I hear the gunshots. Up and down the hall, students fall to the ground, crying out in pain. I yelp as a sharp pain spreads throughout my leg. My friend pulls me into a classroom as a bullet whizzes by my head. It is kath, my best friend since before I can remember. We crouch behind the teacher’s desk. The fresh smell of wood polish fills the air. Three kids hurry to crouch next to us. I hear the shooter’s footsteps pounding down the hall. He must’ve followed them. I recognize the kids as Cam, Mark, and Eric. Cam grab’s Eric’s hand, her face pale. I watch in horror as the shooter enters the room. He has an AR-15. He has dark brown-I think- hair, a small beard, a red shirt, and hiking boots. I’m not sure what color eyes he has, he is too far away. I take this all in. If-no, when- we get out of here, we’ll need to describe him to the authorities. He must’ve shot half-maybe more, maybe less- of the student body. The shooter raises his AR-15. I see his finger rest on the trigger, as if it was meant to be there. As if he was born to shoot up innocent high schoolers. And I charge. Well, more like a fast limp. I jump onto his back and knock the gun out of his hands, which are scarred with previous wounds. He has done this before. He slams me against the wall, and I cry out in pain as my head makes contact with solid brick. Dots dance across my vision. I position my hands around his throat. Before I know it, he has the gun. He slings it over his shoulder and positions it over my heart. I will be just another person he has killed. Everything seems to go in slow motion. Kath cries out, and I spot Mark holding her back, his arms wrapped around her. The shooter positions his finger over the trigger, again, like it was meant to be there. Pain explodes throughout my body. My vision becomes hazy. I look down to see blood soak through my shirt. Kath cries out once more. But still, I hold on. To both his throat, and to life. I cannot let my death go in vain.
I’m going to die, I think. But I have to at least complete my mission. I tighten my fingers around his throat. He goes limp. And so do I. Kath crouches over my body and cries. Mark, Eric, and Cam join her. Crying for their hero. The shooter is dead, but at what cost? My life. That is the cost.
Realistic Fiction
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A well-written work – both immersive and suspenseful. It’s sad that this story could just have easily be categorized as non-fiction with the names changed to protect the victims. I like that you’re not afraid to write a piece with such a heavy message. Excellent work!
Thank you. I wrote this piece because I am sick of people debating whether to do gun laws or not. I believe that there should be no debating necessary, we need gun laws!