Imagine (A Short Story)

After.

  You were still at school. So many hours had passed. You were exhausted. You'd been checked and rechecked and questioned and moved around. Like cattle. Human sheep.
  But it didn't matter. What mattered now were your friends. Your family. Finding out who had caused this. Your family still hadn't come for you.
Surely they had heard about it by now? Then again, none of the other students were leaving. None of the other parents had come. But no one had tried to contact you either. You reach into your pocket to grab your phone but come up with empty air. Your phone was gone.. Wait. It'd been left behind when the police came. In the room you had been in with Amy..
  Amy. You wondered how she was doing. Had she lived? Did she die? Certainly if she had lived you would be told? Maybe you'll find out later.
  Another police officer comes up to you. They have a familiar face. Cane was their name if you remember correctly. He smiles at you for a second. Then seems to remember where he is, where you are. What you had gone through. He was quick with his questions, just needing to know if you saw the shooter. Which you didn't. You tell him so. You ask what he knows and he gives you a sympathetic look.
"We know who he has, he's in custody. Alive. Don't worry son."
You don't care that he's alive, you just want to go home. See your mom. Your tired. Your so tired your bones ache. You look down at your hands, they are still covered in blood.
  The blood is dry now but it remains. The blood on your clothes is also dry, you can tell by the way it sticks to your body. You feel disgusting. Filthy. Not to mention your still shaken. You'd spent so long being scared you don't know if you'll ever feel normal again.
  Sighing, you get up to stretch your aching bones. It feels as if you haven't moved for days instead of mere hours. After a second, you slowly hobble over to a group of police officers nearby. They watch you with little interest, greif in their eyes. They lost people too..  Shaking off the thought, you come to a stop.
  "I need my phone.." Your voice is hoarse, with the grief that lingers in your eyes. With the fears that burn in your mind. With the unspoken words that squeeze tight around your throat.
  One of the men come forward to escort you through the halls.
There were holes everywhere. Dust, debris.. Blood. Small spatters, bigger spatters. Pools of it. The color had lost its vibrancy, turned dark red, almost brown. You can sometimes make out where the body's formally lay.
Eventually you arrive at room 206. There are holes in the door, the glass shattered. When you enter the room you see more blood. Her blood. There's a lot of it too. Less than the other pools but enough that you wonder if she managed to make it after all. Phone. You came here for your phone. Burying the horrible, tramautizing thoughts deep in your brain you spot your phone. It too was covered in blood. There's bloody handprints on the back and bloody fingerprints on the front. You ignore them and turn it on.

43 missed calls

75 unread messages

You smile. They hadn't forgotten you. Turning your phone off, you turn around to face the police man who had come with you. Except, he wasn't there. He was at the garbage can. Throwing up.
   You recoil slightly. Surprised with yourself and with him. He was supposed to be able to handle stuff like this. And you? You had been through so much. But at the end of the day, throw up is throw up. Which is nasty.
  Sighing, you walk up and lightly pat his back. He flinches slightly and straightens up. Glaring at you, he walks out the door, gesturing to follow. Shaking your head, you follow after him, looking straight ahead. Careful not to see the darkness of the blood staining the once white of your school floors.
  Its 5:07 when you finally are able to text your mom to tell her your OK and to come get you. She responds the second it sends telling you she's been there since 3.
You hug everyone you know and some people you don't. The hugs are long ones. Full of relief and grief. You thank the police officers and quickly run to your moms car.
  You see her before she sees you. You can tell she's been crying. The days been almost as stressful on her as its been on you. You slow down and walk the rest of the way. She saw your face and got  out of the car. When she saw your clothes, your hands, her blood, her tears started again. She's crying so loud. So hard. On a normal day you'd be embarrassed to be seen with her. But you can't find any of that. Just relief. You never thought you'd see her again. All you can do is hug her and cry.
  When you get home, the first thing you do is hug every single member of your family.

Your dad who has always been there for you and supported you

Your little brother who looks up to you and hangs off every word you say

Your little sister who normally claims to hate you and everyone in the family.
Your pleased to find that she hugs you the hardest.

  Then you go up to your room. The next thing you do is strip off all of your clothes. Each article of fabric is coated in blood. Most of them stick painfully to your skin. Then you walk into your bathroom and turn on the shower as hot as it will go.
  When you climb in the shower, the heat scalds your skin to the point of pain. Its relieving to know you can still feel. Standing in the shower staring down at your feet, you watch the blood mix with water and turn the water red as it runs down your body into the drain.
  Eventually the water is clear when it leaves your body to go down the drain. But your eyes are not. For the entire shower you thought about the blood, where it came from. What it means.. You cried some more. Quiet sobs. But they were still there. When you clamber out of the shower your eyes are red. You dry off and change into clean clothes. Avoiding the mirror. On your way out of your room you grab the clothes you threw off. You walk downstairs slowly, each step a burden.
   Your family's eyes follow you as you walk to the fireplace in the living room, open the grate, and throw all of the blood stained clothes into the fire. Even the shoes your mom had bought you the day before yesterday. No one comments on it, not wanting to risk upsetting you. You are fragile now.
  You slowly walk over to the dinner table and eat in silence. The rest of your family bites their tongues and chokes down the questions they are dying to ask.
  After dinner you go back up to your room and go to your bed lying down you stair at the ceiling and try to sleep.. But every time you close your eyes, you see Amy, her blood. The bullet holes. You hear the gun shots. See the body bags..
  It takes along time, but around two, you finally fall into a troubled sleep. Ears ringing from the gunshots in your dreams.