school shooter // phan

tuesday, may 14, 2016, 7:03 A.M.

dan

i stood in front of my bathroom mirror and examined my sulken appearance. black circles shone prominent under my dull brown eyes, accentuating them and only making my eyes look worse. the black from the circles and from my clothes stuck out among the paleness of my skin. my chapped bottom lips slid between my teeth as i looked down at my clothes. a solid black t-shirt, skinny jeans, and black zip-up sneakers, which happened to be my favorite. the lightest part of my outfit were the jeans, and those were more gray than black. i ran a hand through my dissheveled and recently-straightened brown hair, sighing. i looked decent, as decent as i could get in all honesty. at least my skin was pretty clear at the moment.

as i shuffled to my bedroom, keeping an eye on the clock, i started grabbing my school binders and textbooks from around my messy room. i dodged clothes that were haphazardly thrown on random spots on the floor. i would tell myself that i'd pick the clothes up later, but in all actuality, i would come back home and just be so tired that i didn't feel the motivation to.

i placed my maths binder in my bag as i checked around my room, huffing as i realized yet again where i was going today.

i really didn't want to go to school today. yes, i understand everybody doesn't want to go to school everyday. but you don't understand; i really don't want to go to school today.

i felt like something in me was screaming no, no don't go, don't go. there's nothing but trouble there. you can't even go and only focus on your studies, you have a hard time doing that as well. not to mention the people, oh, the people. they're all horrible. why won't mom just let me stay home? why won't the people at school realize how terrible they are and just stop? they won't do it on their own. they will never accept that what they're doing is wrong.

but there was a tiny voice in me that kind of whispered:

well, maybe if they won't do something about it, then you can.

i scrunched my eyebrows together. how would i do that? nobody listens to me. they wouldn't care to start, either.

... maybe you could shoot them. they'd listen then.

what? no. my eyes widened at the sudden thought, surprised at how disturbing the idea was. no, i can't shoot people at my school. that's illegal. also, i'm pretty sure mr. bryan would say that's 'unproductive.' that's kind of like pushing away your problems instead of fixing them, right?

it's a solution, though. you're doing something about them ruining your life: mr. bryan told you that, remember: 'don't sit and watch it happen, daniel. do something about it.'

i laughed suddenly, shaking my head at myself. how stupid was i? how crazy was i right now? not only was i practically having a conversation with myself (a dark, sinister side apparently,) but the conversation was about shooting up my school like an idiot?

seriously. how much worse could i get?

it was like my body overtook my brain. i really didn't know what i was doing. one moment, i was standing by my backpack as i argued with myself mentally, and the next i was standing on a step-stool in my kitchen, pulling down a safe that my parents had stored on the top shelf of a cabinet behind some cereal boxes.

placing the slightly heavy safe on the kitchen island, i placed my hand on the dial, turning it quickly and swiftly to the number combination. i knew it by heart, my mother taught me it as a child so i knew what to do if i was in danger. it was my mother's birthday: 171076.

i heard a small click as i opened the door of the box, revealing a hand-held 9mm pistol in a black holder, a silencer, and a box of bullets lying beside it.