Junk Box

Broken Pieces

Even now, your face is the only thing I can see.

In the pocket of my sweatshirt, concealed beneath the layer of a coat, a thick heavy burden rests, growing worse with each step I take.

My breaths come out short as I stare at the thick wooden door that leads to the auditorium, where the familiar cadence of the principal's voice echoes, reaching me even out here.

Once more, I touch the belt that hangs like a weight about my hip, the note that's tucked deep into the pocket of my jeans. They give me the strength that I need to fulfill what I've come here to do.

Carefully, I open the door, making sure to not alert anyone to my presence. I had turned the lights out everywhere except for in the auditorium for that very reason.

Carefully, I barricade the doors, making sure no one can make it out that way. The other exits I had already taken care of.

Carefully, I begin to walk down the steps, remembering every creak that they made when hundreds of students were walking across them. I stick to the shadows, hoping that everyone's attention is fixed on the stage.

"Good afternoon," I say dramatically, stepping onto the stage and leveling the pistol at my former principal. "I expect that you wouldn't mind my borrowing the microphone and stage for a bit."

He staggers back a bit, hand reaching towards his pocket. I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly what he's up to, anticipating it in fact.

"No use trying to contact the authorities," I continue, voice ringing through the sudden silence of the auditorium. "I made sure that cell service would not be possible today in this school."

I look out into the mass of students and teachers, searching for the reason I was here. I only see a cowering cluster of freshmen clinging desperately to each other as if that will save them.

"Now that I have everyone's undivided attention and a bit of uninterrupted time, I will get to the business I came here to conduct," I announce, stepping up to the abandoned microphone. "I'm going to set the gun down, but if I see anyone make a wrong move, I will not hesitate to pick it up and shot them."

The only sound is the sharp creak of a chair as some frightened person tries to squeeze themselves deeper into the scratchy padding of the seat.

Setting down the gun, I dig in my other pocket, finding the lined notebook paper that I had so carefully placed in there this morning.

I clear my throat as I unfold it with a crinkling noise. "I would like the following people to come onstage when I call their name. Do not take this as a request; it is most definitely an order."

I call out name after name, careful to pronounce them correctly and leave enough space between each name to allow the previously called person to make it to the stage.

The whole time, I only stumble once. The moment when I read your name. The last name I put on my list, wondering if it truly belonged there.

It's too late now though. I can see your body weaving its way seamlessly through the students, who let you through like you have the plague.

You make it to the stage, joining the crowd of students and staff, who blinked confusedly at me. They may not yet understand what's going on, but you know exactly what this is.

I pick up the pistol again, the grip molding to my hand, even as it grows heavier in my grip.

"I would like you to all make a row across the stage on your knees, facing away from the crowd, in the order that I called your name."