(Required listening: Youtube doesn't have these songs anywhere that I know of, so you have to download them and play them with something that supports .ogg)
(https://raw.githubusercontent.com/yogstation13/Yogstation/master/sound/misc/highlander_delayed.ogg)
(https://raw.githubusercontent.com/yogstation13/Yogstation/master/sound/misc/highlander_only_one.ogg)
(If you're a coward just play music from the Highlander movie or something)
Your school day is interrupted by a strange sound.
The song of bagpipes echoes, distant and directionless, over highlands unseen.
The sound infects your ears and reaches into your mind...
You feel a roosh of praid ta be a Scotsman.
An jus behin tha', ye feel a parrful cravin fer the blood o those undeservin o the Scotsman name.
Ye grip yer num'er twae pencil, tighter 'n ye've ever held onta anythin. Ye lif it oop an fore ye knoo it, it's turn'd inta a soord, the sharpes and mos finely-craf'ed claymore ye've e'er laid eyes 'pon.
Ye look aboot ye, an yer class an even yer teacher 'as all doon the same. They're all ready ta fight ye fer the honor of the Scots.
Wid tha, the saren song o' the bagpipes hits a crescendoo.
A rush of po'er, conviction and fahre rooshes through ye, an ye bel out a craye o war togeth'r wid all yer foes!
**"THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE"**
The red fog parts from you gradually as the new quiet sets in, and you let your grip on your claymore relax, letting it fall to your side, though not out of your hand. You're drenched in blood, and your throat and ears both ache with your own screams and those of all the rest.
And yet, the horror of it all doesn't quite hit you, just like the pain of your wounds. Your workspace is a desolated battlefield. Desks are toppled, bodies lie divided from their heads, claymores still grasped tightly in rigor mortis. Half of these are your own kills. There's a notch on your blade for each one, carved into place for you as you hacked apart your weaker workmates.
It brings a tear to your eye. Beautiful... triumph.
Police sirens are heard from outside, calls for the fighters (plural?) to surrender. You raise your blade once more – you'll keep fighting until no one challenges you any longer.
The bagpipes' song has changed to celebrate you, you, the Only One. The truest highlander.
When all's done, the throne of Scotland will be yours.
YOU ARE READING
Disconnected Ramblings
Short StoryWherein a wannabe-author publishes from the long list of almost all of their short stories since 2017, because a friend told me to. Critique, feedback, etc. is appreciated. They're in approximately chronological order, starting from the earliest sin...
