It was Friday. 1:28 pm. There was only twelve more minutes before the end of class. I was excited. I could be free from the pressure and judgment of my peers for just a couple days. I could be home, being as lazy, fat and happy as I want. I'm in seventh grade, and we had finished presenting our projects we had been thinking about entering into the
science fair. My project was based on how cars could run on fuel made from crops such as corn. But that's not a terribly important detail. What mattered was the final project. The last project of the day, finished at around 1:25. It was made by this girl named Madison, Williams. I didn't think much of her. Or her incompetent project on the growth of mold on strawberries. But it was the end that had untethered me. She had decided to hand out "cute" little smily face stickers. They were nothing special. They were about as big as a quarter, they each were a generic yellow, with an extremely generic smile and eyes on it. Resembling that of a social media app. Every student was given a sticker like this. One at a time. After about three minutes of waiting, Madison had walked in front of my desk and handed me a sticker with a peel on the back. As she handed me it, she looked at me and smiled. I didn't want to seem anything out of the ordinary, so I had smiled back. One fake show of happiness to the other. Wonderful. Once she had moved on to the next desk, I had began to inspect the sticker more closely. It had a smooth plastic top cover, and the yellow of the face was outlined in black. I turned it over. It had a paper back, the part that protected the sticky glue back until peeled and placed. I looked over to some of my neighboring classmates. One of them had placed it on there forehead to be comical. I didn't know the child's name. Idiots. All of them. I hated every single one of these unintelligent monkeys. They meant nothing to me. As the present day court jester continued his little show, I had heard one of the students watching muttered:
"Rob you know you when you stick someplace than you can't put it any where else."
I stopped listening at this point and let my mind start wondering. When you place your sticker, than that's it. It can't properly go anywhere else. That's it. You decided that stickers fate. You are in complete control of the what happens to that sticker. You play its god. But. Who are you? Or who am I, to decide what happens to that little sticker? To play the role of a deity? To lose all of your sense of restraint, and be and all controlling god? To let your self be completely washed and filled with the power and magnificence. To be in complete control with ungodly, no, godly power. Who?
......
I know who.
I am it's god.
I am the one in control.
Who would dare stop me.
Who wouLD DARE STOP.
STOP ME.
A GOD.
NO ONE.
NO ONE CAN.
No one... Will.
Paul had stood up, and walked away from the few bound hostages. You see, shortly after he had gained his god complex from the simple act of thinking. He had went home and prepared. When he came back to school, he returned with his fathers hunting rifle. From his fathers gun cabinet, along with his pistol he keeps near the bed for home defense. Now of course, when Paul confronted his mother and father about the guns, they had denied him. Paul had gotten enraged, and had grabbed the nearest kitchen knife and slashed his fathers throat. His mother had started to scream, but Paul quickly put her down. Along with the guns filled with an excessive amount if ammo, he had concealed six gallons of gasoline in his backpack, along with a couple of rolls of industrial ductape. Around second period, Paul had pulled the gun, and just twenty minutes later, he had the door barricaded, a corpse lying around, and all twenty two students bound and gagged. The teacher was shot in the head. Along with the six gallons of gasoline emptied onto the floor, students and himself.
I did it. I... Did it.
Paul looked over all the hostages he had taken. He walked over to and squated down next to Madison. Than he caressed the side of her face.
Th- thank you. M-Madison.
Y-You have been... Th-The beginning to something... Great.
Madison made an muffled scream cry from under her gag and struggled against her restraints. Paul stood up and walked to the center of the room, past the murdered teacher with a hole in her dead and gasoline soaked clothing. Paul had taken out the lighter he concealed in his pocket, it has the sticker on it. Paul could hear the hostage associator desperately trying to strike a deal with Paul. But Paul doesn't care. He has a purpose.
I will be returning to this world... As.. As a god.
And at this point, Paul had clicked the flint, and ended it all.
