You can Run on for a long time.

Run on for a long time.

Run on for a long time,

Sooner or later, God'll cut you down.

Johnny Cash: God's Gonna Cut You Down

He wasn't a bluefag. He wasn't a freak. His father was not a rapist, and goddamnit his mother was not a whore. So what if he had blue fur? So what if all the other's of his kind were brown or reddish? How did that make him worse than them? He'd been in fights with them and seen them bleed. He'd gone home and cut himself and noticed he bled the same color. They were all the same on the inside. Well today he'd come back to show them that.

He had his cargo pants and combat boots on. They were full of his proof. So was the jacket he was wearing. It bulged with all the evidence he'd brought. Evidence and proof. Those were the codenames he'd called them in his journals at home.

"One day, I'll show them all the evidence they need that we're the same on the inside." He laughed at his own little jokes. It had been hard to sneak all the ammunition and grenades away from his father's armory, but here he was, loaded down with enough to complete the task at hand. Not only that, but in his pack was the one thing that would finally make them all regret being the pricks they were. A semi automatic blaster rifle with twenty five shots per battery charge. He had enough batteries to last him a small war, which was exactly what he hoped to start.

The doors to the school swung open before him. It was as if the building was inviting him in, like the conveyor belt at a slaughterhouse. He had shown up late today intentionally. Most of the students would be in the cafeteria. Good, higher casualties. He pulled out a data pad and linked it to the terminal on the door. After a moment, he had the code for the school doors. He set them all to 'locked'. He made his way slowly down the halls. No need to rush. He had all the time he needed. As he neared the stairs, a short little fennec fox passed him. As he went by he heard the asshole shout "bluefag" again. He instinctively reached for his gun, but stopped himself. He would get him later. To shoot him now would ruin everything. He just had to let it go. For now.

The cafeteria was a two leveled open room. It had a main floor, and then a balcony area where the seniors liked to sit. No kid in their right mind would walk through the senior's spot. Marcus wasn't worried though. He wasn't in his right mind. He strode through the tables where all of those jocks who'd tried to beat him up sat. They all slowly got to their feet. What was this scrawny shit doing here? Who did this little freak think he was? One tried to grab him by his back pack. Marcus slid out of it. He didn't need it at the moment anyways.

"Hey fucker, what are doing up here? Get back down there before we throw you." Huh. It'd be funny to see them try. The one holding the bag started to open it. He needed to get this going before these idiots panicked and alerted everyone. He reached deep into his pockets and pulled out the baseball sized objects inside. He began throwing them into the crowd below. Some angry underclassmen, thinking it was a senior prank started yelling back up at him. Then one of them noticed what they actually were, but only got part of the word out before his head was blown off.

"Grena-!"

Oh this sounded so sweet. The explosives started to go off. Students and staff were sent flying in every direction. They weren't always in a single piece either. Marcus knew the floor would be slick after this was over. He couldn't wait forever though. He had more work to do. By now the seniors had seen the contents of his bag. They were all scrambling to escape. Not if he could help it.

Marcus dropped low and took out the one holding his bag with a swift upward kick to the groin. The pack dropped to the floor just before the kid's face. Marcus quickly pulled the gun out and pressed it up against the back of this dick's head. He was a large dog. Maybe a Great Dane. Marcus didn't bother to check before squeezing the trigger. The resulting splatter made him think of a water balloon. He couldn't savor it for long though. He swung around and began firing into the fleeing crowd. He saw five people drop, whether dead or wounded, he didn't know. He honestly didn't care. Some of them would live so that they could go home to the parents. Not all of them would come back though. They would leave whatever was shot off behind. That way every time their parents looked at them, they could be reminded of their sins and failures, teaching their children to hate. Marcus fantasized about the screams that would echo through their houses as they woke up each night from nightmares of him.

The crowd had split off into several directions. He took this moment to reload. At about this time, they would realize that the doors were locked. They would know that their fate was sealed. He wished he could see their faces. They'd probably be calling for law enforcement help. Marcus shrugged. They wouldn't get in. Marcus had made sure of that. The school was built during the war between Corneria and Venom. The doors would more than hold up to whatever the cops had. Christ, the windows were made to withstand a direct impact from a rocket. He had to laugh at this. All those tax dollars to keep their children safe were going to end up being their deaths.

Marcus had finished reloading and looked up to decide which direction he wanted to go. Left had the gym, but right had more classrooms. Then he remembered, behind the gym was the teacher's lounge. Left it was. He padded down the halls, stepping over corpses. It was a little slippery from all the blood. One of the bodies moved. It was a cat. He didn't know who it was, but he probably hated Marcus too. He made sure to step on the kid's wounded hand on his way over. God he loved to hear them scream.

The doors to the gym were right in front of him. The lights inside were off to make it look like no one was in the room.

Idiots. Thought Marcus. The lights had been on when he walked by earlier, so unless someone had decided that it was more important to conserve energy and turn out the lights rather than run for their life, someone was hiding inside. He pushed on the doors. They didn't budge, but he heard a rattle on the other side. They'd chained it shut. No matter. He laid a grenade on the ground in front of the door, squeezed it once then ran back around the corner. The resulting blast made his teeth shake, but when he looked again, the door was gone.

Like he had guessed, there were people inside. They screamed in panic from the doors flying in fragments everywhere. They knew their time had come. Marcus walked in, casually firing at the scattered prey. If they had rushed him, and tried to stop him all at once, they might have saved themselves. Like the selfish bastards they were though, they could only think of running and saving themselves. The last shot he fired in the room hit his target in the leg. He walked up purposefully to finish the job. He noticed who it was laying on the ground, screaming in the rapidly expanding pool of their own blood. It was the fennec fox from earlier who had called him a bluefag. He rolled the creature over so that he could see his face.

"What kind of person are you? What kind of monster could do this?" He shrieked. Marcus lifted his foot.

"Only a bluefag," He brought the heel of his boot down on the boy's skull hard enough to crush it against the floor. "and you're only a smear on my shoes."

The door at the back of the gym was open. A few of the students had escaped through it. Well, at least they thought they might have escaped, but they had really just cornered themselves. There was no way out of the teacher's lounge. With any luck, there might even be some teachers there. Marcus strode towards the room. He would especially enjoy this part. He even felt his face spread into a grin. These people weren't in control anymore. He was. He knew it, and they knew it. He loved having power, the power to end all of their pathetic lives. He was no longer at the mercy of all these fuckers. They were at his. He was God, and it was time for Revelations.

He wanted to make this part fun, so he put his gun back in his bag and pulled his blackened combat blade from his boot. He wouldn't hurry. He would take his time with these poor fucks. As he entered the room, they didn't even bother running or hiding anymore. They just sat on the ground and waited for him to be done. The first student's throat he slit, the second student had his stomach ripped out. The third was scalped and then stabbed at the joint of the skull and the spine. The last, well, the last wouldn't be going anywhere even if he did survive. It was hard to without feet…or eyes. Marcus was fairly impressed with how much he had made them scream. He was just about to leave the room when he heard whimpering from somewhere nearby. He turned around and faced the sound. Someone was still in the room. It didn't take very long to find the one making the noise. One teacher had hidden behind a desk. Marcus roughly grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out into the middle of the room. She was a fat hen. She'd get the same as everyone else. He raised his knife.

"Wait wait please! Don't do it!" she pleaded. "I didn't do anything! Why do you want to kill me!"

"They hated me." answered Marcus. "They hated me, they called me names. They hated my mother. They hated my father. They hated us for who and what we are. So I showed them the meaning of hate. You could have stopped them, but you didn't. So now I'll show you too." He looked deeper into her eyes. "Here, take a look." He plunged his knife into her throat.

He wiped his hands on his pants. He was just about to leave when he was again interrupted. The guy who had been lying in the hall, the cat whose hand Marcus had stepped on had staggered into the room.

"Why?" he croaked "Why did you do this?"

"Didn't you hear what I told that bitch?" growled Marcus. "I didn't take your ears, so I know you did."

"No, I know that, but why this? What made you think this was the solution? You couldn't have done anything else to cope?"

"You needed to pay!' snarled Marcus, baring his teeth.

"I needed to pay? Why? What did I do? I don't even know who you are!"
"You all laughed at me! Hated me! You couldn't just accept me or leave me alone; you had to let me know I didn't belong!" Why couldn't this prick get it? He deserved this!

"Again, you talk as if I personally did that to you! What about all those people you killed today? Did every single one of them hate you too?" Marcus was starting to shake.

"They would have if they knew me! If they already knew me then they hated me anyways!"

"So you killed them? How are you any better than them now then? You've fallen into the trap of becoming worse than they ever would have been!" accused the cat.

"Shut up." Marcus said quietly.

"You know it don't you? This was wrong and there's no correcting it now!"

"Shut up." he said, just a bit louder.

"How will your family go through life knowing they raised a hateful murderer?"

"NO!" With that, Marcus pulled the gun back out of his bag and drilled a shot straight between the kid's eyes. His body promptly fell to the floor, dead for real this time. A slight tail of smoke rose from the hole in his forehead.

Marcus stood there panting. His gun seemed heavy. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly. He didn't want to think about it. He wouldn't think about it. He couldn't. No. No no no no no no no no NO NO! It was supposed to be simple. He walked in, locked the doors, dumped the grenades, and then unleashed hell. He wasn't supposed to be guilty. He had nothing to be guilty of. They had done everything. He was only repaying them. Wasn't he? Was he? He wasn't. Oh God, he WASN'T! He was like them now! That stupid cat fucker was right! He was a hateful murderer! He couldn't survive this now. He could never face his parents, after killing in their name along side his own. There was no way out. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to…

The gun barrel glinted in the fluorescent lighting of the room.

Marcus knew what he had to do.

He checked the charge on the battery. Five shots left. Four more than he needed. He did exactly what his father taught him about shooting a gun. He aimed it at the target, took a deep breath, and then slowly released it as he gently squeezed the trigger.

A/N: Hey everybody, sorry for killing the "Christmas mood" with this, but I needed to get this out. I wrote this while doing an essay on the Columbine shootings, so that's where this came from. I just wanted people to think about how difficult it is when you grow up for some.

Well, Merry Christmas

-800M23