That Dreadful Day

Everybody around me fell on the floor, dead. Before I knew it, I started running. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Suddenly, I heard a gunshot behind me. I immediately fell on the cold, solid, ground. Slowly, John Slivel; the gunman walked up to me. I started trembling while I stared into his cold eyes. Without thinking, I quickly got onto my knees and starting begging for mercy.


“Please don’t kill me!” I cried out loud “Just let me live for at least 3 more minutes!” He started laughing hard; really hard. “Is he going to kill me?” I asked myself.


“You knew nothing about me last year; how I got bullied and laughed at. Therefore, I will be taking revenge to those who made fun of me, today!” he finally said. He pointed his gun at me until he reached the door to exit. “I’m going to forgive you for now, but I’ll be back!” He said while walking out. I let out a relieved sigh and dragged myself near the window. I looked down and saw police squads running everywhere. I looked at my injured leg and saw blood rushing out. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t. I crawled around the classroom hoping to find a conscious person. I looked everywhere, but no one was found. Dead bodies lay across the classroom. I tried not to think about it, but horrifying moments kept popping in my head. People were running, teachers were yelling, students were screaming. Those were the most terrifying moments of my life. I started sweating like crazy, hoping a police officer would find me in this dense room. I tried not to think much about it, but it was hard. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I sat quietly in the small room. Blood kept dripping from my leg, but I didn’t care. My body was numb and I just closed my eyes hoping this was only a dream. When I opened my eyes, I heard loud footsteps coming near the classroom. I sat up thinking, “Are they back for me? Is my time up? Am I going to die?” When someone opened the door, I didn’t make a sound. All I heard was the clock ticking, my heart beating fast, and the footsteps coming near me.

“Anyone here?” I heard them holler. That was definitely not John’s voice. Could they be the officers or another assassin? I wanted to call out, but I was too frightened to. I stared at the bloody desk in front of me. I stayed silent for a while until I heard another gunshot coming from the science lab. Those footsteps ran out of the classroom right when they heard the sound. I knew I missed my chance, my chance of being saved. They were the police and they were here to save me. Now that they were gone, I might have to wait here for another hour or maybe even longer. Tears started running down my face. Why didn’t I just let John shoot me? Why did I beg for mercy? For the first time in my life, I felt lonely. I was always surrounded by my friends and family, but now I’m surrounded by dead bodies. Did John feel like this when he got bullied? I was always with my friends, so I never experience loneliness. If I was John, will I also be killing people right now? If I couldn’t hold the loneliness in, then would the same situation happen? What if I was John’s only friend, then would all of this happen? Those questions kept coming into my head. I felt bad for him, even though he killed so many people, but I still felt bad. All of a sudden, my mind went blank. Without thinking, I dragged myself out of the classroom as fast as I could and looked around the empty hallways. Where was everybody? I headed for the science lab. It took me about 10 minutes to get there with my injured leg. I opened the door and saw John’s dead body in there and police officers surrounding him. Who killed him? Did he commit suicide? What happened? One officer came up to me and helped me up. He started asking me questions that involved where I was, what I was doing, and why I came to the science lab. I answered him and I had a feeling he believed me. They put me inside the awesome looking ambulance and took me to the state hospital. Though, before I got inside this ambulance, I saw people mourning and some people cursing. Parents came to pick their child up and quickly left. While I was inside my little hospital room, I turned on the television and every single channel had the same news; the news about my school. They said John Slivel; the assassin, committed suicide. Right after I heard that, I started crying. I didn’t want him to die because I wanted to be his friend, his first friend.


Before I knew it, the only word that came out of my mouth was, “Sorry.”