, how could he be when his name itself comes from the root word Christ? After all was said and done, hasn’t God himself killed human-kind over and over and over?

Christopher decided that he was a messenger of God, and his message was that of judgment and death. When the school exploded, flames spout out of the doors, the roof, and through all kinds of holes cause by the half-bricks. The force of the blow caused glass to shoot everywhere, and the grass on the ground to fold over with the wind. Before the force flung Christopher back, he thought, how glorious.

When Chris arose from the ground after several seconds of shocked hysteria, he saw a scorched human arm, and he started laughing. The laughter turned into a cackle, and from a cackle into full-fledged insane screams. How grand, how amazing!

Finally, when the noise died down, and the sound of sirens drew closer, Christopher said softly:

“And the judgments only just started.”

The author's comments:
There's no real story behind this story, though I did write it all in one go. I just hope no one's offended by the swearing...or killing.

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This article has 8 comments.

on Jul. 28 2011 at 8:01 pm
Victor_Hagar SILVER, Dublin, Ohio
6 articles 0 photos 30 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It's always important to give your arguments impact." Fallout 3, Strength Bobble-head.

I would like to inform anyone intrested in Christophers exploits that there is something very good coming up.

on Jul. 16 2011 at 7:28 pm
Robotalien BRONZE, Kennesaw, Georgia
1 article 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
I'd rather be hated for what I am, than be loved for what I'm not

good job haha

on Jul. 16 2011 at 7:20 pm
Victor_Hagar SILVER, Dublin, Ohio
6 articles 0 photos 30 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It's always important to give your arguments impact." Fallout 3, Strength Bobble-head.

Yes, lol. I saw that Georgia was listed as the area of your profile and I took a wild guess.

on Jul. 15 2011 at 11:47 pm
Robotalien BRONZE, Kennesaw, Georgia
1 article 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
I'd rather be hated for what I am, than be loved for what I'm not

good you should keep it up.

Btw do you know who this is?

on Jul. 15 2011 at 11:24 pm
Robotalien BRONZE, Kennesaw, Georgia
1 article 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
I'd rather be hated for what I am, than be loved for what I'm not

good, you have the talent :).

do you know who this is?

on Jul. 15 2011 at 11:20 pm
Victor_Hagar SILVER, Dublin, Ohio
6 articles 0 photos 30 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It's always important to give your arguments impact." Fallout 3, Strength Bobble-head.

Thanks, I'm always writing. I've got one story pending submission and I'm working on another right now.

on Jul. 15 2011 at 10:20 pm
Robotalien BRONZE, Kennesaw, Georgia
1 article 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
I'd rather be hated for what I am, than be loved for what I'm not

haha i love it, are you going to write more? 

on Jul. 14 2011 at 5:51 pm
EmmyBaby00 GOLD, Brown City, Michigan
11 articles 1 photo 6 comments

Favorite Quote:
We all lose someone in one point of our lives. just hold on to that famous smile, Because that, is our final dedication-Asking alexandria

So twisted...I love it!:)