Dead Girl Walking

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Your POV

I hear my mom knock on the door and I quickly get out of my makeshift noose and open the door before she could find me like this.
"Hey, sweetie. Dinner's ready" she says cheerfully. If only she knew.
"Hey, Mom, I can't eat dinner with you guys tonight, I have to go to the pep rally" I say.
"Oh of course, honey! Don't be home too late!" she yells from upstairs as I grab my things and go.
*time skip*
JD's idea is a lie. No one at Westerburg or anywhere deserves to die. Except for me and him.
"y/n? What a surprise! JD just told me you killed yourself! I put together a lovely tribute despite the short notice. Are you okay?" Ms. Fleming asks. I nod.
"What's under the gym?" I ask.
"Boiler room. Why?" She replies.
"I have to go"
I go through the gym as my fellow students of Westerburg High cheer and dance.
'Hey-yo Westerburg tell me what's that sound? Here comes Westerburg coming to put you in the ground! Go, go Westerburg give a great big yell! Westerburg will knock you out and send you straight to hell!'
I go down the stairs to the boiler room. I see JD at the bottom of the stairs.
"Step away from the bomb" I ask holding the spare gun I kept from Kurt and Ram's murder. JD stares at me shocked and chuckles.
"This little thing? I'd hardly call this a bomb. This is just to trigger the packs of thermals upstairs in the gym! THOSE are bombs. People are going to see the ashes of Westerburg High School and they're gonna think there's a school that self destructed not because society doesn't care but because that school was society! The only place that we can all get along is in heaven!" I stare at him in shock as he yells those words at me.
"I wish your mom had stayed a little longer, I wish your dad were good. I wish we met before they convinced you life is war. I wish you'd come with me!" I pleaded with him.
"I wish I had more TNT!" he whacks the gun out of my hand. He grabs my hair and throws me against the wall. I land on the ground with a thud. He kicks me in the stomach causing me to yell in pain and heave for air. He grabs the duffel bag and goes into the boiler room. I lie on the ground in pain unable to move. I slowly try to get up. I look for a weapon, anything to hurt him with. Since my gun is gone, I have no means of protection and also I'm more vulnerable. I see a fire extinguisher above me. That's it! I get up and grab it. I quietly tiptoe towards him. He hears me as I run up behind him and turns around but it's too late because I hit him hard on the back with the fire extinguisher. The gun in his hand goes flying across the room and I run to go get it. He grabs my legs and I fall. He shoves me against the wall and kisses me hard. The only solution is to knee him in the balls. I do so as hard as I could and he doubles over in pain. I'm free from his grip and I run to get the gun. I point it at him and he runs, tipping over many barrels. I shake as I hold the gun looking for him.
"You think because you started this, you can end it?" he asks.
"I'll kill you, I'll fucking kill you, I swear to God!" I yell at him. "How do I turn off the goddam bomb, asshole?!
"Fuck you!" he screams, and gives me the middle finger. I fire the gun aiming for his hand and shoot off his middle finger. He stands there looking at it in shock. He starts screaming in pain.
"It's all over, JD! how do I stop the bomb?" I yell. He clutches his bleeding hand close to his chest.
"You want to clean the slate as much as I do. Alright, so maybe I am killing everyone in the whole school, because nobody loves me!" He screams, tears flowing down his face. I almost want to hug him and kiss him and feel sorry for him but he's hurt me too much. It's too late to feel sorry for him.
"Try the red button!" he says.
"Which button?" I scream.
"The middle one. If that's what you really want.
"You know what I want, babe?! Cool guys like you out of my life!" I quickly press the middle button and the bomb shuts off. I take a deep sigh of relief. He's finally gone. Out of my life. I go up the stairs feeling satisfied. This hell is finally over.

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