Snapped(ShortStory)

                I walked through the empty hallway, silence my only company. The cold, metal blue lockers hugged up against the still walls. I really didn’t have any business here. I was a student, but only that. As far as I’m concerned, life isn’t much of anything. Not mine, anyway. No friends, bullied, and battling depression. Yeah, it’s one hell of a life – just not the good kind.

                My parents were murdered when I was just a little boy at three years old.  I spend three years loving them, leaving the rest to spend missing, needing, them. But it doesn’t stop there. No one would take me in. About two years ago my current “family” adopted me, but who knows if it’ll last? Most think I’m too weird, but I think their fear just gets the best of them. Who really wants to adopt a teenaged, depression fighting, lost in life boy? I’ve answered that question myself over time.

                No one.

                I’m always waiting. Waiting for that day when I snap. Like a fragile twig in the dense forest, being stepped on by a wandering deer. I don’t know when it’ll be, or what I’ll do, but I have a feeling it’s going to be soon. Sooner than I’d want it to be. Than anyone would. It’s just a side-effect of a mix of losing the only people who ever cared about you, being bullied, and the side-effect of those – depression.

                I’m sixteen. For thirteen years I’ve lived in fear, fear of everything. I heard hushed sound coming from the end of the hall. From the class I should be in right now.  I opened the door, only slightly, to see what was going on. As usual, no one noticed me. Everyone was talking, the teacher wasn’t present. I leaned in to see what had been going on. The door could hold me, though, and it opened as I fell to the floor. Everyone stopped talking, and made even more noise by laughing. An array of insults hit me like a tidal wave. I heard many people among the crowd shout “freak.”

                A time bomb began to tick. It only had seconds – and not many. I could feel my body heat up as it was shaking. My heart beat thudded in my ears, disabling the hearing of anything else. I felt for my bag that always hangs from my shoulder. The only eye contact I made was with the floor as I cautiously opened it.

                Five.

                I dug around as I heard faint chants in the seemingly distant background. My heart sped up. Everything felt unreal. Like a dream.

                Four.

                I found what I was looking for. I kept my hand on it, firmly in place. I had gotten up from my place on the cold floor. A ticking formed noise in my mentality.

                Three.

                I took small, unsteady steps. The person in front of me was who I hated the most. He’s always been there. Always been better than me in every way, looks, popularity, everything… He’s the one. The one who started this bullied life for me.

                Two.

                I looked up. Slowly. Our eyes met, met with a mutual hate. The only difference was that I had a reason to; he didn’t. He spoke. Spoke the same type of words he always does. “What are you looking at, freak?” I smiled for the first time in years, without saying a word.

                One.

                I pulled out my hand from my bag. I pointed my pistol at his head, point blank range. “Nothing,” I remarked. I absorbed the look of fear in his cold eyes. It was the same fear I’ve dealt with for thirteen years. I pulled the trigger, everything seeming like minutes, but in reality, they were only seconds.

                The rich redness of blood splattered onto the desks around him. Everyone’s laughter ceased. No one moved. I directed the gun to my own head as I watched the heartless people around me, hoping they’d see what bullying really does. My finger was placed on the trigger, as it had been. I squeezed it, just barely, but enough.

                I snapped.

                Life isn’t much. Mine certainly wasn’t.