𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓻
—𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦—

      𝓑𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷 at the highlighted textbook, his focus wavering from the short test prep for only a moment. He looks over to Carter, a nervous expression on his face as he worries about his future test grade. Despite always studying, it was normal for him to have the jitters, only for them to be useless as he ends up passing. In his account, feeling overconfident always led to a disaster.

Carter chuckles as he shakes his head, running his fingers through his auburn hair. It seemed like he had dressed up for the day, and Brent silently guessed it was for the movie after school. Brent always had a weird gut feeling that suggested Carter had taken a liking to Claire with the more time they spent together. But he would wait until later on to ask Carter— he was way too caught up in the moment.

"You shouldn't worry so much," Carter leans over to tell him. "You always end up doing it for nothing."

"Worrying helps me in the long run," Brent says. "I always end up with a decent grade, don't I?"

"You and I both know you miss a few questions for a reason," the other chimes. "So what's so bad about missing them non-purposefully, and getting the others right?"

Brent opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by the most fearful scream he had ever heard in his eighteen years of existence. He thought, at first, that he had been uninformed of an early senior prank, or an extreme lock down drill. His eyes found Carter's, and the whole classroom grew silent. And in an instant, four gunshots— all of them one after another— had sounded from the end of the hallway.

"Get to the corner!"

Their teacher rushes to lock the door as everyone else frantically moves to the assigned lock down spot. Brent immediately understood that this wasn't a senior prank, or even a drill. More screams erupted, as well as the sound of another gunshot and the shattering of glass. This time, though, they were closer.

Carter and Brent crouched down close to each other, Brent squeezing his eyes shut. This wasn't real, was it? This had to be some sort of a joke— Lincoln High was one of the most secure schools in Virginia, and there was a small possibility someone with a weapon could get inside. Brent couldn't process anything other than the repeated screams and shots that only got closer and closer.

Some of his classmates had pulled down desks to hide behind, while others had taken to the teacher's desk. Brent and Carter were safe behind a desk with one of their mutual friends, who sobbed uncontrollably as she whispered to her mother over the phone. She murmered the words "I love you" repeatedly, burying her tear-stained face in her knees.

Pure terror swept over the whole class as footsteps neared the door, few students pulling out their phones to call their parents or to record their possible last moments. Brent only prayed that his mother and sister knew that he loved them, even though he had told them that morning. Carter placed his hand on Brent's shoulder, giving him a short nod as the door handle moved.

"Just in case we don't make it out of this classroom," Carter starts softly, his eyes watering. "It's been good knowing you. And it was an honor to be your best friend."

"You, too," Brent replies, his voice cracking under the weight of the moment.

This was it, this could be the moment he died. Someone had his life in their hands, and they wouldn't be hesitant with the decision to take it. This was a nightmare, and Brent ached to wake up from it. But pinching his skin no longer worked.

The first shot into their class pierced through the window in the door, glass shards hitting the floor as a few call out in terror. And then the rapid shots came, the shooter's gun peaking through the emptiness— a place where glass should be. The first bullet landed in the chest of a boy Brent recognized; one who had studied with him in the library merely a week ago.

He fell to the floor with a grunt, two girls going down with him from where they hid in the corner. Blood began to pool around the areas around them, and Brent realized one of the girls were still alive. She cried in agony, clutching the wound in her chest as she begged for someone to help her. The blood dampened and changed the color of her blonde hair that was pulled into a ponytail.

Brent knew that this was the moment he was going to remember forever. He would have nightmares, reliving everything he had just witnessed. He wanted to move over to the girl to help as soon as the shooter had left the doorway and moved on, but he couldn't move. His legs were stiff, and he seemed to be glued in his spot.

The screams still echoed of the walls, the gunshots ringing out from a new hallway. And then Brent's mind went to Odette and Claire. Carter was shaking beside him, tears rolling down his cheeks as he hugged his chest tightly.

"We . . . we need to get out of here," Brent stutters, barely managing to get through the words. "Claire and Odette are out there, we have to make sure they're okay."

"I can't breathe," Carter chokes out, shaking his head as his tears continue to fall. "This can't be real, this isn't happening."

The teacher and several other students had already yanked the first aid kit from the wall, and began tending to the girl's wounds. Others sat beside the two bodies, crying for their lost friends. Brent couldn't cry, though, he couldn't feel anything. He wanted to cry so badly, to lean back onto the wall and cry until he couldn't anymore. But there was nothing— only a scratchy throat and the will to deny any evidence that this was truly happening.

Brent looked to Carter for a short moment, making a quiet decision. He breaks away from his stiffness, urging his limbs to relax as he stands on his shaky legs. With a determined face, Brent marches over to the door, unlocks it— despite the yelling of others to not— and opens it just enough so that he could get into the hallway.

He closes the door behind him, his eyes tracing the hallway where a single body lays. Brent could stand to see the body of the freshman, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Brent moves over to the boy that no longer breathes, kneeling down beside him. He closes the boy's eyes, and pulls his jacket off to cover him.

Brent stands up, staring down for a moment as his tears finally began to fall.

Bit he couldn't wait too long— he had places to be and people to save.

_______