Disclaimer: High School Musical does not belong to me. Oh, if only it would.

WARNING: This story has some very disturbing themes to it, which involve gun violence and a mentioning of a school shooting. If this bothers anybody, then please, do not go onto read this story.

Note: This began when my friend and I were watching High School Musical 3. It was when Troy was singing Scream, and I thought the entire scene was trippy and that Troy was going insane. My friend said "Troy's got a gun :(". Thus, I was inspired.

Troy could feel chains around him tighten and the walls around him begin to close in on him. His world was becoming suffocating and he didn't know what to do. Every day, making choices, wondering, searching his mind and soul and heart. Feeling hurt, confused, angry, and sad. Wanting to do everything and nothing.

His father and everybody else expected to him to keep playing basketball. Who could blame them? His skills were almost top notch and it seemed like an obvious road to follow. But one part of him wanted to give theater a chance. Nobody else really accepted that, though. Trying something for fun and a few laughs was good and all, but hey, going farther than that wasn't needed, was it? He was being pushed away from one thing that made him feel free and to basketball, something that used to be fun and now was just a chore.

It was making the room feel smaller and smaller. Turning around and around. He was beginning to feel himself losing his breath and his chest beginning to ache with something he couldn't quite name.

If he said no to basketball, everybody would be let down. His father would be disappointed and Chad would feel hurt. His father was the man who had raised him. Chad was his best friend. Doing anything against their wishes felt wrong. If he said yes to basketball, then he'd make everybody happy and there'd be no problems. But he was sure the chains would constrict him more and there would have always been that question of what could have been? Could he have done something in theater?

And what was so wrong about trying something else? What was so wrong with wondering?

What was wrong with him?

No, there was nothing wrong with him. It was everybody else that was wrong because if anybody cared, then they'd just take a step back and think. If they couldn't do that, then what was their problem? If his father loved him so much, why did he push him? If Chad was his brother, then why didn't he just ask instead of assuming? If Gabriella loved him, why didn't she stop with her perfect little ideals and just notice something was wrong with the oh so perfect Troy Bolton she loved?

Why didn't anybody just notice? Why didn't Sharpay? Wasn't she obsessed with him? Why didn't Ryan? He seemed pretty touchy feely. Kelsi? She was basically some poet. Weren't they supposedly attuned to feelings? Taylor, Jason, Zeke, Martha! How come nobody noticed how angry and confused he was?

Wasn't he obvious? Or did a smile just wipe it all away? Did a fake laugh make them pretend just like he did?

In his hands was the stuffed basketball his father had bought him when he was nine. It had always been a form of stress relief he'd had. Throwing it up in the air. Up, down, up, down, up, down. Always landing in his hands. And now, as he once again threw it up and oh so easily caught it, he realized how badly he hated it. He looked around his room. So many trophies. So many things having to do with basketball, sports. So many things he just wasn't and never would be. Never. Never. Never.

He threw the stuffed basketball toy at his trophies, knocking some down and a softened sound came from them when they hit the floor. It was a small thrill and not enough. He took his fist and watched with satisfaction as the rest fell down when he swung it at them and how they made a much louder noise as they fell. He continued, loving the mess he made. He made it. On his own. Not anything

"Troy?"

His dad was standing in his doorway, looking confused just as to why his son was knocking all his trophies down. He looked to the floor, at all the pretty golden trophies, and then to Troy with a harsh look. "Okay, son, I want a good reason for this. Just what in the world do you think you're doing?"

But Troy didn't answer. No, he had questions he needed to be answered. "Dad, why did you want me to play basketball so bad?"

"What? Troy, that's not for right now. Answer my question."

"No!" He shouted, loving how it felt to finally just scream at his dad. His anger just radiating off of him. "You answer mine! You tell me why you made me live your dream!"

"What…? No, no. Our dream. I thought we knew that. But you still won't tell me what this is all about. If you're upset, let's talk about this, okay, son? I don't want to see you like this, you know that," his father said, trying to sound comforting because his son was screaming and he had never seen Troy act like that before. But it did not matter. Troy didn't hear the soft, kind tone his father was using. All he heard were the words we and our.

We. Our. Those were selfish words. They meant nothing to him anymore. His father would never admit to his wrongs, never. Ever. But if his father wasn't going to admit to it like that, he'd admit to it in other ways.

He stomped his away past him, Mr. Bolton letting his son go by innocently enough, not having any idea what his child was about to do. For all he knew, Troy was being an angsty teenager. He was about to graduate soon after all. It was a stressful time for a kid. But he did walk after him.

"Come on, calm down. There's no need to--whoa! Troy! Put that down!"

Mr. Bolton had not been paying attention to exactly where Troy was heading and when he finally did, it was too late. Troy was holding the hand gun his father had bought just in case of an emergency. Which had been a horrible mistake, for now the gun was being used only for violence and for more horrible things.

Troy found the cold gun felt wonderful in his hands. Liberating and like his heart was flying free from the chains that had been wrapped around it. Now he was in control and it made him smile. At the moment, life was wonderful. He was in control!

"Will you tell me now, Dad? Why did you make basketball so important to me?"

Mr. Bolton was shaking his head. Scared, lost, and confused. Which was fine to Troy. At least his father would understand exactly how it felt to feel that way all the time. Just to be so unsure of yourself. He would learn his lesson.

"Answer me, Dad!"

"Troy!" Mr. Bolton cried out and it was at that moment, just by reaction, Troy pulled the trigger. The bang loud and deafening, causing Troy's entire body to twitch at the earsplitting noise. His eyes had not yet closed, his eyes remained open and they did not blink until he saw his father's body lying on the floor, blood coating him. He was not sure where he had shot him, but it seemed to have been somewhere fatal, since his dad was not moving. Upon closer examination, Troy saw that his father was not breathing. The elder Bolton's eyes were wide open, staring forever into nothing.

He hadn't meant to kill him, but Troy didn't feel remorse. No, Mr. Bolton deserved all he got. If he had just answered the question, if he had just thought about Troy a little more. Yes, Mr. Bolton received the punishment he had earned for himself. It was not Troy's fault. He had only been the executioner.

But what about everybody else's role? Everybody who hadn't even cared about his own happiness. What about them?

Troy smiled, not the warm, caring ones he used to give. No, those were long gone now. They were replaced with cold and uncaring smiles now.

Tomorrow, though, everybody would learn what they had done wrong, Troy thought to himself, his fingers caressing the gun in his hand.