Teacup and Bullets

 

At first there was the most horrible silence I had ever experienced. No one moved, no one spoke and no one dared to breathe. It could be that on the other side of the door was the person giving the all clear, and we were freaking out about absolutely nothing. But something told me that whatever was on the other side of that door sure as hell wasn’t nice. Everyone had identical expressions of horror on their faces and everyone seemed to be close to tears. For one second it seemed as if the world was holding a giant cosmic breath and everything was statue still and deadly quiet. Then there was the guilty sound of a lock breaking and the door rammed into the wall. They can’t see us. I prayed. They can’t see us. The problem with that is that I couldn’t see them either. The only clue that they were in the room with us was the ‘clud’ of rubber soled shoes on the plaint splattered plastic floor of the art room.  It was the quietest I had ever heard my class, the silence, usually so comforting, seemed wrong.

 

I couldn’t tell you what went through my mind seconds before that moment. I can’t explain what pointless thoughts flitter through your paralysed brain when the impossible moment of death comes to conflict with good, solid reality. All I know, all I remember, is the warm touch of Joe’s hand squeezing mine before my world broke a part and the words ‘run-for-your-freaking-life’ actually made sense.

 

***

 

I froze. It was the first time in my life when my brain’s communication tower shorted out and it was left to my body to figure things out. The knock, that impossible knock, was like the sound the grim reaper makes when it’s telling you your time’s up.

 

 I saw the knob moving just in time to duck in a chemicals cupboard, the dim shadows and flimsy walls seeming like four feet thick steel. There was a small window at the very top of the door and I stood on a box labelled ‘dangerous chemical’s’ to see out of. The reception wasn’t great, the glass wasn’t ideal to look through and it made everything look dull but it was something. I saw a short guy with a black beanie and red hear spilling out of it. He looked young and I would have thought harmless if it wasn’t for two things. The pyscho look in his beady eyes and the automatic hand gun in his hands. Predominately it was the gun. From my vantage point I could see my peers as well and each one of them looked as if they were going to wet their pants. The man, or boy, was slowing pacing around the room. He knew everyone was there; he was just enjoying making them wait. He was feeding on the fear. And then he wasn’t. Suddenly, too suddenly he was kicking down the row of desks where Millie and everyone else in my row were hiding. There was screaming. Oh, God was there screaming. An instinct inside of me told me to go and help but fear kept me still. Kept me weak. “Shut your f***n’ pie holes!” Everyone was immeadiantly silent. Our teachers should try that approach. Not the time, Daman! I was just thinking that the saying deadly quiet has never been more apt when the sound of sobbing cracked the silent cage. “Who’s crying?!” This guy seriously needed anger management. “I thought I told you to shut up!” I heard something tinkle at the back of the cupboard. I turned, my heart beating a rapid tattoo in my chest. It was just my zipper knocking against one of the beakers. I would always look back on the moment and wish I hadn’t turned around. That moment, like many others sure to come, would be associated with pain and guilt and regret and frustration. I turned back to the glass only to see Millie’s head explode across the classroom, a single bullet stopping an innocent life and painting the classroom in blood.

 

                                                                                            

 

                                                                                              ***

 

“Go away!” Someone from across the room yelled. “Where hiding!” We, that is the class and I, laughed. The sound echoed around from under desks where people were hiding.  “And I’m seeking.” The smile slid off my face as the sound of a door being kicked open met my ears and the people in my class screamed.

 

The word ‘scream’ is overused these days. It’s in books and in movies and newspapers and on the TV. It’s everywhere.  But the sound I heard at that moment, that was screaming.

 

A dude, a simple guy, walked in amongst us cowering students, strutting like he was the God of this educational dump. “Shut up!” Another scream, not of fear, of anger.  Immeadiantly silence brushed the classroom.  I knew he could see us but I still stayed quiet. Maybe if I pretend I’m not there, he won’t notice me. The guy, who was pretty tall, thumbed the trigger on his automatic hand gun. Oh, shit. “Now. You know I know where you are.” His voice was deceptively calm. He paced around the room and I kept track off him by following his conversed feet. At least he has style. He stopped right in front of where Jonny and I were hiding. “So the only question left,” He kicked the desk above us, exposing our cowering forms. My heart thumped to loudly and the room blurred as I felt a hand grab my collar and my feet left the ground. There was screams and I could feel something cold knock into my temple. “Who do I kill first?”