A small sea of teens sit huddled in the dark corner of the room. The tramping of feet, shouting, and screaming, and their labored breathes are faintly heard in the still air. The teacher was frozen, one finger over his mouth, as he taped a thin black laminated piece of paper over the window in the door.
They were in the west wing, art class, when the lockdown was called. The room was isolated from the rest of the building. They were in the most dangerous position.
The teacher froze as he heard footsteps coming toward the door. The teacher again froze, as he watched the light streaming in from under the door, looking for a crack in it that would mean feet. He was relived as it stayed solid.
A girl broke the silence with a scream strangled by sobs as the glass of the window shattered inward with the force of a bullet. The bullet flew through the debris as the door swung open, and the lethal metal struck the teacher on the forehead, near the temple. The door stayed wide open, revealing the cowering senior class.
The shooter placed his gun down a table, and held out his arms, waiting to be arrested, sitting patently on a desk. The students were shocked and didn't move as cuffs were slapped on and he was led through the bloody hallways.
Pressure had caused the young boy's sanity to crack and he crumbled. News headlines for the next few weeks all bore similar titles. 'The Famous Scientist, Professor Membrane's, Crazy Son Shoots Up School After Supposed Innocent Boy 'Alien' Moves Away.'
Pressure had caused the young boy's sanity to crack and he crumbled. News headlines for the next few weeks all bore similar titles. 'The Famous Scientist, Professor Membrane's, Crazy Son Shoots Up School After Supposed Innocent Boy 'Alien' Moves Away.'
