Prologue
At 11:48, Craig Tucker shot up his school.
There was more than just mild depression and subdued despondency in the eighteen year old. Craig Tucker was one in a million, one who held the power of a Peruvian God. The capabilities of such a God was the aptitude of emission throughout his eyes and lifeless carcass. It was the voices that told him of discernment from his peers; the ones who he so dearly trusted at one point in time. So when he held the .44 in his hand, his adrenaline rushed, and the intonation of the cries in his head ceased. First, he shot his classmates. One by one, they fell. It was the fall of Julius Caesar, he thought, that his classmates represented Rome; he was Brutus, their life was Caesar. Reading Shakespeare in his English class really taught him something:
Life was always a tragedy.