SHOOT| ✓

Romeo & Juliet

I LEAVE IT FOR THE BIG FINALE.

My entire being is overwhelmed by the ovation and applause. The audience claps at the end of the final scene, and unbeknownst to them, this is my final scene. I'll make my grand exit and they'll adore me for it. I'll change their lives for the better.

The play was beautiful, I'll give it to Darcy, but I wasn't so sure if the tremors were the cause of Preeti's acting or my ominous thoughts–they terrify me. Especially the echoes of her voice at the back of my mind so tormentingly close to putting a stop to me, leading me away from the school, and myself for pushing it away.

I make a memo to tell Darcy that I love her sooner or later before I blow this to hell. Maybe I'll get to kiss her again like Juliet kissed Romeo just after he died.

I load the pistol, and because of all the cheering, nobody notices. Some part of me wishes they did, that by some miracle my arm will be twisted behind my back and someone will lug me off to the station, to my parents, to home. I pause, hopeful enough to give myself a chance that's torn away faster than I can balance myself on my two feet.

I guess nobody's ever really cared about anything but their own small worlds, too selfish to detect threats, and too naive to understand if I can kill one, I can kill many.

The first target is easy.

I don't mean to fire that bullet through Brandon's brain, but he's in the seat in front of me, and someone has to die first. Like Mercutio. Like Darcy's eyes–I can picture it, the glow dissipating into the thick, tense air. And it scares me more than anything.

It just so happens to be him. My hands shake when I pull the trigger, but my resolve doesn't. Right there and then, a loud blast of gunfire, blood gushing out of his head and pooling onto the floor when he falls over, lifeless. His eyes remain open and his jaw is slacked as if there was just something on the tip of his tongue.

It's blood now.

My hands tremble so much that the pistol slips out of my grasp and clatters on the floor. Chaos doesn't erupt immediately because nobody knows what that sound is. The applause slows, and heads turn in our direction, then lower. Brandon's fucking bleeding out.

And I'm the reason why.

I don't know why I'm in awe of my own creation. Why I can smile? Why I'm shocked with jolts of excitement; sickly sweet prickles starting at the base of my spine and engulfing me totally with their pleasurable stings.

I crouch and pick up the weapon again, staring at it closely. I stole it from Dad's safe when he left this morning and when Mom was too busy sobbing in the living room to notice that her son had stolen the keys to it.

Fuck. I'll shoot her too when I get home.

Lifting the weapon carefully, I find myself pointing it at the next person I recognize.

Katherine Jung: Pretty in pink. She had treated me like shit. Abandoned me when she was strong enough to resist all the stupid, stupid ridicule. Ridiculed me in the end.

I fire. I don't miss. Right below her ribs, then it's red everywhere.

Now there's havoc in the auditorium. Black fills the edges of my vision and the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat.

This is absolute violence. Absolute power. And I love it. Every aspect of it. I'm in control this time. I decide who lives and who dies.

I fire at everybody; anybody. Oh, they fear the boy with the gun, don't they? I'm the devil; the beast. Is God watching? Will he still forgive me? Shed his precious blood for me if I apologize?