Personal Hell: Revenge

[SoulBlazerFan]

No, this is not the same story. I've suddenly (Like out of left field) have been able to write two stories in the last four days- happily, I might add, I intend to turn a story I've previously written into a Personal Hell story, and write a new story, titled "Redemption," which, while each story doesn't have any real connection (Except Revenge and Redemption), there is something to connect them, and that's each will feature the character in first person narrative (Forgive me if this strays occasionally, I write these after work, when I'm dead tired)

So on a last note, if I'm able to do what I want, I'm planning to attempt (If I'm lucky) to get it released as a novel (After close scrutinizing, alot of revising and editing, so forth)

The following story, as I may forewarn, involves a subject that is very critical, and I will warn, there is a school shooting. I'm not trying to say a school shooting is good via how the story goes, however, I will not lie, most of the events that happened to this character really did happen to myself, so I will tell you the emotion I wrote into this story is genuinely raw. Well, without further ado...


This story I will rate have to say, once again, isn't for everyone. Take a read, and tell me what you think...


Personal Hell:
Revenge
By Robert Martin

“Take another look at the last day of your life, and tell me how it feels to take back what they stole from you. Tell me how it feels to finally have exactly what you have desired for so long, tell me how it feels to have done exactly what you had always wanted to do.”
The voice spoke to me from above; it roared and caused me to shake violently, I didn’t want to be where I was, I never wanted this, I swear. What happened to them was what they had brought on for so long, I only tell you what I did was brought on by years of torment they caused to me. It caused me to never care about myself, it caused me to hate them. No, this wasn’t an anger towards them; the kind you’d just say I hate them, no. It was pure hatred. I wanted them to drop dead where they were.
I actually had dreams about them dying, you know. I had imagined me getting phone calls telling me that they had died mysteriously, and all I could do was laugh into the phone. I’d imagine what ways I could kill them- hell, once I actually drew a comic, in which I killed each of them off systematically. And believe me, I had no unclear conscious about it. I would kill them if I was given the chance, believe me, they all deserved it…

I guess the story starts back a good decade ago, when I was in the second grade. I had only just transferred schools, in a brand new town. My parents figured a new town, a new environment would be good for me, especially since my father was able to lock a better paying job, in a suburban town. But believe me, even if we’d moved away from the city, that didn’t mean the environment was any safer for me. It’s not how many people die in a day where you live, well, that may be important, but there’s far worse things than dying you know… there’s being forced into becoming like them. Torturers. Attackers. Bullies. The only way to get yourself out of a hole, is to dig your own way out… and it took me tens years… but I finally did…

But I’ll come back to that. The day began just like any other. As I woke up, my eyes slowly opened, but I didn’t want to get out of bed. Why would anyone want to get out of bed to school? For starters, the teachers always spoke to you either like you were an asshole, or they taught so monotonously, they made you fall asleep right there in class, and then you’d get detention for not paying attention. School is seldom ever fair, and neither is life.
I found myself in the bathroom, getting ready with my usual routine. Take the five minute power shower, brushed my teeth, threw on my clothes, and I was out the door. Since I was too close to the school (I didn’t make the two mile mark, I was a mile and a half) and I couldn’t afford a car (One of the only seniors who didn’t have one) I had to walk to school every day. I found myself today walking, just as it begins to pour rain. Let it be my luck, as always. I could never get a break ever in life.

“You like that,” the memory suddenly flooded into my head, as the kids swarmed around me. “Should really watch your step.” They all collectively laughed in my face. If memory serves, it was the third grade, and we were at recess. A group of the kids from my class began to surround me in a giant circle. As I began to step backwards, I lost my balance, and fell into a giant pile of mud. At the lead of this group was a kid, Donovan James Brady, better known as DJ, because apparently if anyone knew if your name was Donovan, you’d get the same kind of treatment I always seemed to receive…

No matter where I went, this kid was always there. He was always there to crack a joke at me, or to push me into the mud and start to laugh. The group slowly walked away from me, and I could do nothing but sit there and start bawling my eyes out.
I finally found myself at school, and apparently I was already late, as I walked into the school, I got stopped by Mr. Carpanelli, the school principal.
“Late once again Mr. Drake,” he said to me, looking down at me. “Let me give it to you straight. If you’re late again, I’m going to have to not let you graduate.”
“I’m sorry sir… can I get to class?”
“No Mr. Drake, you have to stand right there and wait until you dry off. Why don’t you get a car or get a ride from someone?”
“I can’t afford a car, and I have no one to ask.”
“A parent, a friend?”
“Both parents, and I don’t really have friends.”
“Really son, you should try and be social. It’s not good to have any friends, you know.”
“I do know that, sir… but really… no one likes me.”
“That’s not true.” If only the guy knew.”
“But it-”
“Sorry son, I don’t have time right now, if you want to talk, you know my office is always open. Or maybe your guidance councilor if you need to talk.”
“Uhm… sure…” Not that the guidance councilor would care. He’s friends with this kid Michael Sampson, who is one of those really hardcore teachers pet. That, and the guy was having an affair with this girl Angela Mathers, who happened to be DJ’s girlfriend, and also one of my tormentors… He walked off, and as I stared… I wondered to myself.
Would I be better off telling someone I don’t know how I feel? Would they really care enough to help me? Would I have this weight I feel on my shoulders taken off if I did?
It didn’t seem to matter, as I felt dry enough to go into the office, and sign myself in. I didn’t realize it, but I had missed the entire first period between the rain and Mr. Carpanelli’s lecture.
Just as I finished signing myself in, I heard the first period-ending bell ring, so I left the office and made my way down the hallways, being bumped into by several people who couldn’t have ignored my existence anymore if I wasn’t even there.
I arrived at my classroom, and entered in, there was a handful of students mixed in, mostly those nerd kids who always arrived to class, the teachers pet types. As it was assigned seating, I always found myself behind that kid Michael Sampson, you know, the guidance councilor’s little bitch.
I sat down, and as usual, he always had that smug smile on his face, as he stared forward, he said something low enough so the teacher wouldn’t hear him.
“Did you go for a swim or something today,” he said to me, and laughed to himself. I simply tried to ignore him, as the beginning bell rang, I put my hands down on the desk, and rested my head on them. I felt so tired at that moment, from the long walk I had, and not to mention, I had barely any sleep the night before. So it seemed, as Ms. Smalls lesson dragged on, in her monotonously boring voice made my eyes seem to droop down, and accentuated my already tired body. I seemed to doze off… my mind seemed to trail off a little…

“Will you go out with me?” I had asked her when she was finally alone.
“Excuse me,” she returned, raising her waxed eyebrow. Angela Mathers glanced at me, in all her beauty. At that time, in the seventh grade, when my crush on her peaked to the point of actually getting false bravado to ask her out. I had never spoken to her before in my entire life, and for some reason, the poles must’ve aligned, because right then and there my entire body became filled to the brim with courage.
“The dance… I don’t have anyone to go with… and if you didn’t either… maybe we could go together? It might be cool.”
She nodded her head… “Sure, it might be ‘cool‘.”
“Then when can I have my mom pick you up?”
“No… that won’t me necessary, I’ll get my dad to come pick you up.” I smiled, and I wrote down my address, and handed it to her, and walked away with a wide smile across my face. What I didn’t know, was once I had turned around, she had tossed the piece of paper into the trash.\
The night of the dance, I stood at the door, and I was ready a good half an hour before she was supposed to be there. I sat in a chair, which faced toward the door, for the length of the half an hour, and once the time came, I sat up and stood by the door. My plan was to wait a few moments before I answered, as I feared I might scare her off before she even finished knocking on the door. I waited… I waited… and I waited. But nothing. I’d pop the door open occasionally to see if she was outside… but still nothing. When she was fifteen minutes late, I let it slide; when a half hour had gone by, I was still standing at the door, and whenever I’d hear a car coming, I’d pop my head out of the door, in hopes that she was only running late. But when the cars would just roll on by, my spirits would be immediately crushed. Why I never thought to get her number had only occurred to me just then.
By the time an hour and a half had gone by, I had officially given up entirely. I walked upstairs, and went into my room. I lied down face first into a pillow, wanting to cry, but the words of my father echoed through my brain; “real men never cry, only women cry.” I always seemed to pent up my feelings, and mainly because of what he said, and because I always felt that my feelings never mattered due to the larger scale of problems in the world…
The next day, I found her at her locker, while she was surrounding by a group of three of her friends.
“Hey Angela,” I said, walking toward her.
“Yeah? What do you want,” she said, her friends all giggling.
“Why didn’t you come to pick me up?”
“Pick you up? I thought you were picking me up.” The all laughed once again.
“No- you said-” The all laughed, and one of them quipped ‘he still doesn’t get it.”
“What were you kidding, do you think someone like me would ever go out with someone… like you?”
He kept on a smile and just shook my head, and walked away, as they all collectively laughed behind my back. “Mr. Drake… Mr. Drake…”

“Mr. Drake!” I had lifted my head up, as the entire class laughed around me, including Michael, who sat behind me. I looked forward at my teacher, who had called out my name.
“Mr. Drake, if I would’ve known my lesson was going to be so boring, I would’ve brought a Nintendo here to you could play.” The class all laughed around me. “Do you mind if I finish my lesson now, Mr. Drake?”
“I’m… I’m sorry ma’am.” The class laughed once again, as I looked down.
“Now where was I, oh yes, Abraham Lincoln had used the Civil War to forward his anti- slavery beliefs, because otherwise, due to the nature of the constitution, slavery wasn’t able to be removed. However, if used as a war tactic, which he so cleverly did, allowed him to form the Emancipation Proclamation…”
“You’re a loser,” the voice of Michael Sampson came from behind me. “I can’t believe you did that, that was so funny.”
I wanted to turn around and punch him in the face, but I decided to be the bigger man here. I sat there, while he attempted to berate me.”
“Come on, loser… why don’t take another nap? We all need another good laugh.” I continued to ignore him, proving who was the better person. This obviously pissed him off, because he took his recently sharpened pencil, and gave me a hard poke in the back.
“OW! You stupid jerk!”
“What did you call me, Mr. Drake?”
“I didn’t…! It was Michael-”
“Don’t put the blame on innocent Michael behind you, he wouldn’t do anything. You’re a big trouble maker, Mr. Drake, so now go to the guidance office and have a talk with your councilor.”
“But Ms. Smalls-!”
“Don’t Ms. Smalls me.” She wrote down a referal slip, and lifted it into the air. I got up, walked over to her, and took it. I walked out of the classroom, and as the door shut behind me, I heard the class laugh again, and Ms. Smalls say “Now since that problem is taken care of…”
As I walked into the guidance office, Mr. Stamp, my grade’s councilor, was standing right there. He looked at me, and took the slip from my hand, and read it over.
“Come on now, come into my office.” He lead me into his office, and had me sit down in a chair. “So Mr. Drake; from what I read here, you were being very rowdy in Ms. Smalls classroom. Now you seem like a good kid, and I don’t think you’d do it intentionally; tell me what happened.”
“Well, Mr. Stamp, I was very tired from not getting much sleep last night… I had accidentally fallen asleep in class…”
“Why didn’t you get much sleep?” I didn’t want to tell him I spent the entire night playing a video game, so I lied my ass off. “I was studying for my Italian exam. Io Tu mei.”
“Yeah, I know how studying can get, but you must also rest, because a rested mind is a fully empowered mind.” Oh how I always hated those dated little school catchphrases…
“So what did you call Ms. Smalls? A ‘jerk’?”
“No, I called Michael a jerk.”
“Michael who?”
“Michael Sampson.”
“Mikey? Why would you call Mikey a jerk?”
“Because he poked me.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident.”
“Well, sir, I’m sure him calling me a loser wasn’t any accident.”
“I’m starting to lose my trust in you. Mikey would never call anyone a loser; he is an absolute sweet, loveable guy. I don’t know why you’d try and make up such a lie.”
“It’s not a lie sir, he’s treats me like crud.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Drake, I just don’t believe you. I’m going to have to talk to your teacher about what happened, but do expect to get at least two days detention.”
I thought to protest, but it seemed futile. I didn’t want to be given any more detention, so I pretty much let it go. I got up, and walked out of the guidance room. I remember this wasn’t the first time Mr. Stamp let Michael off the hook, and what I thought at the time, it wouldn’t be the last.

“What did you do you little shit!” Mr. Lundgren scream at the puny ninth grader. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t I swear,” Michael pleaded, although, completely and utterly in literal terms, he was caught red handed. Apparently board during fifth period Wood Shop, little Mikey colored over an entire stool seat with a red marker, and as he walked away, DJ sat down on it, ruining his brand new pair of khaki’s.
“I know for a fact you did,” Mr. Lundgren grabbed his wrist, turning it over, seeing the red marker spots covering the palm of his hand. “You can’t deny the evidence.”
“Let me go!” He pulled free, and ran from Mr. Lundgren, who screamed various curses as he ran out of the room.
Everyone in class pretty much knew where he ran to; Mr. Stamp’s office. Within five minutes, there was a call from the Main Office for Mr. Lundgren. That day, for the wrist grab, Michael got Mr. Lundgren fired. As much as I thought DJ deserved the ruined pants, Mr. Lundgren didn’t deserve to lose his job… Ring… Ring…

Ring. The bell tolled for the end of second period, and I knew I had to go outside to get to the other wing of the building to get to my class. When I got outside, the sun had come out, and everything had already started to dry up, but it was still wet outside. As I made my way across the field, I heard some laughter from behind me. I glanced back, and there was DJ, with a small band of his friends.
“Hey hey, stop uhm… what’s your name…”
I stopped and turned around. “What do you want?”
“History class was pretty funny. I wished you’d be class clown more often.”
“Come on now, please, leave me alone.”
“Oh, no, I don’t want to do that.”
“Please Donovan, don’t do this.” One of the three guys with him began to laugh.
“Dude, your first name is Donovan?” He laughed even harder, until DJ punched him in the sternum.
“You think you’re funny, huh? A real comedian, huh?”
“I turned away, only to be decked in the back of the head, and I tumbled forward, landing face first in mud. As I tried to stand up, I felt a foot on the back of my head, pushing my face down into the mud again.
“Wait a minute, I’m getting the feeling of déjà vu.” He laughed, taking his foot off from the back of my head. As I stood up, I watched him meet Angela, and act as if what he did to me was nothing. Then I saw Michael Sampson in the distance laughing with several of his nerd buddies. For some reason, I just started to lose it right then and there. I let out a scream, and everyone turned to look at me. I wanted to, right then and there, attack DJ, pushed him to the ground, and stomp his face in until it began to bleed. I wanted to break in Michael’s glasses into his eye sockets, and cause him to go blind forever. I wanted to tell Angela what a skank whore she was. But no, that’d be getting off light for them. I decided to just go home and get cleaned up before I decided what my revenge would be.
I walked off the property, as I heard the start-of-third period bell ring behind me. I knew, by walking home, getting cleaned up, and walking back, it’d be sixth period. I’d have a good forty-five minutes to take out whatever revenge ploy I decided to take…
I got home, and by now, it was half way through forth period I assumed. I walked into my house, and called out, “Mom… dad…?” I started to walk inside, looking around, drops off mud dripping from my face. I walked slowly up the stairs, and into my bathroom. I stripped down, climbed into the shower, turning it on, and letting the water cover me. I felt suddenly all my inhibitions start to pull away. All the holding back I had ever done, all the hatred started seeping away. I felt I was cleaning away the filth of what I was, and started to let the truth slowly pull through. The true me was something through. And I liked it.
When I left the shower, I walked into my room, still drying myself off. I turned on the television, rummaging through my closet, and on TV was the movie “The Crow.” I watched as I saw a man manually loading a revolver… and something shot into my head… this is not a toy… this is not a toy…

“This is not a toy, son,” my father had once said to me, holding out this handgun he had purchased from a pawn shop in the city years ago. “I bought this just in case anything ever happened, but I don’t want you ever touching it, not for any reason, all right?”
I shook my head, just as any obedient child would. When he left to go into his room to hide it, I peered at the door, which seemed to creek open. And, being around ten at the time, it peaked my interest… it was calling for me to look. I walked slowly to the door, and looked inside, watching my father pull out the old Reebok shoe box, wrapping the handgun in a old rag, putting it inside the box, and putting it back up into the back of his closet, closing the door. At that age, I was never able to reach up high enough to get it. Now that I’m taller… taller…

“Tall enough,” I said aloud, my eyes opening like that of a giddy child on Christmas morning looking over his giant batch of presents that Santa had delivered. Well, I was just about to receive my own present, and they were going to receive theirs; I was like Santa, deliving a bullet present to each of those tormentors…
I ran into my fathers bedroom, standing on my very tip-toes, looking up at all the various things had had stuck up there and forgotten over time. My eyes painfully searched… until they locked on the old shoe box which now seemed to stick out like an eye sore, a brand slowly forgotten over time…
I grabbed the box, and walked to his bed, putting it down. I removed the lid, and saw the old rag inside. I pulled it out slowly, unraveling it, revealing the silver hand gun, which weighted close to four or five pounds. I searched over it, examining every inch of it; it was almost completely silver steel, with the exception of the pistol grip, which was black. I searched for the clip release, and my fingers felt around it, until it came to the button. When it dropped, it fell into my hand, and the sun lost a good part of it’s weight. I looked into the clip, and he had left it completely loaded. I looked around my surroundings, pushed the clip back into place. I ran into my bedroom, grabbing an old back pack, in which the straps had been cut years ago by that ass of a human being DJ. I threw the gun inside, and zipped it up closed.
I left my house almost immediately, and began to walk back to school, my hands hugging around the backpack. I walked down the old suburban streets, which all seemed smaller than I had remembered. I knew at one point, the time seemed to go even faster, like something was telling me if I didn’t get there faster, I’d miss my chance… until that car turned the corner, and rode right up next to me. I looked to myself, and my eyes widened, and sweat began to permeate from my pores.
“Hello,” the man said to me.
“Hello, officer Riley.” Yep, that’s right. In all my luck, a cop pulls up next to me!
“Schools not over yet, is it?”
“No sir,” I said to him, the beads of sweat starting to pour down my face, “I’m actually walking back right now.”
“Why did you leave in the first place?”
“…I had a bit of an accident.”
“…An accident?”
“…I fell into the mud. I got sent home to get myself some new clothes, but I couldn’t get a ride home, so I had to walk.”
“Oh… I’m sorry… hey, do you want a ride back to school?” My immediate reaction was to say no, considering what I was carrying within my backpack, but the last thing I needed was to cause anything with a cop.
“Okay,” I said, as I opened the passenger door, and climbed inside, closing it behind me.
“Put on your seatbelt, I don’t need to arrest you for not wearing a seatbelt.” He laughed a little. “I’m just kidding son, you won’t be arrested for that, I could give you ticket though.” I immediately did as he asked. He began to drive, and I just sat back in the rather comfortable leather seat.
“You know son, I have to ask… why are you carrying your backpack like that?”
“…What do you mean?”
“I saw you hugging your backpack for dear life… I was just curious as to why you didn’t have it over your shoulders.”
“Well…” I let it fall into my lap, turning it over, and pulling up the straps. “Some jerk at school cut them with a razor blade.”
“You know son, if you knew who did that, you could just come to the station and file a report, not only is that possessing a dangerous weapon, it’s also destruction of private property.”
We came up to the school, and he came to a stop. I took off my seat belt, and turned to him. He had his hand out. I took it, and shook it.
“Thank you, officer Riley,” I said.
“Anytime, sonny boy. You have a good day, and, just to let you know, anything that happens to you in life, always comes back to the person who did it.”
I smiled to him, and nodded my head, “Thank you.” I opened the door, and climbed out, closing it behind me. I walked away slowly, glancing back, as he sat in his patrol car. My nervous self believing it was because he knew something was up, but once I got into the car, the reality was he was making sure I was actually going to school.
I began to walk forward, the backpack clutched tightly on my chest. I found myself being grabbed from behind, as I whipped around, it was Mr. Carpinelli.
“You disappoint me Mr. Drake. I told you one more late would cause you not to graduate, but now you skip school. I thought you’d be at least smart enough to not bother to ever come back.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, my face had completely blank, and my eyebrows curved down a little, my face seeming to become a little devilish if I do say so myself.
“Come to my office right now, Mr. Drake.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Carpinelli.” I followed him as he walked through the main office, and into his own personal office. He shut his door behind us, and sat behind his desk.
“Mr. Drake, please, have a seat.”
“I’d rather not.” I unzipped my backpacked, looking in, and reaching down.”
“Oh, what’s in there, a note from your mother?”
“No, something better.” I pulled the handgun out, dropping the backpack to the floor, and pointing it right at him, placing my other hand over it to cock it. He started to try and back up, but his rolling chair merely bumped into the heater behind him. As he stood up, I fired off the first shot, which slammed right into his left shoulder, the mere force of the bullet, causing his body to follow through with the bullet. I eased back the trigger once again, the second bullet entering into his neck, which passed straight through to the other side. His body came falling backward into his chair, his hands both flying upward to his neck, trying to stop the blood flow. He coughed up a large amount of blood, before falling down on the floor.
“And my name isn’t Mr. Drake! It’s John, you got it?! John.” I lowered the gun. I couldn’t believe it. I had just shot a man, not once, but twice, and I didn’t care. Now I knew what it felt to be a bully- no, what it felt like to be in control. For once, I was the one with control. I could hear the screams in the Main office, which I knew I had started them. I put the safety on, slipped the gun into my pocket, left his office, and saw they had all evacuated, not bothering to alert the rest of the school as to what just happened. I turned to Mr. Carpinelli’s desk, and saw his loud speaker box. I glanced over the desk, and saw his bloody body on the floor. I smirked a little, walking around, and pressing my finger on the call button…
“Attention students and faculty… will Ms. Angela Mathers please report to the principals office, immediately.”
I sat in his desk, releasing the button. I spun around in the chair a few times, smirking softly to myself, until I heard her coming, so I faced the chair backwards toward the door, as she came in.
“Yes, Mr. Carpinelli?”
“Close the door, Ms. Mathers, and have a seat. We have something… very serious to discuss.” I had deepened my voice a little, as to sound closer to his voice.
She took a seat behind me, and I began to speak once more. “I have heard some troubling news from one of the faculty members. Apparently… from what I hear… you and Mr. Stamp have had some sort of… “relationship.”
“…I don’t understand sir…”
“I know you two have been having sex with each other.”
“…Excuse me, sir?”
“I know you two have been. Six different people have told me this is true.”
“But… I…”
“What would your parents think? Your father would disown you, and your mother would call you a filthy whore, because that’s what you are. A filthy, lying whore.”
“…What did you call me?!”
“I won’t say a word to anyone, if you do one thing for me…”
“…And what’s that…?”
I whipped around, standing up, putting the gun into her face, releasing the safety. “Die.”
I pulled the trigger, and split that beautifully developed face into an ugly, contorted look. The bullet caused her to whip backwards, forcing her body to tumble backward with the chair. I stood up, walking around, kneeling beside her.
“As you die… right now… think about everything you’ve done to hurt someone. Remember what you did to me… as you die… think… you should’ve just gone to a fucking dance with a loser.” I sat up, turned away, and left the office. I knew I’d be caught if I stayed there any longer, so I ran, putting the safety back onto the gun, and slipping it back into my pants. I walked calmly out of the Main Office, and out back down to the gymnasium. I knew that’s where Michael was this period, as this was one of the two classes me and him shared each day.
I found myself coming up the door, and pulling it open. I walked into the gym, and immediately the gym teacher lost his count on sit-ups, and stormed over to me. He walked straight to me, and got into my face.
“You pathetic no good waste of life! Why are you not in my class getting your daily physical education? Why aren’t you even dressed to get your daily physical education!”
“I’ve been in the guidance office, and Mr. Stamp wants to see both me and Michael Sampson in his office right now.”
“…Oh, then by all means.” He whipped around, looking to Michael, whom, because of his asthma, was unable to participate in gym.
“Michael! Michael Sampson! Go to the guidance office immediately!” I waited until he passed me by, and I started to walk behind him, following him, my hand itching to put the gun to his head and end his miserable life.
“You know he’s never going to believe me over you, right?” He said to me, my hand wanting oh so badly to blow his brains out of his head. “It was just a pencil, you weenie.”
“Who says weenie anymore, dickhead?” He glanced back at me, and smirked.
“Oooh, I’m so going to tell him what you just called me.”
As we arrived at the guidance office, and he stormed forward into Mr. Stamp’s office. I came from behind, closing the door. With his back to me, I pulled the gun from underneath my shirt…
“Mr. Stamp!” I raised it to just behind his head. “John just called me a dick-” Before he could finish his sentence, I pulled the trigger, blowing the better part of his face all over Mr. Stamp and his desk. Mr. Stamp reeled back in his chair, watching his favorite little dickweed fall dead onto the floor. I aimed the gun at him, his horrified face looking to me.
“I swear to you, he deserved it,” I said to him, “he poked me with the pencil, and he got my favorite teacher fired.”
“You… Mr. Drake… why?”
“Because it’s my turn to be in control, Mr. Stamp. I killed your teachers pet, and I killed your cunt, Angela, too.”
I saw the fire build up in his eyes, and I aimed straight at his eyes. “Good bye, Mr. Stamp.” I pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. The gun jammed.
“I’m gonna kill you, mother fucker!” He jumped over his desk, dive tackling me onto the ground. The first thing he did was sent a punch right into my face, smashing my nose down. The next thing he did was put his hands around my throat, and begin to strangle me.”
“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done!” Hadn’t I paid enough already? I gripped the gun, and swung it into his temple, which caused him to release, and roll over onto the ground. I looked at the gun, trying to get the gun un-jammed. Whilst my attention was gone for merely a moment, he pushed me into his desk, and knocked the gun from my hand. He grabbed at me, but I curled my legs back, putting them against his chest, and kicked him back. I reached back to get anything I could from behind me. As he ran toward me, my hand came onto something, which I stuck outward at him. He ran straight into my, and landed onto of me. I looked into his eyes, which wided. I saw blood begin to drip from his mouth, and land on my cheek. I pushed him off of me, and he fell onto the ground.
God had once been good to me, and give me a knife opener… a nice, sharp knife opener, which thankfully lodged between two of his ribs, and penetrated some major organ, I didn’t care which.
I looked down at the ground, grabbing at my nose. The asshole had broken it. I looked down at him, and spat in his face.
“It’s too bad you had to play favorites… Mr. Stamp… because the truth is… Michael is- wait, was a real piece of shit.” I turned away, and walked straight out of his office. I knew at this point someone had alerted the police, because I could heard the sirens in the distance. I made a run for it, just as the end of school bell began to ring. I stopped dead in my tracks. I wasn’t about to let him off, no, I couldn’t. He was going to feel my wrath as well… my final target… DJ. I looked down to the gun, unloading the clip, and releasing the bullet from it, and letting it fall to the floor. I put the clip back in, and cocked it. I didn’t bother to slip it back into my shirt, I just walked out into the crowded hallway. This is one of those times I didn’t mind not being noticed by the rest of the world, because no one cared to look at the gun I had in my hand, or the blood on my face.
I finally saw him in the distance, coming toward me, I stared straight at him, and he caught me. He wasn’t around any of his friends, which was a shame. I wanted to kill them, too.
He started laughing, and shouted at me, “Hey, look everybody, the Mud-boy got cleaned!” He walked right up to me, and put the gun straight into his sternum, and looked him dead into the eye.
“Look, everyone, it’s Donovan, and I think he just pissed his pants. I seemed to cause a panic around me, because everyone began to run, and Donovan grabbed at the gun, which went up into the air. One bullet got fired into the air, which, those whom hadn’t seen the gun, were immediately alerted. They all began to flee, as we both struggled for control. I felt him begin to twist it downward, as another bullet was fired off, which went straight into someone’s locker.
I felt him turn the gun into my chest, but I tried to turn it back into his, but I didn’t have enough time to pull the trigger, so I felt it back into mine, his finger trying to go in for the killer, I began to push forward, and as he began to fall backward, I fell with him, and I heard the gun go off. It was at this moment I felt blood splatter over my face; not only the blood from my nose, but blood from one of us. As we came crashing to the ground, I landed on top of him, and I saw his eyes looking straight up. I laid there for one moment, and rolled off, to see his hands on his chest, covered in his own blood. I sat up, looking to him, my face completely turned stone cold. I had succeeded in what I had wanted to do. I had gotten my revenge.
As I lay there, watching him die, I know now what it feels like to get on top. To be better than someone else, to have gotten under someone and pulled the rug from underneath them, and come out the better man.
As I stood up, I looked down to him, and smiled. I didn’t bother to say anything; the son of a bitch didn’t deserve it. I just walked away, holding the gun in my hand, smiling softly. He stopped, glancing back, watching the last moments of his former tormentor’s life, and was almost forced to say the next two words;
“I win.”
I turned his back to him, and walked away briskly. I turned down the hall, headed through a back door; he believed that if he left calmly, no one would think he killed anyone. That is, until I had heard the call from behind him.
“Freeze!” The officer turned the corner, aiming the handgun at me. I whipped around, and pointed my gun at him. At the almost exact same time, we both lowered their guns. “My God,” the officer said.
“Officer Riley,” I said in a state of shock, the gun still clenched within my hand. I didn’t want to be caught… that was the last thing I ever wanted. But I couldn’t kill the one person who actually tried to help me. I pointed the gun above Riley’s head, and fired, knowing he’d duck out of the way, which he did. I booked down the hallway, running, as the cop turned the corner and gave chase, firing one bullet, which missed me entirely. I turned the corner, and made my way to the Men’s bathroom, going inside and closing the door behind myself, quickly locking it. I slowly backed away from the door, walking calmly into one of the stalls.
“John… open this door… we can try to settle this…”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t reply. I knew what he had done was wrong. I knew I’d die anyway. But, just as I had been in control this entire time, I planned to be in control of how I left this world.
Still smirking, from having killed his enemy, I placed the gun underneath my chin, placed his finger over the trigger, and gently eased it, until the bullet passed from under my mouth, through my mouth, spilling my tongue in two pieces. I felt the bullet pull through the roof of my mouth, and passing through my brain, exiting through the stop of my skull, and lodging itself peacefully into the ceiling…
So here I am in Hell, alone, and cold… my life merely a series of events that led up to the final straw. I suppose if there was any moral of this story, it’s to treat others equally, and never treat others like you’re above them. Because, at some point, they might be forced to go above you…

“God may have forgiven him for what he did,” the dark voice said above, “those little tormentors did deserve what they got. Now they are all here with me, and the one who did his own justice… as I said, he may have been forgiving for taking all those lives, if they wanted to be forgiven bad enough…but the one thing He won’t do is forgive someone for taking their own.”


The End


SBiF


PS: Comments, critques? And, just to make one last note, I seriously apologize for offending anyone with this story, and yes, "The voice" is Satan himself. =P

[inferiare]

If it weren't illegal, I would be in that situation too. You write wonderfully, I hope this makes it into a novel.

[SoulBlazerFan]

rainichan wrote:

If it weren't illegal, I would be in that situation too. You write wonderfully, I hope this makes it into a novel.

Thank you. You don't know how happy that makes me feel. ^^;; I've started a third story, which I hope to have finished in the next few days, followed by a rewrite of a story I've already written, and finally the final story which I've already mentioned.


SBiF