Here I am again…the first chapter was dull, unexciting. I hope that this is slightly better, If not, well then could you tell me it sucks? I rather read it over; I don't really like my writing style, sucks to be me. Well anyway, I own nothing, not even kid…or his stripes, or Mifune. *cries and runs away*

Also, another note, if you see the names Vitale or Aurelio, that would be Soul and Wes, I was writing the same plot for a different purpose, so I have to change the names for this, though they are based of these characters, but, just to let you know. If you see the names I just missed them.

The morning's rays of sunlight painted the walls of the depressing room. The covers and sheets had tangled themselves across the mattress, suffocating the small child. Birds hummed happily in the trees and Soul groaned at the rude awakening.

He pulled the sheets over his head; his hair was a mess in all direction. He opened his eyes slightly, before scuffling himself under the blankets. It was the deadly UV rays: direct contact. Awakening himself once more, he pushed himself off the overly sized mattress and began his daily routine to prepare for his current academy.

Thursday morning, a day closer to Friday, which is also a day closer to the weekend; to Soul, there was no differentiation between the days of the week. It seemed that every day was a foreshadowing to the next.

Through the school week, he would of course attend classes for 8 hours, (7-3) and then leave straight to his piano lesson, which would last for two more hours.

Afterward he would usually keep to his room until dinner. The weekends would have the same schedule as well, giving full credit to the supplementary classes his parents require of him.

Each subject was a level higher than his current, also tightening the free time, which he so little had. In his mind, he sometimes joked about scheduling breathing time, to make sure his heart was still pumping from the constant trials.

Although, the small calendar that hung above his dresser indicated that it was indeed Thursday, and Vitale didn't want to deny the time and space created by his fellow humanity, so he decided not to argue with the fact. Therefore, on Thursday morning, Vitale awakens.

Academy of the Accomplished, or better described, Academy for the 98% rich and the 2% talented. (It seems that some scholarships are available.)

An Academy for the rich, beautiful, for the smart, and artistic, for the intelligent, and for the rich. With few students genuinely accepted and a surplus of the staff bought, students from all of Italy strive to become one of the greatest, one of the ACCOMPLISHED. However, others strive to get through the day.

"Another boring day at school, I presume you expect, Sir?" the chauffer inquired politely. Vitale removed his gaze from the window and faced toward the front of the vehicle.

"Yes," he replied, "I assume that today will take the same toll as any other day. Why do you inquire? You are usually quiet on the rides to school, expecting anything?"

"No, nothing for you to worry about. Please excuse my frankness. Have a nice day." The car pulled through the steel gates and stopped at the outer campus. Soul gave a nod to the driver and headed out.

The newly trimmed grass popped under his heels as he made his way up to the stone columns revealing twisted hallways and stories of classrooms.

He opened the gated glass door and swerved out of the way of the other students, looking for his specified room throughout the corridor.

Room: 4242, was his stationed homeroom. The teacher was very kind along with a nice name. It had a special ring to it, Ms. Rossa. She was pretty too. A timid but bright smile that could make the classroom swoon in admiration.

The girls aspired to achieve as she, the boys sat in the classroom and attentively listened to each lecture every day of the week, they would come in on Sundays too, but that was against the education policies.

Soul sat down at his usual spot in the corner of the room, next to the large window in which he could survey the flowerbed of the garden below. He swung his messenger bag over the back of his seat, simultaneously pulling out a recently found book that he had not yet read.

He was the only one so far stationed in the classroom. He enjoyed the silence before the buzz of the other students. Minutes felt like seconds as the page turning progressed. A young girl came in just as Soul did minutes before, only she positioned herself in one of the middle seats instead of the back. Without a gesture toward the other being in the classroom, she opened a book of her own and began to read.

This same arrangement had been the same for the past few months now. He would come in and read, and then she would as well. There would be no greeting, no exchange of words or polite smiles.

Neither made an outward note of the others existence, though both definitely noticed. One cannot be so oblivious not to notice another human being: most people see but ignore. Such is a case with many relationships. However, in this circumstance, it was because there simply was no relationship.

Soon enough, after about a half an hour, more students entered the room, making pleasantries with one another. Minutes dragged on and the chatter in the room became louder than the minute before. More children the same age as Soul escorted themselves in the room and began to converse with their familiars. Just as Ms. Rossa came into the room, bells rang, notifying the beginning of the day.

Ms. Rossa ushered the students to their seats, then wrote the day's assignments on the chalkboard. The blissful chatter diminished into silence as Ms. Rossa turned around and faced her students.

The day proceeded with a dull murk of historical deeds, followed by the wonders of algebraic equations and scientific methods. Lunch passed by unnoticed and currently the entire classroom was absorbed in their extra curricular reading time.

Silence, words, the clock ticks, a page turns. Silence pursued through the hour. Some children were a thousand miles away, trapped in the words on the pages, most, however, had their eyes glued to the window, longing for closure. Soul sat still, pretending to be absorbed in his book, which in reality, it was being replaced by his thoughts.

It's boring.

Then entertain yourself.

I can't. It's too quiet. Make some noise. C'mon. I'm tearing my head off over here!

Too bad. Shut up, I'm reading.

You're too mean. Besides, don't you feel something? You can tell can't you? I'm not the only one building up anxiety here, everyone's on the edge. Maybe something's goanna happen today…

I doubt it. Day in and day out, every day is the same. It's on permanent repeat. Nothing ever changes.

Well aren't you depressing.

Soul continued to ignore the small imp in his head, trying to keep facial expressions to a minimum. Though, he had to agree with him on some part, he also felt the anxiety looming over the classroom.

You could see each individual student fidget in their desk, trying to become comfortable, except for the small few who couldn't read the absent situation. Most were at a loss of ease and wished for something to break this thick tension.

A large beep from the intercom interrupted the reading hour. The students' as well as the teacher's ears perked at this. They waited; no voice was heard. Someone accidentally pressed the intercom button again, ah well, we hoped.

The class was instructed again to continue reading. Once again the intercom sounded, although this time a voice entered the young pupils' ears.

"Attention all students and staff, Attention all students and staff! Please--" the voice was cut off. Silence and awareness enveloped the classroom.

A dark aura surrounded them as each heart beat slightly above normal. The principal or vice probably just dropped the microphone again. It would only be a few seconds until their voice would be heard again.

All of the students waited continuously. They waited… They waited… They waited… They have more patience then I…

The door at the back of the room opened slightly, all heads turned to the source. An old man dressed in all black entered the room, a revolver at his side. Soul jumped up from his seat in surprise. The man's wrinkly figure and brittle bones could be seen a mile away. He entered the room shakily.

Hey, hey Soul, isn't that your piano teacher. Yes, that on that smacks you all the time. What's he doing here? Come to see if you have been up to date with your practices, I presume?

I don't think so.

Mr. Payne smiled creepily toward Soul, and then turned his gaze over to the rest of the classroom who stared at him in disbelief. He smiled.

"What are you all looking at?" he followed the children's gaze, "oh, this?" Mr. Payne held up the revolver. "Do you think I'm going to shoot you?" the old man began to chuckle weakly.

"Don't be silly, I don't have enough strength for this anymore, I only have the muscle to pull it once, and killing only one person here would make the trip completely worthless." He paused. His eyes twinkled mischievously eyeing up each person in the room. "However, they might shoot you." Others dressed the same as he entered the room in suit. Each holding an individual revolver in each hand.

The children's bodies locked still as a gun was pointed at each head. Mr. Payne smiled.

The same sentence ran through each of their heads, as they felt their minds and consciousness slipping. What's happening? What's going on?

They all stood still, hoping for their lives. Gunshots were heard outside the classroom. Terrorists? Everyone started to wail and panic over fear of the same occurrence. The whole room was in chaos, some screamed, some tried to run; until the guns at each person's head were cocked all the same, each stood deathly still.

Mr. Payne frowned. "You all seem to be scared. Oh! I know what will lighten up the mood. Let's play a game shall we? Oh, what do kids like to play these days, Oh! I know. Simon Says. You all like to play right. Such a lovely game. All right, I'll be Simon, I'll give you an order and you will follow, but only if I say, Simon Says. Okay?" He bounced up to the front of the room happily. "Teacher you can stand over there okay?" she nodded numbly and was led to the directed location by her capture. "Alright, how should we start? Oh, I know. How about, Simon Says touch your toes." Every student did as instructed. Each toe was being touched.

Simon smiled in satisfaction. "Alright, Simon Says stop touching your toes. Simon says, do five jumping jacks." Each person brought him or her standing and began the next exercise. Simon gave thumbs up. "Okay, Simon Says twirl around in circles." Everyone abided by the next command.

The children continued to twirl. They kept twirling and twirling. The old man watched them all in disgust. His eyes spun and he began to become dizzy. Mr. Payne sighed in aggravation his face grew red, and he yelled angrily, "Everybody STOP!" The children shrieked in surprise and ceased immediately.

He grinned coyly. Mr. Payne's eyes danced with delight. "Ooo, tough break everybody, SIMON DIDN'T SAY!" With a snap of a finger each trigger was pulled.

One after another, blood and gore splattered and painted the walls of the classroom. Bodies fell to the ground, their eyes now glassed with death. Silence emitted from the room.

The weapons were then stationed back to their sides, waiting patiently for further instruction.

Most don't realize, how suddenly death strikes you. After a mere second of the trigger being pulled a life was lost. It was so quick, so easy; and no one did anything. They just stood there, waiting for the judgment of a loony old man and the children's games of his that will never be thought the same of again. The innocent children's game had turned into a sick death sentence.

Was this man delusional? He painted innocence with blood. Crimson, deep crimson blood.

Soul collapsed to the ground. His body started to shiver as he surveyed this surreal reality. He grimaced in resentment. Blood, and more blood, the different bodies' blood were being mixed together in a grotesque pool. It was sickening.

"Who the hell are you?" he whispered. The small shiver became a violent shake, as each terrorist took a step back and lodged their guns inside their mouths. "I said WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Each trigger simultaneously pulled. The loch of blood started to rise against the walls. It showed just how much each body contained of blood. It was amazing really, but not in the happy science, way it usually is.

His pants and hands were soaked in blood, though none his own. The whole room romanticized a blood bath. He was bathing in all of their blood, at their expense. Tears prickled his eyes as he gazed upon the girl who had been quietly reading an hour before, now just a soiled corpse like the others.

The deep chuckle snapped him out of his thoughts. "Do you like it? I honestly hate that. I hate it deep down in my heart. But alas, I do have one bullet left. One bullet, Soul." Mr. Payne gleamed hysterically. "I only have strength for one bullet, you know. A feeble body of mine couldn't handle another. Who shall I waste it on, who, who. Oh! I know. Do you know, Soul Eater, do you know where this bullet is going?" He approached Soul slowly, a hint of mischief evident in his body language.

"Yeah, I know." Soul stared into the blood, slightly scared, and disappointed. "I've always known." He paused, and then looked up to meet the instructor's eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Confidence radiated off his skin. "What the hell did you want to accomplish from all this?" Silence. Both were comfortable, but the air began to become tense.

Mr. Payne weakly cocked his gun. His eyes danced. "Death brings life…; life brings hate, KILL THEM ALL! A clean new slate." The old man jammed the revolver into his own throat, as the others had done before. The trigger clicked.

Gore splattered against Soul's face. He scooted back as the body collapsed right before him. He was disappointed. It was sad, he was disappointed. The only one left was he. Ironically, the last one breathing was he. He was alone in a room full of people, like always. The single person in the room, out of everyone, he survived.

Soul sat for a moment, then began to stand up shakily, supporting his weight against the wall. "That damn old man," he muttered, "talking in riddles."

He unbuttoned his soiled shirt and pulled it off. Then Soul circled around his desk, avoiding the plenty corpses, and found an extra sweater to replace it.

Once he had himself covered, he sat down in the corner of the room, listening to the gunshots that echoed outside the current room, which came from all of the others. He was alone, as always.

Please Read and Review. Tell me you like it or you hate it, probably the latter, but that is okay.