Aster

Jamison Macario was declared dead at 12:35 pm, upon arrival of the EMS to Maneswood Elementary school. He had sustained a single bullet wound to the head. Just 3 days previous, Jamison had been sitting on his friend's trampoline under the stars, running his nails over the webbing of the plastic.

"You know what I think would be funny," his friend chuckled as she handed him a cigarette.

Jamison always wanted to refuse the cigarette, but he never had the guts to turn Ruth down on the offer. She had gotten him out of trouble a few years back. He felt indebted to her, even though she had practically forced him to steal that candy in the first place.

"You always hear about shootings in high school," Ruth continued, "but it's never in an elementary school. It's like they're pardoned from suffering, even though they're only like 5 years younger in some cases."

"And how is that funny?"

"I just mean it's ironic I guess. I'd like to see someone hit an elementary for once. Hey, maybe you should do it!" She chuckled some more and rolled over to him to take the cigarette back. She was joking about the request. He didn't take it as a joke.

Jamison felt a pang in his stomach and could do nothing but avoid eye contact with her. He knew he couldn't turn her down; he really wanted to turn her down.

"Stop being all weird," she gave him a shove, "I could even give you the gun to do it. Wouldn't that be just perfect?" She gently handed him the cigarette and slowly crept up onto her knees as if preparing for something. "The elementary is right by the school, you could just hop on over and-" she snapped herself around to face him and yelled, "BAM, BAM," mimicking the shape of a gun with her hands clasped together.

"Jesus, Ruth." His eyes darted for a moment around the backyard, and, in a low whisper, he tried to reason with her. "I'm sitting right here." He thought maybe the whisper would get through to her, but she didn't even seem to hear as she took the cigarette back. She never cared enough to stop the chaos.

A puff of smoke clouded his face and he tried to swat it away in disgust. Anxiety felt oddly similar to this situation. The idea of trying to push away the smoke was no different from trying to push away his worry, and it has the very same asphyxiating attack. Ruth could care less about Jamison's plea for composure but spoke before Jamison could fall too deep into a panic attack, "I gotta go to bed. I got soccer practice in the morning. Take this, though, before I go."

It was the gun she had mentioned earlier. It was heavy, five bullets, used only once. She had shot a pigeon that tried to take her little sister's sandwich.

"I'll take it back in a few days once you've done the deed." she winked at him and hopped off the trampoline, heading in the back door to her house.

Jamison shoved the gun in his bag as fast as he could and tried to shake the memory of learning how to use one with his dad. He might have only been 8, but he remembered it as clear as ever.

The next day at lunch he went to go scope out the elementary school. Some kids were playing at recess, so he hid behind a concrete retaining wall and watched the kids laugh and scream as they got tagged.

"Who are you?" A little girl popped her head around the far edge of the wall with a smile.

He startled backward, mildly alarmed by the way her long curly hair gave her the look of a lion. "My name's, uhh," his brain paused long enough on a bright purple aster flower by his feet to realize that he shouldn't reveal his real name. Anonymity is important for committing crimes. "Umm, you can call me Aster."

"Hi, Aster. I just started kindergarten this year, and I just turned 6 years old last month." It was always that two-part introduction, whether it be talking to her grandmother on the phone or this random high school boy during recess, she was so proud to be starting "real" school and especially proud of being one of the older kids in her class.