𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓼𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷
—𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦—

     𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 never seemed to stop made Brent's head spin. Not only were they close, but they were excessive and kept on coming. He had counted how many gunshots there were so far, coming up with a total of thirty-four. The shooter had only made it down two hallways, and had already hit all four classes the hallway contained. And thankfully, he had made it to the first hallway in search for his friends.

He couldn't breathe as deeply anymore, his throat was throbbing. It was merely minutes after he had escaped, and time wasn't moving nearly as fast. He wasn't relieved in the slightest, only finding more worry as the clock ticked slowly.

"Is anyone in here?" Brent asks, looking through the window of the first room. It was dark inside, the only light showing through the window. Brent took the silence as an okay, slowly creaking the door open. "Claire?"

Still, there was no response. Claire had repeatedly talked about her second period class, mostly about how she and Braylin weren't able to get away with anything due to the strict teacher. Brent was positive this was her class, but wasn't so sure is she had already made it out of the building, or was hiding away with Braylin.

Brent could feel a gag rising as his eyes found a body on the floor, surrounded by a pool of blood. His eyes watered at the side of the gaping hole in Parker Anderson's soccer jersey from the previous year. Parker wasn't moving, which set him off. How could a human being do something like this?

At the sight at Claire Rose's stiff body, though, he found himself sinking to his knees. His friend— one he had known for years— lied lifelessly on the cold tile. Claire's chest didn't rise and fall like it should have, it wasn't rising at all. A bullet wound had pierced through her chest, leaving an endless stain of blood on her white hoodie. It was hard to process for Brent, his mind taking him back.

He could remember her vividly the previous day, bragging about how she had gone the morning without digesting even a gram of sugar. Her red hair had been pulled into a loose bun, and her eyes were bright as he had stood outside with her. How she had been talking with Odette that morning. Claire wasn't gone, no— she couldn't be.

"No no no," Brent shakes his head, choking on his ragged breaths. "B-but you were here."

He could feel something building within his chest, and a headache setting in. He had taken too much for the day. The boy had seen too much for a teen, for anyone. And he certainly wasn't sure how to deal with it.

So he didn't.

Instead of doing any of the things he wanted to, Brent shoves himself from the floor, swallows his emotions as he leaves the room. He had to find Odette now, before it was too late for her, too. With that thought, he found himself pacing a little faster.

He moved to the second hallway, where he expected Odette to be hiding in her second period classroom. But he was shocked as he could no longer hear the sound of gunshots. As he looked around the corner, he found something unexpected— Odette and August Teegan standing outside of the English room.

A gun was in August's hand, and Odette seemed to be calming him. Brent held his breath, listening closely as she talked.

"But why this?" Odette asks him, her voice cracking. "Why, August?"

Brent could tell that she was crying by her tone of voice, his heart breaking. At the moment, she was okay, but he was terrified for her safety. At any moment, August could snap and shoot her like he had done with so many others.

"This— this place . . . " he grits, gesturing around the two, "is just nothing, Odette. I've seen things that no one else has, and I'm tired of it."

"So you decided that this was the way to go?" Odette demands, louder this time. "You have murdered so many people, August! You could've gotten help!"

"From who?" August laughs, not an ounce of amusement laced within. "Who would have helped me? A school counselor that would've sent me off? My dead mother?"

"Me!" the girl yells. "Me! I would have helped you, sat up with you every single night to make sure that you were okay. It doesn't matter what you've been through. This will always be too much. Can't you see what you've done here?"

"They aren't suffering anymore," he tells her. "That's the biggest favor anyone could do."

"Killing children is a favor?" Odette questions him, almost whispering as her bottom lip quivers. "I . . . I think you should put the gun down, August. Come with me, we can get you the help you need."

August grits his teeth, running his hands through his blonde curls with anger. He shakes his head, convinced all too well that what he was doing was relieving the students from their pain.

From his pain.

And from Odette's pain.

August stopped abruptly, Brent's heart stopping in the process. He clutched the gun  little tighter, before bringing it to her chest and resting it there.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, his eyes finding hers that shined brilliantly with tears, "but I know what's right, and I won't let you stay here to suffer."

And then he pulled the trigger, not feeling one ounce of remorse as she fell to the ground. Brent yelled out, launching himself from his spot to save her. But how could he? She was gone the instant he pulled the trigger, and there was nothing Brent could do about it. Because no matter how hard he yelled, she would never come back to him.

He wouldn't get to tell her that he loved her, more than just the way a boy loved his best friend. He was in love, and he never had the chance to open up and tell her everything he had been feeling. Brent didn't get to tell Odette how he thought her hair made her eyes look even more beautiful than they were, or ask her to prom, or even get to watch the movie with her that he had wanted to.

Odette wouldn't get to grow old with her friends, to see her father who worked hard every day to support her. She wouldn't get to go off to college, or walk down the aisle in white like she had always dreamed of. And she most definitely wouldn't get to tell Brent that she loved him too.

Brent choked out a sob as he kneels on the floor beside her, grasping her pale face between his now bloody hands. Odette's hair fell gracefully around her, giving the illusion of an angel. Her eyes were closed— she looked asleep and peaceful. He couldn't stand to look any longer, his eyes finding August with the fury and terror that welled within him.

And before anything else, as the police and ambulance sirens rang outside of the building, August Teegan made his final decision.

He placed the gun to his own temple, stared Brent Florian in they eyes, and pulled the trigger one last time.

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙉𝘿.

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