Bang.

    The bell rang, releasing them from their white-walled prison and freeing them out into the hallways. Some scurried to their next class, others to the lunchroom for their turn to dine on what was believed to be the disgusting remains of yesterday but morphed to look like something else. The school was filled with the chatter of bets for the upcoming football game, the latest gossip, complaints about any type of work, accusations of being singled out by a teacher, playful banter, and plans for the following weekend (even though the school week had barely begun that morning). Heys and see-you-laters were exchanged with small hugs given and hand signs thrown across the corridors.



    Out of one classroom, a large mass filed out, laughing and smiling as they exited. A mix of boys and girls continuing conversations, teasing each other, some holding hands or wrapping their arms around the waist of their companion. Following beside them was a visibly melancholy girl, purposely falling behind and watching as her friends continued on without her as if her presence in the group hadn’t mattered one way or another. She had expected this. Counted on it, even.



    And so she continued walking through the hall, slower than she normally did, taking in everything. The faded color of the lockers, the things written on them, the teachers standing outside their classrooms and greeting the students that sulked in, the laughs of people she knew only by name, despite having grown up going to the same school as them since kindergarten. She took in her reflection as she passed by the glass wall that windowed the outdoor atrium which housed flowers planted by the school’s Gardening Club and a statue of the school mascot paid for by the Student Council. She saw her stringy and unkempt hair that she hadn’t bothered fixing that morning after finding no reason to. She noticed the bad posture in which she carried herself through the school, the mismatched clothes she merely grabbed and tossed over her head. She gazed into her own eyes in the same manner as she had in her bedroom mirror before she headed out the door: with self-loathing and pitiful, but no sympathy. She didn’t care about the color, but the depth and message the color tried to unveil.



    She continued on.



    The cafeteria was filled by the time she finally arrived. Everyone was going on about their usual business. There were people in the lunch line with their food trays and groups that decided they weren’t hungry and took to just sitting at their table. She scanned the large room, finding everyone in their usual places, "their spots." Their seats in this place were just as much assigned as they were inside the classrooms. Her eyes finally fell upon the table which her friends (and, normally, she) occupied. She watched as they, too, went on as if she didn’t exist and paid no mind to the empty seat that usually belonged to her. She observed as a girl from a neighboring table waltzed over, asked if anyone was sitting in said seat, and walked away with a "no" and an available chair for her own friend.



    Her eyelids hooded, keeping her composure about her next action. Her plan. Slowly, she made her way to the aisle that separated one half of the lunchroom from the other and acted as a walkway for passing students with their food. No one walked through anymore, most people having already received their meal and seated, so she was alone in that space. She centered herself and gazed once more at the rest of the cafeteria’s population. She noticed some of the students stop and gesture towards her; heard some of them exchange to another that maybe she was going to do something funny. Maybe, she thought. It depended on their sense of humor.



    The volume had certainly lowered just a little bit, but those who just didn’t care continued with their previous affairs. So she reached underneath her untucked shirt and grazed the cold metal of the object between her skin and belted jeans before wrapping her fingers around it and pulling out a black pistol.

 

    The room was completely silent then.



    Eyes widened, breaths were sharply taken and withheld, bodies froze. Everyone stared at the gun held in the fragile hand of the girl, silently praying to God (despite that some of them had proclaimed themselves Atheists, because God wasn’t "cool") that they wouldn’t be involved in another Columbine. No one breathed, spoke, or made any sliver of sound in fear of being the first target. Those who recognized the girl tried to quickly recall if they had ever done anything mean to her, or maybe if they had done something nice for which they could be spared. The few moments ticked by like eternities as panicked thoughts ran in and out of the teenagers’ minds.



    The hand holding the pistol moved and the student body froze even more, their muscles more tensed and attached to their plastic seats. They watched in horror as the gun was raised in the air and aimed.



    She held it to her head and pulled the trigger.