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The morning dew collected carelessly on the bottoms of my shoes as I walked to the end of the road.
It was early, a little too early to be walking down a country road with my shoes untied and my satchel smacking against my lower back. As I grew closer to the end of the road I saw a gathering of hunching teenagers sticking close together as if to better shield themselves from the cold winds that had been infecting the lungs of old and young alike. When I arrived at the gathering, few people paid attention to me, few ever did. I stood watching, waiting. For hours it seemed I stood waiting for the old yellow bus that was never on time. When it did arrive my heart lifted a little, but that was temporary. The bus was filled with moronic country bumpkins and wannabe hip hoppers, Quite an odd mix now that I think about it. The bus rattled on its seat duck taped and covered in peopleís signatures. My thoughts were dark and pointless for a while. As the bus neared the school my thoughts changed violently, Visions racing through my head. Blood, fires, gun shots, I tried to throw the visions off as if I had made them up, But for some reason I had begun to feel unwell. My feelings weren't helped by the sudden stopping of the bus and the mass of smelly arm pitted kids and loud mouthed teens dismounting the bus in a cow to slaughter sort of way. I grew afraid as I walked toward the high school; it was full of artificial pride and glory that had been established by a losing streak football team and slutty cheerleaders. As I opened the doors a blinding Pain hit my head, the visions had returned. The screams in my head where the kind that men never want to talk about after hearing them, The bloodstained walls the giggles of a killer as he pulls his trigger. I was alone in this world of pain, standing in the empty hallways in my head. I tried to run away but there was no salvation. The screams the pitter-patter of running feet, Then the maniacal laughter returned. So close to me it felt, suddenly I was brought back to reality. A brawny senior pushed me out of the way of the door. I was so alone in this crowd, I had only a few friends but they never arrived this early in the morning. My eyes were my weapons today, As I looked around for any pushy guy in a black trench coat or some stupid thug wanting acceptance from his group. I found none. I walked slowly slower then usual to my locker, my untied sneakers squelching uncertainly against the floors. I walked to my locker. It was covered with stickers of various rock bands, As I opened it a large hand grabbed my shoulder. A large jolt of fear shot through my body right to the core. I jumped trying to turn. My fears were realized by a nerdy teen in glasses, his stomach dangeriously large under his Babylon 5 shirt. One of my best friends I told him of my visions of death, He looked at me like I had a serious issue or three then changed the subject talking about a new video game he had played over the weekend. Nerd by punk all of my allies arrived, I forgot about my painful visions. The bell rang each of my friends walked in different directions. I chose the shortest route to my class as my memories of that hateful laugh returned to my mind. I fell into my seat in my first class, listening to the teacher attempt to teach about the time when man was ape but wasn't getting far through the paper airplane war and sleeping of the moronic few who think there sleep is secretive in the middle of the classroom. I was filled with a silent fear that made my heart skip a beat every time a kid in dark glasses would stand up to sharpen his pencil, or when the stupid jock dropped his pencil. This went on for a few hours. I started to feel better, smiling once or twice at the passing girl who tried to act innocent, but had actually lost everything she had when she was twelve. When I walked into my final class for the day, when I had almost passed the visions on as a pointless annoyance, but then suddenly two normal teenagers with matching backpacks entered the room. These were those kids who were there but never had much to say, they were the ones that werenít hated but werenít really cared for. They smiled and brought forth two pistols. With few words they basically stated we would all die before the day ended, my fears realized I was neither shocked nor surprised, just totally empty. Shots rang out through out the class, blood flying all around me. Even though I felt nothing in this moment that would make grown men fall to there knees and children to tears, I moved to the floor, trying to survive until the relentless rain of bullets stopped. A slicing sound was made as a bullet entered the flesh in my arm, followed by an odd burn that made me stop in my crawl of survival and look at the bleeding arm, it looked so deep. Fear filled me once again. The bullets had stopped, I looked up blood covered desks and the collages made by freshman's about there happiest moments. So much death in that room, the lifeless bodies of the people who had been so happy and cheerful five minutes ago. I looked up to the two teens, as did the other seven survivors. My heart feel as they reached for another clip to put into there weapons reaching into the blood red backpacks. Pulling out fully loaded clips, inserting them into they're guns and aiming them at the group of tearful girls who had obviously been spared for the target practice of these two demonic looking kids. Pulling the trigger, one down five left one pull of the trigger one lifeless girl lying on the floor. Tears filled my eyes for the first time. I watched as my neighbor fell looking up at her killer with that lifeless stare. Then there were two. Myself and a cowering boy in the back of the class sniffling in urine stained pants, they both took aim. One shot, his pistol jammed, next, out of bullets. I watched helplessly as they reloaded their guns, there was an evil look about them as they started to laugh at us, taunting us. I had nothing left inside, no fear, no hope, and only that certainty that I was going to die. I hadnít told my mother that morning that I loved her, My father and I had gotten into a fight the night before, now as I sat on the floor looking up I remembered the fight, how pointless it had been. Even still, it was over.


I watched the two boys load their guns, each had longer hair, they wore shirts that werenít out of the ordinary, and nothing about them in fact was out of the ordinary. The smaller of the two casually walked up to me, he laughed for a few seconds, and he put his newly reloaded gun up to my face. He told me to make peace with my maker. I did, He pointed the gun lower now, towards my legs, he fired 3 times, twice at my knees once at my foot. The pain was intense; Screams escaped slowly at first but then with aggressive accuracy. The two were both upon me now, leaving the cowering boy behind. Blood spilled out, I sprawled out on the floor, They looked at me, and their eyes were empty and cold. I looked into them only once. The light fell away as I lost consciousness.


Later, they would tell me that a special unit had saved my life right before it ended. They would also tell me that over twenty five people were killed. Including the two boys who had done it.


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Comments

The following comments are for "the story of a dream"
by DEMONeyesBLUE

hey
hey there.nice story.i will only comment on the fact that you portray the two kids as ''evil'' and overall mean persons.This particular topic(of kids going postal in school) intrigues me very much(there is a very good story by stephen king about the subject,maybe you should check it out).I think this story would be way better if you portrayed the two shooters as something more than evil.I mean, no one ever kills people out of meanness.And even if they do, they always try to get away.People that went on shooting their classmates and teachers dont have much hope of leaving the place without handcuffs or in a body bag.I think that you could elaborate on the sentence''These were those kids who were there but never had much to say, they were the ones that werenít hated but werenít really cared for.''It might lead somewhere, such as a reason for what they did.And a detail: i dont think that blood cam fly, but even if it does, i disagree with the use of the expression.That said, good story, keep them coming.

( Posted by: northerain [Member] On: October 21, 2003 )

thanks
hey man thanks, im glad u liked my story, i do need to work on the ending a little bit.

( Posted by: DEMONeyesBLUE [Member] On: October 25, 2003 )

hey
hey man, that was really good. I like to hear about something most people dare not write or say anything about nowadays. Keep up the good work as I know you will.

( Posted by: Sanitarium [Member] On: October 26, 2003 )





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