The Boy's Problem

They all stopped talking, and looked over to the other end of the waiting room, wondering what had been the loud noise.

“Did someone break the glass?” said an overweight middle-aged woman.

“I think that was a plane outside decompressing” some man said, obviously making it sound like he knew what he was talking about, when he was really just making things up.

“That was a shot” another man said “someone has a gun.”

He didn’t have to carry on talking to convince them: a 9mm bullet sprang out of the pistol, flew across twenty metres of the waiting room, punched through a nearby woman’s arm and speared into the man’s mouth.

Blood sprayed onto the people behind him. The man fell to the floor, and died as he did so. Some people stood paralyzed, looking at the body.

A very long second passed, and people’s instincts to survive slowly kicked in. The room, full of almost fifty people, suddenly became turmoil of people running, screaming and pushing each other out of their own selfish way.

Not seconds later, a third bullet flew into a young man’s face. His piercings, tattooed skin and brains were sent all over the place: but no one stood around to observe this.

No one had time to get to safety by the time all the bullets left the pistol’s magazine. Too many people were trying to leave the small door at the same time.

The boy holding the gun stood there, looking at the empty weapon. But it was only a few seconds before he started searching the dead security guard for another refill. And only a few seconds again until he found a second magazine in the utility belt stained with the guard’s blood.

The gun punched out another bullet, this time into a man’s guts. Another bullet was sent flying through the room, this time into someone else. Then another, and another, and another.

A short while passed and the boy stood there, immobile. The bullets had all finally been used: the dead security guard had no more magazines to offer. So the boy just stood to the side of the room, alongside his new piece of art.

The room was now deserted, apart from the dead bodies, but he had made the most of the half minute he had spent with his victims.

A second security guard had been struggling to run past the terrorized crowd, but had finally reached the door. Without hesitation, the guard lifted his pistol, and shot five shots, hitting the boy thrice. One final dead body was added to the room.

The few remaining people stood terrified in the hall, crying, shouting and still worrying about their lives.

“Why would someone do something like this?” someone asked.

___________________________________________________________________________

‘They’ as I call them.

These... people. They’re everywhere.

They sweat, they eat, they laugh with their mouths full and they look at you and judge you. They’re all stupid. They’re disgusting. They watch television while they eat. They even eat in their cars. They take no care of themselves. They’re all Obese.

I can see them all in this room, frantically trying to be the first on the plane, as if it were going to leave without them. Their repulsive minds believe that they deserve everything they have, and they all still want more. They’re completely controlled by Greed.

They expect everyone else to do their work and to fulfil their needs. I can see four or five of them harassing and shouting at this girl, as if it were her fault that the plane’s slightly delayed. They’re the same kind of people that complain and rage if the line waiting for hamburgers is too long. These people are Lazy and Angry.

You just have to watch their TV to understand how they are. Each and every advert shows supposedly beautiful women and men in order to sell each product. The adverts portray beautiful and happy families, because these fat, greedy, lazy and angry people wish to death that they had these imaginary lives themselves. They’re all Jealous.

These people continuously read stories about how the world is coming to an end: one week it’s disease, another week it’s immigration or war. And they all blame the poor government who does everything it can to please them. They are full of Despair.

I know I’m not perfect. My main fault is my Pride; that goes without saying. I’m proud who I am, I am more than proud of what I do and how I live my life.

I’m too proud to let these people live like this.

I hate them.

I HATE THEM.

___________________________________________________________________________

The young air hostess peeked out into the room from behind her counter. The air had a hint of burning to it, along with the strong smell of blood and sweat.

After having worked for the commercial air line over five years, this young woman had lived through thousands and thousands of complaints and shouts, and even though she always had tried her best, she was only offered complete ungratefulness. She had observed how everyone claimed to be in a rush, and how everyone seemed to think that they deserve more.

She looked over to the boy, who was lying face down with the gun beside him.

More than a dozen of the people that had been pushing, shoving, shouting and eating just minutes ago were now lying in an extending pool of dark red blood.

“Well that shut them up” she muttered, as a faint smile formed on her lips.