He sat there silently, trying to get her words out of his head. It was amazing that after all he had heard people say that this was affecting him the most. The clock in the hall outside his room kept a steady metronome to his thoughts. Wondering how everybody else felt right now. Hoping everybody was still alive.
He had done things he wasn't proud of. Until the game show, he was reckless, going insane, locked in juvy.
All had changed at the game show. People who he actually somewhat cared for had dragged him back to earth. If only that stupid host could see him now. He would be shocked at the changes. His piercings were long gone, only faint scars were they once were. The green Mohawk had been violently cut off by his girlfriend, and his black hair was pretty much just a shaggy mess.
He wondered how many other people had realized the error of their ways since the show. Maybe 4 or 5 others. Maybe the dorks had finally realized how pathetic they looked and talked. Maybe the crazy girl had finally been locked in a mental hospital.
His friends, surprisingly, had changed the least. Except for one turning into a suicidal maniac and one becoming more and more withdrawn every single day, they were all, actually, pretty much the same.
The memory of those 3 minutes, where everything changed, floated back into his mind. The snob kissing the suicidal maniac's boyfriend in front of them all. Mean girl and Goth girl suddenly in a fight. The blood all over the ground. Him and his friends separating them. Threats of suicide. Blood and tears on the concrete. Her suddenly bursting out of their grasp and running.
A gunshot sounded, far off. He knew it wasn't her, but it still startled him, bringing back memories of the past. How many times had he heard that sound? He closed his eyes. Memories of the fight that had got him into juvy in the first place were suddenly fresh in his mind. His brother fighting with a drug dealer about money. Guns suddenly being pulled. Everything turning into a firefight. The cops had arrested him just because he was there, even though he did nothing.
Suddenly he realized whose gun it was, the only girl whose parents owned a gun that was that powerful. He got up, suddenly full of concern, and the next thing he knew, he was on the street, running towards the mansions on the outskirts of Toronto. He knew where she lived. After all the pranks he and his friends had pulled, he would know.
He pushed through the crowd of people that had gathered outside, trying to get to the center. There were already cops there, so somebody had died. In the corner of his eye, he saw his girlfriend, looking shocked and upset. Finally, he broke through.
Lying in the driveway was Heather, still holding the gun, blood all over everything. In her hand was a blood splattered note. A cop picked it up and read it, careful not to mess anything up.
"What does it say?" Duncan asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.
"It says 'I'm Sorry.'" The cop said.
Duncan closed his eyes and looked down as another clap of thunder filled the air.