I watch silently as the gunman stands in the middle of the classroom with a pistol in his hands. He's shaking, so he's obivously either nervous or on an adreneline high. Both could mean fatal results. The rest of the kids in my 8th period class crouch on the floor; some entirely silent, others are weeping silently in a friend's arms. Another disadvantage. While I sit here under the desk, planning an escape, they sit here supposedly doing nothing. Great.
Ms. Plume, my widowed, somewhat elderly teacher, sits sweating in her swiveling chair. She's obviously near retirement(or past due), and has given up on the idea of dying her hair; letting it fade into a somehow beautiful gray color. The teacher has a tiny frame much like mine in her size, but she's more pixie-like than I. However, don't let her apperance fool you. She will yell up a storm with her pale pink mouth and isn't afraid to shoot you a blue, icey glare. In other words, she's one hell of a spitfire.
And then there's me. I'm only in 8th grade, but I feel a lot older than 14. Beware of what you say around me, because sometimes I'm more verbal that I think I am. I won't hesitate to snap your neck if you joke about things like suicide and self harm.. Those subjects hit too close to home. Other than that I'm a fairly decent person. I guess.
Enough of introductions. On to the story.
Like I said, the dude's standing in the middle of the room with a gun pointed at the kid next to me, who's already probably peed his pants. Or other. Either way, that stain won't be coming out in the first wash. I'm still sitting quietly, running a plan through my mind to save possibly the whole school. No biggie, right? Honestly feeling no fear here.. Ha ha. I'm bloody hilarious. I stare at our terrorist until he looks at me, probably burning a hole through his thrift store heavy coat. He's most likely lower middle class from what I can tell, or he's just a hipster. Maybe both.
"Whatchu lookin' at, punk?" Said possible hobo hipster breaks my train of thought. I must've burned too much of his jacket. Must be angry.
"You." I answer politely as I can to a guy who's just swung his crappy aim on me. What? I'm not gonna lie to the dude.
"Well find somethin' else to look at. I'm just here to get my money." The young man's accent tells me that he is definitely from a lower middle class neighborhood; all redneck slang. I resist the urge to wince(even though I'm not quite articulate myself) and shift my gaze to the floor. Maybe I can talk to distract him? Possibly.
"What's your name?" My tone actually sounds close to innocent.
"Why do you care?" The captator pops quite the attitude.
"Well if you're gonna kill me, I at least want to know who you are." After I murmer the words. he shakes his head and sighs; letting a tiny strand of blond hair fall from the ball cap that hides most of his features. Really, the only thing I can tell about him is his height. Let's hope my current deductions take me far. Still, the rest of my classmates are silent and unmoving.
"Fine. My name is Micheal. Happy?"
"Somewhat. You're a blond? That explains why you're attempting to hold a class full of innocent kids hostage for money." Once having realized that part of his hair had come down, he uses one hand to tuck the strand away. That's all I need. I leap up from underneath the table and easily twist the gun from his grip, knocking the fool down in the process. That's when I realize that he's actually really tiny, and isn't prepared at all. I also notice that the handgun's been on safety this whole time. Before he can recollect his thoughts, I take the weapon off safety and shoot him in the thigh so even if he does try to run, he won't get very far.
"Someone get the police from outside." I say quietly to my astonished classmates. Yeah, I'm that cool. But before any help can be gotten, a cold sensation burns at the back of my head. I look around the still quiet classroom and probably turn a few shades whiter. Our captators hat had fallen off, and turned out to be a look alike of Kurt Cobain. I look again and he doesn't have a face. Nobody had a face. I self conciously patted my shaking hands around where my mouth, nose, and eyes should be, but they're not there..
"WAKE UP YOU'RE GONNA BE LATE FOR SCHOOL." This yell startles me awake, causing me to fall off of my master's bed. Bright lights make me squint my eyes, and then I know that all was a dream and that I am a cat. Meow.
The End.
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sorry foo fighter fans but this rlly doesn't have anything to do with the song cx hope you liked it though!!
xoxo morgee
