Aim for the Throat

Ryan paced outside barely remembering the evacuation team entering and escorting them out of the building. His class had been outside the longest. The library, language, and Social Study buildings were the first to evacuate. Groups of students, staff and teachers cried, panicked, and waited while the status of the other buildings were being assessed. Scanning over the teachers standing outside he concluded the whole right side of the school had gotten outside safely.

Stopping in his place, his hands dropped limply to his sides.

"No," he breathed. No one heard him so no one looked, Ryan gazed at his feet. He felt a tremble go through him and he couldn't help but think he shouldn't have been the first one outside.

On the other half of the building, the side that they hadn't vacated yet were the science, math and arts/extracurricular building. Scoffing at the sidewalk bitterness and guilt overtook him. Covering his mouth a muffled gasp escaped; his vision blurred. He knew the two possibilities, he knew them well but fear overtook him taking out the second option of them having left already.

As Ryan's fears tortured him, the boy prowled the halls leaving the mirror behind and carrying the gun with a blood covered hand. First was the teacher that ruined his family. The boy walked with hatred pushing him forward and his gun was held by a body with the scares from memories as bones now. Vivid pictures played in his head of the days that lugged on afterwards giving him fuel. With hasty and slightly unsteady steps he made it to his destination.