Status: Finals are coming by and I need to get my grades up. I won't be updating this very much. I'm sorry. Bare with me.
We're Ghosts in a Hail of Bullets
I Dream of Blood and Beauty
My teenage love story came to sudden crash. The chirping birds changed into high pitched screams and sharp gun shots. The beautiful field of soft grass and different colored flowers had turned into cold, white tiles. All of those tall trees were now teenagers who were charging for me out of fear and complete shock. Through the screams and stomping feet there was rapid gun fire. It chilled my bones and sent horrid vibrations down my spine. I became part of the crowd, but I didn't run. The way the students passed through my body like a ghost, I knew nothing could do me harm. How proper. They knew I was there though. A few boys told me to run and tried to grab my arm, with no prevail.
The crowd had passed and the shooter had appeared. It was no surprise that it was Tate. The giant, gray wolverine that was painted on the wall to my left, gave away my location. This was the Westfield Massacre. Or at least my mind's interpretation. Tate stood in front of me, dressed in all black. His trench coat floated just before the floor, a shadow from it fell on his thick combat boots, his hair was dirty and crusty from gel, there was black and gray powder smeared all over his face, his pale skin was stained with blood, and he had guns strapped all around his body not including the pistol in his hand.
I expected a pleasant smile but when I looked at him I saw terror and disappointment. A scowl had formed on his face when he saw me. He didn't want me there. We stood in silence until the crowd left us alone. Tate took down the last two boys who were limping along from bleeding gun shots in their legs. I watched them drop to floor in pools of crimson blood. Tears began to form in my eyes, but I knew I had to be stronger than that if I were to face him.
"Why are you doing this, Tate?" I murmured through choked back tears. Of course he didn't answer me. He stood their in his black disguise, trying to hide away all of his guilt. The now-empty-pistol was laying at his side in a loose grip. He didn't even look at the bodies or me. "Why?!" I screamed. The sound echoed through all of the halls.
"Come with me," he instantly said, extending an arm, offering up his free hand. This was the moment when everything changed. The touch of his skin and the way our fingers intertwined had altered my perspective. My eyes saw things in a different way. The two boys that laid on the floor, persistently bleeding, no longer seems grotesque. The blood flow and the way that their arms and legs were sprawled out, looked almost beautiful.
I turned to Tate, confused and worried. I saw the blood on his face in a new way too. I brushed a drop that rested on his cheek with my thumb. It smeared like paint on his pale skin. To my new eyes he looked more attractive. The darkness that flared in his eyes cast a spell on me. Cursed me, really. My veins ignited with a burning rage for any person whose ever insulted me. All of a sudden I hate my mother, my brother, some cousins, and a few bullies from Elementary school. It was blind anger, but it was burning anyway. Was this what he felt?
Tate guided me through the school. A scene played in my head, like a movie. I knew what was next. Two boys, both dressed in leather jackets and acid washed jeans, were running from us. They didn't know we were there, they were trying to run from the gun shots. They looked almost identical to each other. Before one turned around, I thought they were brothers.
"Run!" one of them shouted to the other. Tate shot in him with a single barrel shot gun. I flinched at the loud noise, but still watched as the boy fell. The friend ran into the library and began barricade it. The loud slamming of book cases, chairs, and tables made Tate laugh.
"They're like sheep. They all heard together for safety, but..." he trailed off looking for words.
"They're just running to their demise," I said. He looked at me and smiled in approval.
"It's like they're forming one big target," he chuckled before tapping on the door with the gun. There was silence between the knocks, then shuffling, and 'shushing'. He looked at me and winked. Bam! He front kicked the library door open to reveal an empty room and hills of books, chairs, shelves, and tables. He quickly shot his only obstacle which was the librarian. Obvious shadows of people were casted by the sunlight outside. Everyone was revealed.
We walked in very slowly. Tate pressed his index finger against his lips and softly "shhed" me. I calmed my breathing and lightened my footing. He stomped and reloaded his gun. His footsteps had to sound like thunder to their ears.
A squeal came from behind a bookshelf. I almost felt bad for the girl. She gave herself away so easily.
Instantly Tate locked onto her, but he continued to walk slowly, toying with everyone. He knocked over a couple books that rested by her face. The girl, Stephanie, tried to run. But her feet were no match for Tate's gun. He snatched her up by the shirt and pressed the barrel of his gun to her temple.
"Do you believe in God, Anna?" he asked in a whisper. I shook my head and watched as he blew her brains out. Blood splattered against the books and floor. Her body simply fell like dead weight. Tate reloaded his weapon again.
"How many more to go? Four?" he said so casually. I nodded, unable to speak. My swollen words weren't out of fear. I just didn't know what to say.
Tate took my hand and lead me around the library. He shot Kevin Gedmen, one of the boys dressed in leather that we met outside. Then he shoot Amir Stanley. I actually felt bad for him. He was a nerdy little man. I don't think he deserved it, but at that moment I didn't care. There was a strange euphoria coursing through my body. I couldn't explain it. I didn't even want an explanation. I just wanted Tate to take me in his arms, both of us covered in his victim's blood, and kiss me. He did just that. But a big, jocky guy broke it up.
His name was Kyle Greenwell. He stood at least six foot three inches. He had to weigh two-hundred pounds of pure muscle and yet he had tears in his eyes.
"You can stop," he said in a shaky voice, "you don't have to keep doing this,". Without any hesitation, Tate shot him. Kyle flew back into a table while his girlfriend cried underneath another. I flipped over the table, angry at the fact that she was even alive. The stupid, prissy ass, cheerleader pissed herself as she cried for us to stop.
"Come here," Tate said to me. He took my hands and wrapped them around the shot gun. I never held a gun before, so this was new to me. It was heavy and cold. He whispered a few pointers in my ear. I aimed the barrel at her chest, just like Tate did in the story, and rested my finger on the trigger. Surprisingly, I did shake or flinch or even care. I just shot her when Tate told me too. Chloe's last words were "Why?". Then I shot her. Sent a bullet straight through her heart.
The blast from the gun woke me up. Tate was laying next to me in a peaceful dream. Almost automatically, I checked for blood. Any sign of blood. I thought that maybe I brought a dead body back with me, but that wasn't the case. I was alone with Tate, in the dark, in my silent, creepy, haunted house. I was slowly going insane.
The crowd had passed and the shooter had appeared. It was no surprise that it was Tate. The giant, gray wolverine that was painted on the wall to my left, gave away my location. This was the Westfield Massacre. Or at least my mind's interpretation. Tate stood in front of me, dressed in all black. His trench coat floated just before the floor, a shadow from it fell on his thick combat boots, his hair was dirty and crusty from gel, there was black and gray powder smeared all over his face, his pale skin was stained with blood, and he had guns strapped all around his body not including the pistol in his hand.
I expected a pleasant smile but when I looked at him I saw terror and disappointment. A scowl had formed on his face when he saw me. He didn't want me there. We stood in silence until the crowd left us alone. Tate took down the last two boys who were limping along from bleeding gun shots in their legs. I watched them drop to floor in pools of crimson blood. Tears began to form in my eyes, but I knew I had to be stronger than that if I were to face him.
"Why are you doing this, Tate?" I murmured through choked back tears. Of course he didn't answer me. He stood their in his black disguise, trying to hide away all of his guilt. The now-empty-pistol was laying at his side in a loose grip. He didn't even look at the bodies or me. "Why?!" I screamed. The sound echoed through all of the halls.
"Come with me," he instantly said, extending an arm, offering up his free hand. This was the moment when everything changed. The touch of his skin and the way our fingers intertwined had altered my perspective. My eyes saw things in a different way. The two boys that laid on the floor, persistently bleeding, no longer seems grotesque. The blood flow and the way that their arms and legs were sprawled out, looked almost beautiful.
I turned to Tate, confused and worried. I saw the blood on his face in a new way too. I brushed a drop that rested on his cheek with my thumb. It smeared like paint on his pale skin. To my new eyes he looked more attractive. The darkness that flared in his eyes cast a spell on me. Cursed me, really. My veins ignited with a burning rage for any person whose ever insulted me. All of a sudden I hate my mother, my brother, some cousins, and a few bullies from Elementary school. It was blind anger, but it was burning anyway. Was this what he felt?
Tate guided me through the school. A scene played in my head, like a movie. I knew what was next. Two boys, both dressed in leather jackets and acid washed jeans, were running from us. They didn't know we were there, they were trying to run from the gun shots. They looked almost identical to each other. Before one turned around, I thought they were brothers.
"Run!" one of them shouted to the other. Tate shot in him with a single barrel shot gun. I flinched at the loud noise, but still watched as the boy fell. The friend ran into the library and began barricade it. The loud slamming of book cases, chairs, and tables made Tate laugh.
"They're like sheep. They all heard together for safety, but..." he trailed off looking for words.
"They're just running to their demise," I said. He looked at me and smiled in approval.
"It's like they're forming one big target," he chuckled before tapping on the door with the gun. There was silence between the knocks, then shuffling, and 'shushing'. He looked at me and winked. Bam! He front kicked the library door open to reveal an empty room and hills of books, chairs, shelves, and tables. He quickly shot his only obstacle which was the librarian. Obvious shadows of people were casted by the sunlight outside. Everyone was revealed.
We walked in very slowly. Tate pressed his index finger against his lips and softly "shhed" me. I calmed my breathing and lightened my footing. He stomped and reloaded his gun. His footsteps had to sound like thunder to their ears.
A squeal came from behind a bookshelf. I almost felt bad for the girl. She gave herself away so easily.
Instantly Tate locked onto her, but he continued to walk slowly, toying with everyone. He knocked over a couple books that rested by her face. The girl, Stephanie, tried to run. But her feet were no match for Tate's gun. He snatched her up by the shirt and pressed the barrel of his gun to her temple.
"Do you believe in God, Anna?" he asked in a whisper. I shook my head and watched as he blew her brains out. Blood splattered against the books and floor. Her body simply fell like dead weight. Tate reloaded his weapon again.
"How many more to go? Four?" he said so casually. I nodded, unable to speak. My swollen words weren't out of fear. I just didn't know what to say.
Tate took my hand and lead me around the library. He shot Kevin Gedmen, one of the boys dressed in leather that we met outside. Then he shoot Amir Stanley. I actually felt bad for him. He was a nerdy little man. I don't think he deserved it, but at that moment I didn't care. There was a strange euphoria coursing through my body. I couldn't explain it. I didn't even want an explanation. I just wanted Tate to take me in his arms, both of us covered in his victim's blood, and kiss me. He did just that. But a big, jocky guy broke it up.
His name was Kyle Greenwell. He stood at least six foot three inches. He had to weigh two-hundred pounds of pure muscle and yet he had tears in his eyes.
"You can stop," he said in a shaky voice, "you don't have to keep doing this,". Without any hesitation, Tate shot him. Kyle flew back into a table while his girlfriend cried underneath another. I flipped over the table, angry at the fact that she was even alive. The stupid, prissy ass, cheerleader pissed herself as she cried for us to stop.
"Come here," Tate said to me. He took my hands and wrapped them around the shot gun. I never held a gun before, so this was new to me. It was heavy and cold. He whispered a few pointers in my ear. I aimed the barrel at her chest, just like Tate did in the story, and rested my finger on the trigger. Surprisingly, I did shake or flinch or even care. I just shot her when Tate told me too. Chloe's last words were "Why?". Then I shot her. Sent a bullet straight through her heart.
The blast from the gun woke me up. Tate was laying next to me in a peaceful dream. Almost automatically, I checked for blood. Any sign of blood. I thought that maybe I brought a dead body back with me, but that wasn't the case. I was alone with Tate, in the dark, in my silent, creepy, haunted house. I was slowly going insane.