Rock, paper, scissors, shoot

Quiet footsteps shift the dust. In the dirty halls

A deep burst of sound bellows through
the halls

The silence that follows slices the school
girls’ chatter

A loud cry breaks the empty void of confusion

(Strange and quiet – words he was described by)

His dull black combat boots pace quiet yet briskly: down the hall

Halls covered in children’s artwork

(Footsteps come to a halt)

Staring into the blobs of color called art

Falling deep in a hole of dreadful memories

Memories of the hate he endured

Memories of how he cried every time he was dropped off at school

Memories of all the people he wanted dead

Memories of why he is where he is today

(Footsteps continued)

(Gunshots followed)

Some think it’s the last phone call

Classes brawl

Textbooks are no match for an automatic weaponized machine

Other students crawl

The first victims found begin to bawl

The ones lost are remembered forever

The dark endeavor ahead

Too much bloodshed