The street stretched away from where she stood, looking at the remnants of the school in happy disbelief. Yeslek Schmidt, the 10th grade terrorist, had just committed the largest act of domestic terrorism inside of U.S. history.

Of course no one was hurt, it was a Saturday morning where students and teachers were finally alike in their ways of thinking, when they wanted to be anywhere but the school. Observing her work of art, she tread through the piles of red brick powder and ash, stopping in disbelief at the partial remains of a computer room to notice an only moderately damaged tool of injustice and misery that had plagued the student kind through her freshmen year: the computer. With only a tiny crack painted on the blackened but still fresh screen, she angrily snatched tool of misery and injustice from the ashy bed it rested on, took one step forward, and hurled the makeshift shot put out to the abyss of the empty parking lot that was scattered with chunks of red bricks and debris.

Not knowing how to throw a shot put, the space bound computer only ranged a few yards, but still kissed the parking lot with a satisfying smack followed by a display of fireworks that were screws, circuit boards, and chunks of plastic airborne to all directions.

Hearing a distant siren approach, she had one thing on her mind: no.


"Where could they have gone, they were just here a minute ago!" An angered sheriff Brophy griped as he tore through an empty cardboard doughnut box that rested in the backseat of his parked police car, overlooking the school remnants from the brick strewn parking lot.

"Sir,” Brophy’s deputy chimed with an irritated tone, “You ate them all on the way here. All 12 of them. In fact I think I remember you smacking my hand out of the way with your Glock 17 as I tried to reach for a maple bar, which would have been the first one I'd had all freakin' morning. I’m still hungry."

"Deputy, why do I keep you around anyway, if all you're going to do is complain?" the sheriff questioned.

"I bring you and the rest of the team doughnuts, coffee, lunch, pay for dinner, bring all the targets in after range practice is over... you absolutely refuse to train me. Crap, I don't even carry a gun. It's a mahogany block!"

Officer Brophy dropped the topic when he took his attention from the torn doughnut box and bellyaching deputy as he turned his back,

"Whoa, look at the school."

The deputy put his palm to his scrunched forehead and mumbled around his wrist, “You know what, I’m gonna go get something to eat. I’ll be back in five.”

“Okay, I’m determined to get to the bottom of this,” sheriff Brophy replied, placing back the the torn doughnut box that he realized he still gripped with an angry passion. “Oh,” he commented as the deputy turned his back, “and get some chocolate milk. The skim kind. Wife says I gotta cut down.”

The deputy continued walking and quietly muttered something along the lines of “...and this is why I don’t carry a gun.”

As the deputy walked out of sight, Sheriff Brophy retrieved his Smith and Wesson AR15 from the backseat of the car, slung the over priced rifle over his shoulder, and began to walk around the brick strewn remnants of the school. He came upon the portion of the parking lot that contained a broken monitor that did not fit the usual brick, half brick, brick pattern that was usually always accompanied by shard of brick.

He leaned forward to examine the pieces closely and came upon the largest piece, which was a chunk of monitor that looked like it belonged to the upper right corner of the original screen. Despite the blackness of the screen, he noticed an ashy finger print stamped on the right side of it, a sliver of the print touching the cracked frame that was supposed to hold the chinese-manufactured machine together.

“I’ve got you now.” the sheriff muttered quietly as a crooked grin snuck up to one side of his face.
He began to laugh maniacally, as if to wish he was the main character in a cheesy horror film. His laughter was interrupted by a low pitched growl and he remembered his hunger and lack of doughnuts. He grabbed his large stomach and stared enviously in the direction of the supermarket, to which by now the deputy had already found some chocolate milk and a dozen more doughnuts.