Let's call this Payback
Payback
This decision had been made the night before. There was no warning given or any sign indicating it would happen the way it would. The sunny morning of that spring day made it ironic how the day would be spent. As the students walked down the hallways chatting to friends and starting the day like any other; Timmy walked around the school as normal as he possibly could. A couple of students passed by and waved making guilt swirl up in his stomach. Oh well, it needs to be done. He smiled and waved back then went back to walking around. His thoughts tainted the sweet and innocent essence of that spring day.
The bell rang signaling the students to proceed to class and begin the school day. Timmy hurried up to class after returning to his locker to get his bag. He gave a flagitious smile in the direction of the school office. As he opened the door to first period his normally awkward posture became tall and cocky as if a personality change appeared in the matter of seconds. The teacher had yet to arrive as usual which gave the students time to harass Timmy.
“Hey Timmy, I see you’re wearing some of my clothes that I left on the side of the high way yesterday. Did your loser of a dad pick them up in his newly stolen Wal-mart cart?!” A brown headed boy insulted. The class erupted in laughter. An army of spit balls catapulted into Timmy’s long wavy brown hair. This was just the first of many offences. By the time the teacher walked in the floor was littered in paper and the back of Timmy’s head could not have been found under the mass of spit balls. The look on the teachers face was disbelief. Her day had already begun badly but walking into a class room full of disruptive students was just enough. She knew the catalyst for this; it was the same every time.
“Mr. Walker come here.” She demanded. Timmy silently stood up and walked over to Mrs. Garret’s desk. She had written on a blue piece of paper his name and his “offence”. She was sending him to period detention. This happened in every class and Timmy just took it without saying anything. His time would come.
In the last class of the day, Timmy skipped. He walked outside looking for a set of “friends” cars. In every car he left a few gifts. He knew they would need them when the time was right. He smiled smugly to his self. He knew today was going to the best day of his 17 years of life. He walked into the school building and sealed up any entrance and exit. He walked over to the door he had entered a couple of minutes earlier and pulled the red handle that he yearned to pull for the 4 years he had enduring this school.
Students began to pour out of class rooms confusion slapped across their faces. A couple of people noticed Timmy at the fire alarm and began to laugh. He laughed as well as he reached around and pulled a gun out of his backpack. The smiles soon faded from their faces as they began to realize what he was about to attempt. The jerk of the gun from the pull of the trigger sent pleasure throughout his body. After a couple of shots later, he began to move around in the chaos. The students who ran were targeted and the ones that just stood there had already been shot at.
The parents of those 30 students wept when they found the letters Timmy left them.
Dear Parents or Guardians,
My name is Timothy Walker and before today you have probably never heard of me. I’m 17 years of age; born on May 4, 1992. My Mom is a heroin addict and left us when I was 5. My father has been trying to support us since then but has had difficulty. Last week he lost his job. Every day since I moved here in 8th grade, I have been tormented by your “precious” angels. My clothes my hair, my face, and my family are made targets. What justifies this? Last night I decided to purge the school of these horrible people. It hurts to hurt them but now they know how they hurt me. If only I could have died from their insults and taunts but yet day after day I endured them. Let this lesson be known.
-Timothy Walker
The bell rang signaling the students to proceed to class and begin the school day. Timmy hurried up to class after returning to his locker to get his bag. He gave a flagitious smile in the direction of the school office. As he opened the door to first period his normally awkward posture became tall and cocky as if a personality change appeared in the matter of seconds. The teacher had yet to arrive as usual which gave the students time to harass Timmy.
“Hey Timmy, I see you’re wearing some of my clothes that I left on the side of the high way yesterday. Did your loser of a dad pick them up in his newly stolen Wal-mart cart?!” A brown headed boy insulted. The class erupted in laughter. An army of spit balls catapulted into Timmy’s long wavy brown hair. This was just the first of many offences. By the time the teacher walked in the floor was littered in paper and the back of Timmy’s head could not have been found under the mass of spit balls. The look on the teachers face was disbelief. Her day had already begun badly but walking into a class room full of disruptive students was just enough. She knew the catalyst for this; it was the same every time.
“Mr. Walker come here.” She demanded. Timmy silently stood up and walked over to Mrs. Garret’s desk. She had written on a blue piece of paper his name and his “offence”. She was sending him to period detention. This happened in every class and Timmy just took it without saying anything. His time would come.
In the last class of the day, Timmy skipped. He walked outside looking for a set of “friends” cars. In every car he left a few gifts. He knew they would need them when the time was right. He smiled smugly to his self. He knew today was going to the best day of his 17 years of life. He walked into the school building and sealed up any entrance and exit. He walked over to the door he had entered a couple of minutes earlier and pulled the red handle that he yearned to pull for the 4 years he had enduring this school.
Students began to pour out of class rooms confusion slapped across their faces. A couple of people noticed Timmy at the fire alarm and began to laugh. He laughed as well as he reached around and pulled a gun out of his backpack. The smiles soon faded from their faces as they began to realize what he was about to attempt. The jerk of the gun from the pull of the trigger sent pleasure throughout his body. After a couple of shots later, he began to move around in the chaos. The students who ran were targeted and the ones that just stood there had already been shot at.
The parents of those 30 students wept when they found the letters Timmy left them.
Dear Parents or Guardians,
My name is Timothy Walker and before today you have probably never heard of me. I’m 17 years of age; born on May 4, 1992. My Mom is a heroin addict and left us when I was 5. My father has been trying to support us since then but has had difficulty. Last week he lost his job. Every day since I moved here in 8th grade, I have been tormented by your “precious” angels. My clothes my hair, my face, and my family are made targets. What justifies this? Last night I decided to purge the school of these horrible people. It hurts to hurt them but now they know how they hurt me. If only I could have died from their insults and taunts but yet day after day I endured them. Let this lesson be known.
-Timothy Walker