Sam
charmedgal005
Disclaimer
If I owned these Characters (aside from the ones you don't recognize) I probably wouldn't be writing these. If I owned these characters, you would probably see this story on the show. Hey! You know what? I am writing these and you don't see this story line on the show, therefore, I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS!!! So don't sue me!
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Anyone sitting in Mr. Steven's third period British Literature class tried to think of a way to avoid going to class. Most had been up studying all night long, and then studied through lunch. Everyone who had taken the class before them had told them that this was the test to worry about, this was the test to stress about, and this was the one test to study for if they were only going to study for one test. 100 of the hardest multiple choice Mr. Steven could think of, followed by 30 short answer, without a word bank as a crutch. And then the hardest part. The two essay questions. Each had to be at least 500 words long. And they only had an hour and a half to do it all. If something wasn't done, you prayed it was the multiple choice. Samantha Daily walked into class silently memorizing the study guide that she had been given. Her friends behind her, had their books and study guides out. They didn't see where they were going. Tripping over several backpacks, Samantha sat down where her desk was. Or at least where she thought her desk was. She was about a foot too far to the right, and ended up falling hard on the floor. It didn't faze her, as she made her way. No one else in the class room noticed, they were all studying.
"I should have faked being sick." Whined Samantha's best friend Jessica.
As the bell rang, Mr. Steven came in and began passing out the tests. But the bell didn't stop ringing. Instead it changed tones, indicating a code 99. Samantha's heart raced as she ran to the designated corner to hide. "Mr. Steven, is this a drill?" On boy asked. Mr. Steven opened his mouth to answer him, but as he did, gunshots rang throughout the hall, answering the boy's question. This code 99 was no drill. There really was someone armed and firing loose in the building. The class shut up, and Mr. Steven quickly turned off the lights, and locked the door and ran to hide with the rest of the group. Several kids took out their cell phones frantically calling their parents, whispering what they thought were their last good byes. But even their whisperings were too loud, as the gunfire got closer to room 222.
Samantha closed her eyes and said a prayer, for her life, for her friends' lives, for her classmates' lives, for everyone. The footsteps stopped outside her classroom. Then the gun fire ceased down a parallel hallway. "He said 222! Right?" A voice yelled. One of the girls started to cry, and everyone got in a tighter group. Silently, Mr. Steven got up. He was willing to sacrifice himself to save his class.
"Yeah!" The another voice called.
"Get Sark over here! I found it!" The gunfire picked up again. Samantha screamed as it was no longer directed in the hallway, but at the locked door. Her voice was only one in a chorus of screams, as people too frightened to think logically yelled. The door was kicked open, and three men came charging in.
"Don't hurt them. Please. Don't hurt them. They're good kids." Mr. Steven pleaded.
"I'm just looking for one." A man said, with a British accent. He made his way for the crowed. Samantha sad squarely in the middle, too scared to move. She was hugging her knees, and kept her eyes closed. When the shots first started to come into the classroom, Samantha had stopped her prayer. Everything just stopped. But she had blocked out everything that was happening, and sat there, hugging her knees, rocking as she and her neighbor quietly whispered the Lord's Prayer over and over again. From her angle, she couldn't see what happened, but knowing Mr. Steven, he got in between the terrified mass, and the armed men. There was a single shot, and the sound seemed to stop dead, unlike all the other shots. There was a scream from several students, and then a thud as Mr. Steven fell to the ground landing halfway on the desks.
"Which one of you is Ms. Daily?" The accented man said. Samantha didn't hear him looking for her. Everything was blacked out. No one said anything. No one could. The terror had consumed their entire sprit. "I said, which one of you is Samantha Daily?" He spat. His patience was getting tired. First there were the security guards. And then all those bull headed teachers that got in his way. All he wanted to do was get the one girl. No one else had to get hurt over one 17 year old girl! And now these teenagers were too scared to even tell him which one he was looking for. "Are we at the right school? This is Hillside High? Right? Of course I'm right. It's all over the walls, and it's even on the lockers. So I am going to ask you again. Which one of you is Samantha Daily?" He grabbed one of the girls from the outside edge by the hair. "Are you Samantha Daily?" He asked.
She started to cry harder, but was able to spat out "N-n-n-n-o. I-I-I-I'm n-not S-s-sam!"
"Who is?" He demanded, shoving his gun into her skull. She said nothing. This time he didn't have the patience. He pulled the trigger, and much of the class screamed. In a bloody mess, she fell to the ground. He reached for another girl, who screamed in both pain and fright as he pulled her up by her hair. But suddenly he dropped the girl, and signaled for him and his men to leave. For a last laugh of fun, one of the guys to enter with the British guy fired his last three bullets into the crowd, only injuring two.
"What'd ya do that for?" One of the said as they left. "Now you ain't got any bullets for when the cops come!"
To the teacher-less class of room 222 the police took their time to get there. From the other side of the pod, another teacher, Mrs. Clark made her way to make sure everyone was alright. Samantha only sat there; praying for her life, for her friends' lives, for her classmates' lives, for everyone.
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