As soon as the clock ticked to 2:57, the sound of students packing up started simultaneously. It was Friday and it was quite obvious everyone wanted to get the hell out of school and go party all weekend. Well, everyone except Tate.
For the past three days, there had been an eerie feeling in the air. Though, he didn't understand why. For the past three days, the voices had been silent. That alone should have made him the happiest boy alive.
Except, it didn t. There was something off about it.
Usually, the voices left him alone after he did something they asked. Not once in the past four years of having them speak to him had they ever left Tate alone for no reason.
Maybe he was afraid of what the voices would say when they returned, which, really, could be any moment. What if they were only waiting to swoop in and kill him? Shaking his head, he forced himself to make the thought go away.
Suddenly, the sound of the bell ringing broke him out of his thoughts. Standing up, he and the rest of the students rushed for the door, only to be blocked by their teacher.
"The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do," their ancient teacher, Ms. Rex, said in a very annoying tone.
Groaning, all of the students sat down, except Tate. He was glaring at her with an intensity that could have easily made her burst into flames.
Right now, he was picturing all the possible ways he could murder her. He could use various items in the classroom to knock her out, except, that would be too kind for her. If he made her suffer, he wanted her to be awake for it.
Then suddenly, he spotted it out of the corner of his eye. The perfect weapon.
Tate walked over to Ms. Rex's desk, picking up her letter opener. It had to be at least five or six inches long. It closely resembled a knife, only, the point wasn t that sharp. Definitely not a problem for Tate.
With a wicked smile on his face, Tate made his way over to Ms. Rex.
"It's time for me to teach you a little lesson, Ms. Rex." The teacher stared at Tate with a horrified expression, which only made his smile widen.
Slowly walking toward her, each step rung loudly across the room. All the students that had been so eager to get out were now silently seated, watching to see what Tate would do next.
Now only a mere few inches from her, the boy laughed. "Aw, what's wrong, Ms. Rex? Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, actually, I think I will in a minute."
Ms. Rex started to scream, but within a second, Tate had his hands locked around her throat in a death grip.
"You want help, huh? Well look around, bitch. You ve got a whole classroom full of students and not one of them wants to help you."
For a moment, Tate looked away from his stare down with the woman only to see what he said was correct. No one was moving.
Chuckling, he turned back to Ms. Rex, keeping one hand on her throat, the other arched back, just about to strike, then-
"Mr. Langdon, would you care to take a seat so the class can be dismissed?" Ms. Rex's voice snapped Tate out of his glorious day dream.
Rolling his eyes, he made his way back to his seat, ignoring the glares he got from his peers. For all he cared, they could burn in hell. Which was were they were headed, anyways.
"Now, you are dismissed."
Tate waited for all of the other students to leave the classroom, most of them making an effort to bump into him on the way out.
Once everyone had left, he was left alone in the empty classroom.
"One day, all you bastards are going to pay." Tate's voice was cold and if anyone had been around to hear, they might have even said it sounded evil.
Grabbing his things, slowly made his way out of the school. He knew that he had missed the bus already, so there was no point in rushing. By the time he got to his locker, the halls were empty. After putting all of his books into it, he closed it, and made his way out of the school.
When he was about half way home, a newspaper blew into his face.
"What the fuck?" Tate angrily pulled the paper out of his face, about to crumble it up, when the headline caught his eye.
KURT COBAIN, LEAD SINGER OF NIRVANA FOUND DEAD IN HIS SEATTLE HOME WITH A SELF-INFLICTED SHOTGUN WOUND TO THE HEAD.
Tate felt his heart stop as all of the air was knocked out of his lungs.
"No."
He fell to the ground, paralyzed, not caring who the fuck walked by. This was impossible.
Not even aware that he closed his eyes, he opened them, deciding to read the article. Though, he only got two sentences in before he crumpled it up and tossed it into the street.
This is fucking bullshit.
Getting up, he started speed walking home.
Though, seeing more newspapers on the street with the same headline, he began running, shoving people out of the way. "FUCK YOU! AND YOU! AND YOU! FUCK EVERYTHING! THIS IS A FILTHY WORLD! THIS IS A FILTHY GODDAMN HELPLESS WORLD! THERE S NOTHING BUT SHIT AND PISS AND VOMIT IN THE STREETS! YOU'RE ALL JUST PIECES OF SHIT!"
Within a minute, he reached his home, completely out of breath as he stepped into the infamous Murder House he called home.
"Sweetie! Dinner is going to be ready in an hour! We're having ham tonight!" Tate gritted at his mother's clearly fake high pitched voice.
She was only using it for her boyfriend, Larry, who's cock she had been sucking off for years.
He didn t dare reply, knowing whatever came out of his mouth next would probably get him grounded for the rest of the year. Running up to his room, he locked the door behind him, deciding to spend the rest of the hour laying in bed and listening to Nirvana.