Outcast

Birthday Boys: Chapter 3: April 30th

Bodies littered the classroom.

His friends, classmates, and teacher all littered with bloody bullets.

Pico was shoved by that unmistakable shadowed figure onto the ground, face first. He hardly had a moment to turn back around to see what hit him before a shot was heard. His entire body shifted to his left, a strong and stinging pain ripped through his shoulder.

A scream managed to escape his hyperventilating lungs, as he could feel blood begin to pool under his body. Face down, Pico tried to pull himself to his knees as best as he could, his vision starting to blur from either the tears or pain, he was unsure. The bodies in his line of sight seemed to warp, as he collapsed. His right hand gripped onto his gaping wound in his shoulder, feeling the tingling warmth begin to spread to the rest of his body.

He was bleeding to death.

Managing to take in a stuttering breath, Pico pulled his hand back to see it completely covered in the metallic red liquid that drained from his body. His heart raced, trying to pump more blood to his starving organs but in return making him bleed out faster. He tried to apply pressure to the wound, but it was hopeless. It punctured through his body, and he couldn't stop both of the holes in his shoulder from draining.

A wicked and conniving laughter echoed through the classroom. Pico gathered the strength to lift his head to see who was responsible. Those unmistakable pointed hair, like the devils' horns, greeted him in a silhouette.

"Poor little Pico..."

It taunted. The voice sounded like two people speaking at once, a higher and lower pitch at the same time. In its hand the ginger could clearly see the outline of a weapon from his blurry vision. Pico started to shake, as his body's endorphins were starting to kick in. He could feel his limbs start to go numb, as the puddle under him became thicker with his blood.

"This is your fault..."

Pico tried to swallow, only managing to make himself feel nauseous in the process. "N-N..." He tried to speak out in denial, but his shaking was making it so difficult for him to speak without stuttering. Even through his blurred vision, he could see the shadow begin to move pointing the gun at him. The aim was at his head, this time. He started to feel the cold wrap of death inching onto his person, as he couldn't hold his head up anymore.

His breathing was shallow and slow, as he tried to keep his eyes open. "St... Sto... Ngh..." He pleaded, trying to allow him the peaceful moments of life that were left in his deathly pale body. The slow ache of his weak pulse echoed in his ears as blaring bright red eyes lit up the face of the monster responsible for this massacre.

"If only you weren't such a faggot...!"

The last thing he heard was a gunshot going off.

~ O ~

"Ahh!"

The flash of blue and white lit up his room as a rumble of thunder boomed loudly.

Keith startled awake by the sound, his entire body shivering with the growl of the noise outside. A cold sweat gathered on his neck, as he placed a hand on his thundering chest to help control his breathing. A stuttering pant escaped his lungs, fear gripping his heart from the sounds of the thunder outside. A horrid feeling settled over his body, one that was all too familiar but at the same time very different.

He always hated thunderstorms.

Ever since he was young, they always gripped him in a near immobilizing fear. He remembers when he was younger, he would cry out for his parents and hide under the covers for shelter. His father would need to carry him into the safety between him and his mother in their bed. Even then, he still didn't feel very safe, but better than being alone in his room.