School Shooting Monologue
I should have never ended up this way. Come to think of it, no one who has gone through the same predicament I did should ever end up this way. But I got pushed. Literally. Too many times to count. And shoved. Punched. Kicked. Mugged. Teased. Avoided….the works. I don’t know what I did. I don’t even know how it all started. All I know is that I got pushed physically and now I’m pushed mentally. If only one certain event didn’t happed, I wouldn’t have snapped and so many people wouldn’t be dead.
I was about to get dressed after PE when I noticed that something wasn’t right. Something didn’t smell right. I opened my locker and hanging on the back-pack hook was a dead rat, slowly swinging…back and forth…back and forth. i jumped back, disgusted, and right behind me was Billy Olsen, laughing while his perfect white teeth seemed to glow.
“Hey! Is that a friend of yours?” he scoffed.
I picked up my street shoe and immediately regretted it. Thick, red, oozy goo ran down my arm. I realized after a moment that it was blood. I looked at the rat: its throat had been slashed. I don’t know when they found the time to do it, but at that moment I felt my mind go blank. All that was around me were the faces of people laughing hysterically. At me. At the dead rat. At my shoe. At the blood dripping from my fingertips. I walked out the locker room in a zombie trance, leaving confused faces staring after me.
I walked into my house, making my way to the table-drawer at the top of the stairway. I pulled the drawer open, it squeaked a little, and under a load of old mail was a black pistol. I picked it up slowly. It felt cold and dangerous in my hand, yet powerful. I felt a thrill of frightened excitement run through me as I disengaged the safety. I have never felt so much control in my life.
I made it back to school in time for my last period class. But I wouldn’t be going to it. No…I would be going around the school, making the people who put me through hell and torture go through worse than I ever had. And what luck I had! The first random class I entered I entered had Billy Olsen…right in the front row. I walked in.
“Excuse me. sir!” I heard the teacher say. “I am teaching a class!” BANG!
“Not anymore,” I smirked. I pointed the gun at Billy, the crusted blood around my arm chipping off on his desk. He looked at me, fear in his eyes, which was quite satisfying to me.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked. BANG!
“It’s a little too late for that I’m afraid.” I walked out of classroom, leaving screams and looks of fear behind me this time. I entered another classroom: BANG! Another: BANG! And soon, just as I had lost count of how many times I got beat up, I lost track of how many people I shot.
Soon, I felt reality hit me. I was no longer in control of the weapon: it was in control of me. I suddenly realized what I had done. I looked around me: people were running all over, crying, screaming, and trying to hide…FROM ME! I felt as if I were awaking from a dream: an eerily satifying dream. But I felt the pressure of the situation overwhelm me. I started to panic…my breath came faster and faster, feeling like I had gotted the worst punch in the stomach ever imagined. I gripped my hand around the gun cry…no sob for all the lives I took and the look on their faces as I was about to pull the trigger. I ran to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn’t know who I was or what I had become. I didn’t look as tough as I felt ten minutes ago. And now I’m here…looking at myself…gun in hand…hand moving toward head…one last final BANG!
