I don't know how long it lasted really—it was more of a dream than anything. A surreal, visceral dream.
That relentless body-jerking sound of shots being fired, rounds being spent, shells spilling onto the linoleum floors.
The cries of my peers rang through the entirety of the school, the air shuddered with their wails, their pleas, their screams.
And true to their word, no one came… What little hope few of us possessed was swiftly muffled. Seated in that bathroom, I sat isolated. A feeble, self-deceiving sense of security tethered me to my last thread of hope. A hope that I would live. But I wasn't so naïve… such thoughts were scrutinizing.
A weakness. A fib I wanted to tell myself. You pathetic piece of shit. I gritted it out in that manner where you want to yell but can't, jaw locked too tight.
I was going to die.
I knew deep down that one of them would break down that flimsy door I currently viewed as salvation, before swiftly and mercilessly ending me. How many stories were going to die to satiate their selfish desires!?
Clenching my hand, I forced my gaze upward. The pain was a nice distraction. I was no hero. I wasn't altruistic, kind, noble. And most of all, I was no hero. But… even if it cost my own, I wanted to save one.
–A life which encompassed my happiness. A kind and genuine soul.
"Ritsue," I whispered with that wry smile I always seemed to don. "I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," I uttered with a somber expression.
Reaching under the sink, I clenched the silver handle of a fire extinguisher, gripping it tight against my chest.
This was the integral piece of my plan.
Resting my ear against the door, I focused hard on any sound.
Other than the blunt bangs of distant doors, there was nothing.
With a swift motion, I unlocked the door and creaked it ajar. Peering through the slim opening, after a few seconds of scouting, I found no one there.
Stepping out of the faculty bathroom, I crept into the teacher's lounge. Through its trail, I reached the kitchen. With quick, calculated movements, I searched through drawers and cabinets.
There was little of use, but the few things I found would have to suffice, a dull knife, a wire, and some string.
I nodded, holding them tight. At the lounge's exit door, I unclipped the fire extinguisher, propping it at a 30-degree angle so the nozzle faced the entrance. Around its aluminum body I wrapped duct tape, and balanced a book at the lip to keep the tilt. The tape was crucial—needed to absorb the reaction force of the CO₂. As Newton's third law dictated "for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."
It was a necessity.
Laced around the silver handle was the string. My makeshift trigger. I tied the end of the string to the door's handle. Rue readied his position in the door's blind spot.
"The spline and eye," he muttered under his breath, gripping the knife's handle in an inverted hold. The idea came from a movie. Nothing special—a tired gang trope. But in that film, the protagonist targeted the spline and eye in a last stand, leading to his foe's instantaneous demise.
Click!
SLAM!
The door kicked open with unnecessary force, bursting wide with a surge of kinetic energy.
Pffwoo!
The trap flared to life. A thick, choking cloud of white fog burst from the nozzle.
"Ahh, what the fuck!" came the young male voice of a teen. He wore an onyx hoodie with a bold Merriweather "S" printed across the front, a sword running through the center. His shaggy green hair obscured most of his sickly pale face.
The teen, disoriented, raised his gun, finger tightening on the trigger. But before he could aim, Rue bolted forward, disarming the fool and driving the blade's blunt tip toward his spline. Hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Cough!
The youth's eyes widened in fear and disbelief as pain ripped through his abdomen. His gaze locked onto Rue's dull gray irises.
"Y-y-you– Son of a–" He never got to quell his venting, for his reaper had struck
Pulp!
Raise!
Stab!
Squelch!
Yanking the knife out of their flesh Rue raised it above the youth before driving it down with an animalistic rage, with a sickening squelch, the knife plunged deep into the depth of the youth's right eye.
Turning the blade several times for good measure, Rue pulled it out before kicking the teens stiff relaxed body forward.
Blood began to pool out from within the eye cavity, thin trails of brownish red liquid stained the white skin of the boy.
His final expression was that of confusion, hate, and regret.
Dropping the knife involuntary, Rue's body without his consent began to shiver intensely, his heart pounded inside of his chest threatening to burst out, his eyes watered, and his stomach churned painfully–
Barf!
Emptying his stomach contents Rue fell into all fours and his body began to shiver without his consent, and his mind reeled in revolt at the fascination he felt.
Lifting his hands towards his face, Rue with a resolute expression nodded slowly, this was not an act of morality, it was a reminder there was no such thing as good or bad person it was was there a bad or worse person, yes this could be considered a moral inquiry, to kill or be killed.
Giving a glance towards his released stomach contents and the now lifeless corpse of the boy, Rue's eyes never wavered with guilt or hesitation, throwing up was merely a physiological process, a given towards his act of violence. Yet, he knew if he had idly squandered his time in the faculty bathroom, then it would be he who would be currently festering.
Sneering in disgust Rue kicked the stomach of the corpse several times.
He hated the person for making him feel this way!
Fuck you I hope you rot in hell!
I wish your death was slower, and more deliberate, rather than the merciful end I granted!
Gritting his teeth Rue forced his pent rage down as he realised his incentive for even doing this, he had… no he needed to save Ritsue!
Glaring at the semi-automatic rifle which he had forced out of the youth's hand, Rue without hesitation cusped its grip with an unneeded exertion of his hand.
Getting onto one Knee Rue began to loot the corpse.
A condom, wallet, M-9, torn letter, several PTR-91 magazines, and a phone.
Filtering through the belongings Rue gasped the M-9 placing it into his left thigh's pocket, and stashed the magazines into his opposite.
"What was her second period again," Rue gnashed under his breath.
Now stood to his gates fullest, Rue's excluded demeanor combined with his blood stained shirt and semi made him seem rather imposing.
Recalling his partner's second period, Rue cursed under his breath"AP-phycology, damn it Ritsue," it was in the topmost floor or 3rd-level of the school.
Taking note of the Semi's body, Rue began to scope out its controls, after a few seconds he was fortunate enough to immediately recognize the model of this specific gun. Positioning the weapon's barrel forward and peering through its iron sight as he readied his trigger finger.
Though… nothing could have mentally prepared him for the sight which met him, with a deep shaken breath Rue finally noticed the carnage like splendor which sat before him, it felt straight from hell, it was eldritch.
Salmon colored gore splattered across large segments of the wall, small pieces of shredded flesh were strung against the lockers, and a large collective of blood pooled from the many corpses which littered the now red linoleum.
The distant bone-rattling sounds of gunshots rumbled through the school's corridors, snapped out of his daze Rue began a cautious jog through the halls.
.