Teacup and Bullets

 

I didn’t see what happened. All I knew was that someone had kicked down the front row of canvases, the one with me in it. The solid wooden frame and the canopy of white covered me, the smoking hand of God keeping me safe. For now.

 

My heart made its way to my throat and my high pitched scream joined the others as Joe’s hand let go of mine and I was left all alone in the surreal world of white. “Shut up!” The person, whose identity remained a mystery, yelled, quietening us. “You little bitches! Never, ever, shut the f***k up!” His voice was the only tether to what was happening, the only thing that kept me posted. I heard whimpering, the sound as close to hopelessness and downright fear you could get.  There was the sound of a canvas hitting the floor and then a cry. “Let go of me!” I felt my blood run cold. I recognised that voice, even distorted by fear.

 

Amelia Kendall. 17. Pretty enough. She was nice. She smiled in the hallway and picked up your books if you dropped them. I had talked to her once. She liked Doctor Who. I liked her.

 

“Don’t tell me what to do, you little brat!” There was another cry. I felt my feet start to go numb, a side effect of the awkward position I was in. “Please! PLEASE!” Tears stung my eyes and I bit my lips, locking in a scream that would never be screamed.

 

In movies, when people die, there’s always some kind of sound in the background. Whether its music or talking or the sounds of a battle, silence is never a proper goodbye for even the most minor character.

 

Amelia deserved better.

 

I heard the sound of a gunshot. It was louder than you would think and it made my brain shake as if I was at a club (not like I would know). Then there was the grotesque splattering, the sound of flesh hitting walls. I knew she was dead.

 

My heart raced, out running common sense, leaving me with a bundle of fear and panic. This couldn’t be happening.  “Who the hell’s next?” The stranger’s voice spat. There was more whimpering now, isolated in pockets around the room. Miss Keith hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t saved poor Amelia from getting her brains blown out.

 

Great teacher.

 

I focused on the blue splodge of plaint that I was facing. The smell of fresh paint and wet clay was spilling through my nostrils.

 

And then there was the blood.

 

In books they say blood smells copper, tinny. Like a coin. I can tell you now that it doesn’t.

 

It smelled like rotting petrol. But it had this wet kind of smell to it to, like black water. The combination of the two made my eyes sting.  I heard him talking again, but I tried to zone it out, I tried to focus on something, anything else. Anything was better than cold, hard reality, bitch slapping you in the face. Oh, shit! I couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening. The world went off mute and the crazed words of our attacker broke through my though barrier. “Freaking, Christian are we?” There was a whimpering sound. “ANSWER ME!” Those words, so often used in casual life, were yelled from the back of his throat, it was the sound the devil makes when his laughing. “I am! I am. Please! Please don’t do to me what you did to Amelia!” what you did. Past tense.

 

There were sobs breaking his voice, the raw sound of futile hope. Maybe, just maybe he would be spared. I recognised that voice, too. The finality of that fact sent wet tears splattering the floor.

 

Danny Jefferson. 18. He was a jock. Danny was cruel and mean and I didn’t like him ever since he put gum in my hair in third grade.  That didn’t mean I wanted him to die.

 

“Why don’t you ask your f****n’ God that question.” I heard the sound of horror that came from the base of Danny’s throat. He was going to die and he knew it. Inevitably there was the sound of a gunshot.  Silence, broken only by the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. Danny.

 

He laughed. That man just laughed. Someone dies and he was laughing.

 

Before I knew what I was doing, I crawled out of my hiding place, my canvas making a ‘thump’ as it hit the floor. The scene around me was one of a horror movie. There were clumps of students scattered all around the room. I saw Danny’s body, slumped near the back wall, blood oozing out of the whole in his shirt. I saw what was left of Amelia; her body was untouched but her face. Oh God her face.

 

The hot burst if anger had left me, alone with a crazy idea and the horrible impracticality of things actually going to plan. If I even had a freaking plan. Shit, shit, shit.

 

“Oh, Hello sweetie.” The words sent shivers up my spine. “Where have you been hiding?” His voice was deceptively sweet, like his face. They sounded fine but there was something just a little bit off.  My voice had been robbed; last seen somewhere between my voice box and my stomach. The unimaginable fear was overwhelming and I felt my knees start to give way. The man, whoever he was, was looking at me, his big dark eyes, sizing me up. I could see the thinly veiled anger hidden there.  “I…” That’s all I could get out. I looked at the small gun he had in his hands. He walked up to me; from the opposite side of the room were the undignified remains of Amelia lay splattered in the world’s sickest art piece. He stopped, so close I could see the start of stubble scratching on his chin. His breath stank of pizza. “Aw, don’t be shy.” One of his hands went to cup my face. “You’re cute.” He told me. I remained frozen. This was definitely not the plan. “Shame.” My heart sped up; pumping blood to my head and making me go dizzy. My feet stayed glued to the floor and my hands stayed stiff at my side even when the cold pressure of the gun barrel on my temple. My brain couldn’t process what was happening; I couldn’t cope with death when it showed itself in such a brutal way. I whimpered. “Please.” I whispered. “Please. I don’t want to die.” My voice broke at the end and I was angry at myself for being weak. “Yeah, well, life’s a bitch.” I shut my eyes and waited for the loud ‘bang’ of a gunshot to signal my death.