I was waiting in the hallway.
Yes, it is wrong to be doing, and I told myself I would stop, but this drug...this...addiction...it's
just too hard to stop cold turkey. So I lingered.
I know, sue me, the bell was about to ring... I tapped my fingers nervously against my pocket as
I went to get my fifth sip of water. Finally, looking up as I drank the cold liquid deeply, I saw
you.
Your hair was down, longer now that you'd grown it out, straight today. You were wearing that
shirt, the football jock looking shirt that fit you perfectly. Your jeans were dark washed, and they
attached to you perfectly.
My heart beat fast, I composed my face, and utter a simple hello, and then I walked down toward

my class.
You stopped me.
"Jack," you said, "What are you doing this weekend?"
This caught me off guard. Your hand was on my arm, and you were looking in my eyes. This
couldn't be what it looks like, you aren't in to me. I mentally sighed
"Nothing?" I said, letting just the right amount of confusion enter my voice.
"Okay, good, then can you help me with a project? I need a tech savvy guy like you to tape my
news report for Ms. Webster's class."
"Sure, no prob. I'll call you."
"Okay."
You turned and went into your class, I sighed to myself, and the bell rang.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I scolded myself. Of course she had no interest in me, but she was my
friend.
"Friend, just keep telling yourself that Jacky-boy, just wait."
I tuned my brain out by counting my steps to class. I was probably going to get detention for
this, but I don't care; I don't care about much anymore.
My grades have been slipping, and I haven't been getting much sleep. I don't eat much anymore
and all my friends stay away from me because I'm no fun anymore.
See what you've done?
Well, I'm walking to class when it happens.
Yes, it, the real reason your reading this. Did you think it was just a pretty story where I
complain until I gain the courage to ask you out? No. It's not. This is not a happy story, and this
is where it gets bad.
As I was saying, I was walking to class when it happened. The first thing was the intercom
"Students, teachers, do not be alarmed, but we are going under a red lock down, this is not a drill,
get to your nearest classroom.”
"Crap!" I thought. I was on the only hallway without a classroom, stupid, drunk architects!
So what do I do? I run, of course.
And the next thing I know I feel a pressure on the top of my foot, and I see a dark figure in my
peripheral vision....and I'm on the floor.
I hear a click.
Oh God.
I swallow and turn over onto my back.
Oh God.
I'd seen this guy before. He was arrested on school property for drugs last month.
He was your boyfriend.
Oh God.
A smile crosses his face. I can tell he's high because I get lightheaded just breathing near him,
and he has bags under his eyes.
But I don't care about that right now. All I care about is you. I hope your safe. Safe from that
shiny gun in his hand.
Did I forget to mention that part?
Well it's there. Shining in the light, trigger pulled, pointing at my chest.
The heart that was just thumping from your touch starts thumping from fear.
Not for my life, for yours.
I told you I didn't care about much anymore.
So, I'm thinking these may be my last few seconds, so what do I do?
I open my big, stupid mouth.
"Hey Greg, long time no see. Where you been?"
He winces. I don't understand why, but he does...?
"You know where I've been c**k-face," he says, "and I bet your happy I've been there. I know
you've been making moves on Star."
At the sound of your name my heart began to thump harder.
"Ya, I always knew you liked her. That's why I was so protective. Star was, and always will be
mine."
He had this hard look in his eyes, like he knew that that was the truth one-hundred percent and
no one could change it, but I knew better.
You told me when he got hauled off, tears in your precious eyes, that you would never go out
with him again. Ever. And you had the same look.
Now he had that look, but it looks better on you.
He starred. Waiting on me to start crying and begging for mercy, but I couldn't do that. I
deserve death, I know that, but I won't ask for it, or push it away if forced upon me.
I'm still on the floor, so I sit up properly, criss-crossed, and looked him up and down. How long
could this stare down last? "Shoot before the cops came and take your a** to jail again!" my
mind is screaming, while the other part is scream, "Is Star alright?" and the last part is screaming,
"Run retard, run!"
I cough.
He gets this really angry look in his eyes. It's like in the cartoons, I swear I can see his pupil's
changing into the shape of a dog's head, and it's yapping furiously.
He shifts his stance and fixes his grip on the gun.
That's when I decide I don't want to die.
So, here I am, on the ground, criss-crossed, looking up at Greg, whom has a gun pointed at my
chest, and I get this rush of adrenaline and anger and fear.
what can I do?
I didn't think. I swear to God, nothing went through my mind, but here's what happened:
I grabbed the pencil from my pocket that was kind of stabbing my thigh as I stood up and I
shoved it into Greg’s gut.
It broke skin.
Organ.
And it hit the bone.
But you don't have any bones in your stomach, so I’m confused until I let go of the pencil and
step back from Greg.
The pencil had reached his spine.
I was covered in blood, and so was the tile floor, and Greg.
He was still standing up.
Looking down wide-eyed at his gut.
The pencil wasn't sticking out, it was too short, and the blood spewing from him made it hard to
tell where it was.
And he was just standing there.
Then the pain hit him.
The scream still haunts me. It was somewhere between worlds and genders.
It was a girly scream, but only a guy could have that girly scream. And it sounded like it was in
between worlds.
I can't describe it, I can only tell you what I heard.
Then my brain kicked in and I was screaming too.
I'd killed him, I'd killed him.
He crumpled to the floor and he'd stopped screaming, but the blood was still gushing out, and I
was still screaming.
Then the cop ran into the hallway and shot.
Pain and darkness.
This must be Hell.
I went to Hell, of course. I killed a kid and lust ruled my life. I deserved Hell.
But then I saw you, and I knew this wasn't Hell. It was my head.
Crap. I always knew my head was a dark and painkiller place, but F***! this hurt. Then I
realized the pain wasn't in my head. It was lower.
It was in my leg.
Then I woke up.
I was in the hospital. My mom was in there. She smiled at me. I couldn't find the muscles to
smile, so I asked her a question instead:
"How's Greg?"
She looked surprised, but she answered anyways, "He's dead." She said it with no emotion.
Nothing. It was strange.
"What about the cop that shot me?"
"He apologizes. He thought you were the attacker, not the victim."
I thought about that. Was I?
"Am I going to jail?"
She smiled sweetly, "No sweetie," she moved to me, "You saved yourself and probably a lot of
other kids in that school. You're a hero, not a murderer."
"But... but I killed Greg," I said.
"No you didn't," she said. She must have been mistaken. I stabbed him.
"But I stabbed him."
"Your pencil didn't kill him, all those drugs did. You aren't a murderer," she repeated. I couldn't
believe my ears. This was so strange.
"What day is it?" I suddenly asked. I just remembered.
"Monday. Why?"
"I needed to call Star and tape her news report for Ms. Webster."
"Oh she stopped by!"
"What?" I was surprised. I mean, sure we're friends, but we aren't too close.
"Yah, she sends her well wishes and gave you this." She handed me a card.
I delicately opened it.
"Dear Jack," it read, "I'm sorry Greg was after you. I feel like it was my fault. I led you on. I
know you like me, but I just don't feel the same about you. I'm sorry."
I heard the "beep, beep" of the monitor get faster.
I grabbed the I.V. needle in my arm and pulled it out, then the heart flat lined...

The last thing I saw was you.

In your dark wash jeans, and THAT shirt. Hair down long, straight.
I felt the water on my lips and blinked.
I was back at school.
Crap!
My stupid overactive imagination!