Mrs. Brittany Olive
Thursday 7:00 PM
Office 203
"How are you doing in your classes, Kent?" I asked, trying to make my voice sound reassured and nice---the classic counselor's tone. "Everything working out for you?"
The senior boy across from my desk nodded slightly, his dark eyes semi-hidden in a mess of curly dark hair. Quite handsome. Everything about him---from his careless position the chair to the sullen frown on his face said that he didn't want to be here.
As if I did.
I sighed and glanced down at the papers on my desk. Kent Ishmael Lyle Lewis, the black type spelled out. Senior; Class of 07. English major
"are you looking for any jobs?" I tried again, smoothing my blonde dyed hair. Getting onto 45 in a few weeks was no picnic. I suspected gray hair was sprouting, and wrinkles seemed to be more pronounced every time I looked in the mirror.
Another curt shake of the head. This session was getting us no where.
"Do you have anything you would like to talk about?" My counselor voice was wearing thin. I'd had a long day, trying to convince a junior young lady that breaking up with her boyfriend was not the end of her life. My counselor pin stuck into my dress shirt awkwardly.
Still receiving no answer, I pulled out a pad of Missouri State College stationary, clear thin blue type spelling out Brittany Olive, Senior Counselor. I hated the 'senior' part. . . as if I didn't feel old enough already.
"Are you sure?"
Kent Lewis shook his head again, his arms crossed protectively across his chest.
"Very well Kent. You may go."
~~~~~
Ramona Davis
Thursday 8:30 PM
Girls' Dorms
"Ooh, it's Kent," my best friend Hailey giggled, throwing the small picture frame up into the air and catching it again precariously. Her dark hair was straightened and pulled into a loose ponytail as she stood on my bed.
"Hailey," I groaned. "Stop it."
"Why do you get all the guys, Ramona?" Hailey asked, sighing dramatically and falling across my carefully made bed and sprawling. "How fair is life?"
"Not fair at all," I agreed, laughing and yanking on a pink v-neck. "What say you come with me and Kent tonight to the club, eh? Maybe you could hook up with some guy."
"I wish!" she squealed, sitting up and searching through our closet. "What is it, like, your guys' half year anniversary?"
"Yeah," I said sheepishly, thinking of my boyfriend. He was so handsome---the kind of handsome that made you do a double take and then try to find some flaw in his face. Shaggy black-brown hair hung right into his gray eyes, and he was built like a football player.
"Did you finish your Psychology report?" Hailey questioned, pulling on a miniskirt and zipping it up. "It was a killer, wasn't it? Professor Adams really lost it this time."
"I think he's a sweetie!" I bubbled back, applying some mascara in the bathroom and trying out my new peep toe heels.
"Ramona, he's like 80!"
"Yeah, duh," I rolled my eyes. "It's not like I'm going to hit on him. But he's just so. . . . lovable, you know? Like a big giant teddy bear."
"Whatever," Hailey shrugged. "It's your semester grade, not mine. Where are we going tonight, anyways?"
"the Neon Tattoo," I replied, examining myself in the mirror. "Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."
~~~~~
Hailey Richards
Friday 2:00 AM
Girls' Dorms
"I can't believe him!" Ramona shrieked, angrily throwing her purse onto my bed. She was drunk and she knew it. "What a jerk!"
"Totally," I agreed, going along with her. I was totally jealous of Ramona. She was smart, pretty, and had this thing around her that drew people to her. She always got the guys, and everyone was in love with her.
Everyone knew me as "Ramona's friend". The quieter one, the shyer one, the one who cried easily at a sad movie and liked to talk to the 'nerdier' members of the university.
Kent was her boyfriend of 6 months. I don't know about you, but something about Kent made me feel uneasy.
He was harshly gorgeous---that kind of gorgeous that was cruel yet beautiful at the same time. His eyes were about as warm as frozen iron, and cruel. Like a panther, going into kill. Or a wild, rabid stallion.
"Who does he think he is?" Ramona yelled loudly again until I ran over to her to clap a hand over her mouth. The last thing we needed was for the dean to get on us for being so loud so late at night. "I'm serious! What kind of loser goes around and punches guys if they even look at me!"
"I know, I know," I nodded sympathetically. "He so didn't have to do that!"
"I'm serious!" she shrieked again, her beautiful blue eyes in a drunken, cloudy state. "I mean, I'm just talking to this guy I met last year, and he comes and starts an effin' fight! Hello, I'm allowed to talk to other guys!"
I sighed. Fights with Kent were expected. He was so withdrawn, so quiet that I'd barely heard him utter more than five words. And he was insanely jealous.
Tonight Ramona had gotten a little too tipsy and was flirting with some cute college guys from across town, and Kent was furious. We got pitched out of the club after starting this humungous fight.
I was like, 'OMG'. I mean, how lame was it to get thrown out because of Ramona's boyfriend? Not cool, right?
Then Ramona had this little itsy bitsy fit, with her screaming at the top of her lungs (she's a soprano in chorus for a reason) at Kent, yelling "How could you do that" and "You're such a selfish jerk" and "You embarrassed me in front of them!"
Kent, sullen and sulky, had left us to find a cab back to the dorms by ourselves, shooting dark looks at Ramona as he left. Loser.
I mean, who's he trying to kid? Ramona was soooo P.O.ed it wasn't even funny. If it's one thing she hates, it's being embarrassed. She's not going to talk to him for like, ever. End of relationship, good bye, see ya kid.
~~~~~
Jacob King
Friday 4:35 PM
Boys' Dorms
"Dude, did you like, get out of bed at all today?" I asked, sticking my head into the bathroom to check my 'fro. Lookin' good man. . . .
The box Momma sent me from home was opened, her delicious homemade fudge on the table and crumbling. Momma always did treat me right.
No answer. The dude hardly ever talks.
"C'mon K-man, what's buggin' ya?" I asked. This guy stumbles back to our room at about 3 in the morning last night, half stoned or whatever.
Again no answer. He was staring at the ceiling, pretending not to hear me.
"Dude, really," I tried again. Kent Lewis, or whatever his name was, was one heck of a guy. Pretty good looking, with that constant five 'o' clock shadow and messy black hiar. . . . and good with the ladies, but with the attitude of a starving and annoyed lion.
A very annoyed lion.
In reply, Kent shifted his weight and turned away from me.
"Whatever man," I said, putting in my ipod ear buds and grabbing a binder. "I'm late for French, anyways."
Kent was being super-weird. Like, he's normally this quiet and alone, but I don't know. . . something's different today.
On the way to French, I bumped into Mrs. Olive, the counselor or something. I asked her if she was getting anywhere with the sessions with Kent, and then told her maybe something was up with him since he was acting weird.
~~~~~
Robert Joseph
Friday 8:30 PM
Student Commons
"Rob, what's the answer to number 9?" Jacob King asked, running a hand through his afro. "I can't get it, man. That Kent guy is still buggin' me."
I'd gone to the same high school as Kent Lewis. . . he was alright, I guess. I mean, I didn't know him very well and he didn't really have much friends at school. . . .every time I saw him he was alone.
"Maybe he and Ramona had a fight or something," I shrugged. "It's really none of our business if so."
"You're so respectable Rob," Jacob rolled his eyes, wearing his clown like expression. "Carrying a Bible around in school and not gossiping. . . . you won't even tell me the answer to number nine."
"I can't tell you, but I'll help you," I laughed, looking at my friend over the top of my book. " Everyone said that he was the clown and I was the serious one. . . maybe that was why girls paid more attention to him. Like Hailey.
"Cheating, schmeating," Jacob rolled his eyes. "Help me."
"See, to balance the chemical equation you have to think of the least common multiple of 16 and 29," I explained, tapping his Chemistry book with a pencil. "And then you have to fit in how many oxygen atoms so that they're equal."
"You speakin' English, man?" Jacob asked, perplexed, scratching his forehead.
"Professor Simms is still in his office," I encouraged him, shaking a strand of pale blonde hair out of my eyes and grinning. "You could probably ask him for help."
"Nah man, you doin' fine. Just fine. If only you'd speak English."
~~~~~
Ramona Davis
Saturday 9:30 AM
Student commons
"Ramona, can't we talk?" Kent grunted, moving across to meet me in the commons, his dark hair still looking perfect and his gray eyes troubled. "C'mon. . . "
"You embarrassed me in front of my friends, Kent," I said coldly, glaring at him. "And then you called me a cheap little---"
"I know, but you shouldn't have been flirting with those other guys," Kent narrowed his eyes.
"I wasn't flirting," I sniffed, tossing a strand of blonde hair behind me.
"Yes you were."
"Excuse me? I was talking to them, okay? It's a free country, I can talk to whoever I want to. You are such an arrogant jealous. . . .thing," I stamped my blue Uggs in frustration. "I don't want to date you anymore, okay?"
"What? You cant' do that."
"Watch me, Kent Lewis."
~~~~~
Willie Armando
Saturday 10 AM
"Armando's Gun Shop"
"Yes, these are prime sir, real prime," I leered at this college kid looking at the two guns in his hand. "Reload and shoot in matter o' seconds, yesssir."
"How much?" the dark haired young dude asked seriously.
"$500 for the Glock 9mm and $650 for the Walther."
"I'll take them," he said simply, pulling out a credit card, student ID, and driver's license.
Easy peezy, I thought. This had to be the simplest sale I'd ever made, I mean, he's got all his ID and money right there. No strings attached, no problems.
"Thanks," he said, paying up and taking the guns with them.
"You have a good day now, ya hear?" I called as he left the gun shop.
~~~~~
Ariel Bower
Sunday 9:30 AM
Student Library
"Hey Ariel," Hailey Richards said shyly as she passed by, linking arms with that absolutely popular Ramona Davis.
I waved a hand and adjusted my thick tortoiseshell glasses. Hailey was pretty, too, and really nice. Almost as nice as Ramona.
Ramona---the idol of my life. Long, silky white-blonde hair added with piercing green eyes and a body to make any runway model jealous. Absolutely stunning and looked good in anything, and she wasn't stupid or mean either.
They say there's no such thing as perfect. . . but they obviously haven't met Ramona Davis.
Sighing, I turned my attention back on my horse anatomy book in front of me. I'd wanted to be a vet ever since turning 7, but the other side of veterinary classes were pretty ugly. Tuesday, we were to take a trip out to the rural areas and study some horses up close and then come back and cut apart one.
Disgusting, I know. But animals are just so. . . . I don't know, interesting? I have this passion for them. . .
I'm quite the opposite of Ramona and Hailey. . . . I'm overweight and have glasses and milky skin that hasn't seen the sunlight without turning bright red and blistering. If only I were like Ramona. . . . If only I could attract so many guys. . . . If only I had a gorgeous boyfriend. . . .
~~~~~
Jacob King
Sunday 6:15 PM
Boys' Dorms
"Rob, hang on okay?" I called, running a hand through my 'fro again and looking frantically around the room shared by me and Kent. Everything was a mess, naturally, and I was in a hurry looking for my student ID.
Rob was awesome---the nicest dude in the world. Girls went crazy over him---but he never seemed to notice. It was always study study study for him. . . .besides, he'd already got one girl on his mind.
"C'mon. . . "
Why is it that when you're trying to find something, you can't see it? I mean, dude, isn't that so annoying?
"Where is it, where is it. . . " I mumbled, rifling through a stack of papers. Me and Rob were headin' to downtown for dinner and maybe a few ladies. I keep telling him that he oughta ask that Hailey girl out. . . he's practically crazy about her.
A piece of lined paper slid to the floor and I rushed to pick it up. It was in Kent's elegant handwriting.
He kept his parents in the basement for months, chaining them to the walls and giving them nothing to eat except dead birds he ran over in the driveway. . . . . . his hateful parents, the ones who'd bugged him so much as a kid and made him do chores. . . they wasted away and all he did was stand and laugh. . .
I blinked and rubbed my eyes. Whoah, dark stuff isn't it? Almost that really scary kind of thing that you'd except a serial killer or something to write before going on a rampage. Another sheet was next to it.
Snobby, spoiled rich kids who don't know a damn about life out there. . . who don't know how hard it is to live without the influence of a famous parent or a parent at all. . . . we shall rise against you arrogant ones and beat you to the lowest ranks of submission. . . . we shall starve you; we shall torture you, you must die, we must kill you; so none can ever again consider himself or herself superior simply because of a matter of coins and bills. . .
Like fire, I dropped it and spied my ID card on the cabinet. Grabbing it and stuffing it in my pocket, I backed away from the notes. This was seriously twisted. . . . how does a dude's mind get like that?
It's sick! What the heck was wrong with this Kent dude's mind? What kind of person is he?
"Jacob! Hurry up!"
the voice nearly made me have a seizure, dude. Scared out of my pants, I ran for it.
~~~~~
Mrs. Brittany Olive
Monday 9:30 AM
Office 203
Monday. The worst of days. The beginning of the week while you're still having a hangover from that cocktail party your husband just had to drag you to. . . . .
I groaned and opened my drawer in my desk, looking around for an aspirin. Today was going to be a long day. I had another session with Kent Lewis again.
Funny thing; I'd bumped into Jacob King a few days ago and he was really nervous about something. . . . he mumbled really fast about the counseling sessions with Kent and then ran off, his ear buds in hand.
Odd. I never knew any of his dorm mates noticed anything about Kent. His high school files described him as shy and a sort of a loner.
Sighing, I opened up my email and saw about 40 messages from the dean of student affairs. Great. All day answering these.
Bang!
With a jolt, my heart thudded and I sat back suddenly. What the. . . .
Bang!
I ran to the window; my office was adjacent to the main classrooms and saw a lone student running out of it, waving two unmistakable objects: guns.
My heart started to beat faster and sporadically. Oh my God. . . . it was really happening. All those teacher conventions about how to act in case of something like this. . . .something like Columbine, where my niece was killed. Something like. . . this.
I ran to my computer again, tripping slightly over the cord and managed to send a hasty email to all members of the staff.
There has been a shooting incident at 9:30 AM this morning; please do not allow students out of their classrooms
I should have gone out of my office and warned others, but what was the point? Every teacher was required to check their email every five or so minutes. . . . and I was dead scared. I didn't want to die. I had a little seven year old son and a husband back at home, waiting for me.
So instead of acting the hero; I locked the door.
~~~~~
Robert Josephs
Monday 10:15 AM
Chemistry Classroom
"I'll be back in a minute students," Professor Simms said, smiling wryly and stepping out through the door. "Be ready to share your observations when I get back."
For a minute, there was sheer silence as we all steadily worked on our chemical reactions notes, the sound of steady breathing echoing.
A long, piercing shriek echoed in the hallway and was abruptly cut off with an easily recognized sound. Gunshots.
Everyone froze in the chemistry room, looks of pure fear on every face. Some girls started to scream and dropped her glass beakers, which shattered everywhere.
Time seemed to stop for one second as I met the eyes of one girl, each of us mirroring the same unbelieving expression.
Then time cruelly snapped back, everything fast forwarding a hundred times over as all students ran for it. There were no windows in our room---how would we escape?
I dropped my beakers, too, and tearing off my thick goggles, tossed them away and dove behind the podium. More gunshots, and more screamingall getting louder.
"Oh my God, Oh my God," someone was crying out. The silver cross of my favorite necklace touched my sweaty, hot skin and I flinched.
Pray the cross told me, cooling that one little patch of skin. Pray for your life, Robert.
"Our Father, who art thou in Heaven," I whispered through clenched teeth as I forced my fingers to interlock. "Hallowed be thy name. . . "
"It's Kent Lewis!" One brave girl screamed, having crawled to the door and peeking out. "He's got two guns!"
"Get away from the door!" a boy roared, lunging forward and pulling the girl back.
"Thy Kingdom come. . . " Tears formed in my eyes. I was never going to see my family again.
A rolling desk was near the podium with several students hiding under it. A vicious jolt went through my body and I realized the cross around my neck was telling me more. Block the door, Robert. . .
Up I sprang and shoved the desk to the door. It rolled hesitantly, squealing and protesting grumpily. I jammed It against the door.
"Rob! What in the world are you---"
Thy will be done. . .
"Help me Scott!" I yelled to a dorm mate, fixing the desk in place and then starting for the fling cabinet. "We've got to keep him from getting in!"
Two other guys took action, having anything and everything heavy against the suddenly feeble looking door. Filing cabinets the podium, three chairs, and a solid looking huge bookshelf.
"Lean against it!" Scott commanded, leaning against the cabinet. "Give it all you've got!"
On Earth as it is in Heaven. . .
We all heaved against the door as footsteps grew louder and the doorknob---barely visible behind all the pile of crap---tried to turn. Not a word was uttered as the door opened two inches, and then stopped.
A heavy force, probably a body, was thrown against the other side, but our barricade held.
Give us this day our daily bread. . .
"Duck!" Scott screamed, shoving my head down. I was right in front of the door.
As soon as this Kent kid figured out that the door was not going to open, there was the sound of metal put to wood.
Two bullets cut cleanly through the doorway, just as I ducked, skimming over our barricade and shattering a set of freshly washed beakers. Someone gasped.
And forgive us our trespasses. . .
Sweat formed on my forehead and I felt like collapsing. Coward. He must have tried to shoot whoever was holding the door closed.
"My God, my God!" a friend I went to church with whispered, holding a desk in place. Kent tried to open the door again, but it didn't budge.
As we forgive those who trespass against us. . .
There was the deadly click of reloading o the other side. Dammit, he was going to try again.
Footsteps sounded again, and a new series of hysterical screams echoed, father away.
"He's leaving," Scott breathed, his eyes wide. "No way."
And lead us not into temptation. . .
The cold metal of my necklace pressed into my neck again; my heart pounding like a frantic caged animal. Two clean holes were above my head in the wood.
Taking a risk, I looked through one, steeling myself if one of my eyes were to get blown out.
But deliver us from evil. . .
There it was---the most beautiful sight in the world. Kent's retreating back.
For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever. . .
Two girls were holding each other and crying.
"He's gone," a voice I did not recognize rasped. Then I realized it was my own.
"We almost died," Scott said hoarsely. "Rob, man. . . you saved us."
I collapsed.
Amen.
~~~~~
Hailey Richards
Monday 10:30 AM
Psychology Classroom
Sweet, silly Professor Adams bent over at his desk, squinting into the computer. Ramona, sitting across from me in her favorite white cashmere sweater and blonde hair up in an up do, flashed me a bored look.
She looked stunning, as usual, as she flicked her eyes back towards the empty seat in the back of the classroom. "Where's Kent?" she mouthed silently.
I shrugged and bit the ends of my hair---a nasty habit I'd gotten accustomed to. It was a perfectly beautiful day outside, and I could not for the life of me tell why we were inside. Cooped up, like chickens.
"Students," Professor Adams said in his crinkly voice that reminded me of worn leather. "I need someone with better eyesight to come her and help me read this please." Again, he squinted at the screen.
"I'll help you," Ramona smiled in her dazzling way and walked over to where our favorite professor was struggling. You know how you've learned about the Holocaust?
Well, our Professor Adams was the real thing. Been in the camps and came out live and everything. You had to admit---that was a very impressive first-day-of-the-year fact.
"It says Professor," Ramona said sweetly, looking at the computer screen. "There's been a shooting incident about an hour----Oh my God. . . " Her blue eyes were wide in fear.
Calmly, as if stating about the weather, Professor Adams straightened up. "Well students," he said looking around. "Looks like we need to get out of here."
"Are we going to die?" a shrill voice erupted at the back of the room. As if on cue, a sound of far off screaming echoed down this hall, followed by steady footsteps.
One of the football players rushed to the ginormous windows, using a chair to bash open the class. There was a crawlable size hole now, and people began to swarm around the escape route.
"Ramona!" I cried, searching through the crowd suddenly. If I had to make a two story jump in heels, I was going to do it with my best friend. "Ramona!"
"I'm here, I'm here,' she screamed back as people began to push and shove to get out. Screaming grew louder.
There were more shrieks as students fell, sure to land onto the concrete patio below in a big splat. . . but I guess a broken leg was better than dying.
I searched through the crowd again and found Ramona's manicured hand. "come on!" I shouted, tugging her through toward the window.
Professor Adams was calmly struggling to get a key out of a jumble of keys, his arthritis catching up on him at the worst time. It was clear he was intent on locking the door to give us more time.
"Professor!" Ramona screamed, starting to go back for him, but I held on fast.
"Come on!" I yelled selfishly. "Let's go!"
It was our turn by the window, and it looked a long way down. A sudden adrenaline rush nearly knocked me over.
We were nearly the last ones to leave, some hiding in the closet. A girl---I think her name was Jessica---was running toward us and tripped, crying out as she slammed onto the carpeted ground. Her knee was bright red.
This time, Ramona tore her hand away from my iron grip and ran towards the girl, keen on helping her up.
"Ramona!" I screamed. "No!"
"I've got to!" she yelled back. "We can't leave her!"
Suddenly, the door burst open with a sickening thud, and I whipped around in time to see Kent---Kent Lewis burst in with a blank expression and two guns in his hands. Professor Adams had tried feebly to hold the door closed since he couldn't' find the key.
Methodically, Kent walked right up to our professor and fired one shot. Professor Adams looked surprised and angry for a moment, and then crumpled to the floor.
Someone screamed---I think it was me.
He turned to Ramona, who was helping up Jessica with the bloody knee.
"Kent!" she shrieked, recognizing his face. "Kent, it's me! It's Ramona!" Tear streamed down her cheeks. "Why are you doing---"
One gunshot, and Jessica had slumped to the floor, a bloody hole in her shoulder.
"Kent, no," Ramona said, still tugging uselessly on Jessica's arm. "Stop it, it's not funny. . . . "
He wouldn't sink that low, I argued with myself as I was crouched in the window frame, watching this with stunned eyes. Kent loved Ramona. . . . and she loved him. . . .
I didn't even hear the bullet fired, but the one second Ramona's mouth was open in shock, and the next she'd fallen to the floor, blood trickling onto her beautiful white sweater.
Kent managed a tiny smile, as if he'd just enjoyed some inside joke, and turned to look at me. His arms were by his side.
Our eyes met for a moment---my panicked brown ones to his emotionless grays. I couldn't read anything in them.
In slow motion, his right arm started to lift upwards.
And I jumped.
~~~~~
Jacob King
10:45 AM
Library
"Come on, come on," I mumbled to myself. "Where is it? Where is that stupid essay. . . "
"Shush," three of the kids sitting next to me said, glaring at me through their thick glasses.
It'd been a long morning, looking through about ten encyclopedias for this one single article about chemical double replacement bonding. . . and I couldn't find it.
Something like the sound of a backfiring car erupted and I dismissed the thought. Dudes and dudettes were always having car trouble.
That thing that Kent had written a day or so ago still bugged me. I mean, how sick was it? It's what you'd expect some gothic/emo dude would write---Kent wasn't like that. I mean sure, he didn't talk much. . . .
"HIDE!" a frantic girl ran by, dropping book as she went. "HE'S HERE!"
Then there was that backfiring car sound, and she dropped dead in a red mist. Literally.
Whoah, this was so not cool. It was like an action movie, only for real. I couldn't believe it.
"Noooo!" another scream was cut off near our bookshelf and I lept up in alarm. There was some dude or dudette out there with a gun. And he was coming.
"What's happening?" a doe-eyed girl at my table asked, standing up and becoming hysterical. "Is there someone shooting? Is this some kind of sick joke?"
"I wish," I whispered hoarsely as the figure of Kent Lewis came into view. He didn't seem to notice us at first, but went up to cowering students and shooting them in a head without flinching or anything.
He made it look like he was going around and tapping people on the shoulder. It was regular. Walk up, position, pull trigger, dead person.
"Dude, what the hell?" one brave guy walked up there and cuffed him on the shoulder. "what are you doing?"
Bang. Another dead dude.
This wasn't funny anymore, I thought fast, looking around. There was nothing I could hide behind, except the table that my three table mates were crouched under. Like that was going to help.
There wasn't anything to defend myself with either. Just books. . . piles and piles of useless books.
Maybe I could throw some books at him----yeah right.
Kent was going to kill us all.
Eventually, he made his way towards our corner of the table, a closed look on his face. I glanced back at the three students under the table, holding each other.
There was only one thing to do.
Kent got distracted for a moment, and I chose this time to act.
I love you Mom.
Taking a deep breath, I tackled him.
~~~~~
Mrs. Brittany Olive
Monday 11:00
Office 203
The door was rammed down and two uniformed policemen burst into my office, where I was curled up under a table, arms around my knees and tears streaming down my face.
"Miss?" one of them said gently. "Miss?"
I looked up at them. Policemen. Good people.
"C'mon, let's get you to the hospital," the other one said, extending a young hand towards me. "Our entire squadron is here. . . "
"Did you. . . did you catch him?" I asked hoarsely, nearly paralyzed with fear.
The one with the mustache shook his head. "The gunman shot himself. . . I'm sorry miss."
Both helped me up and supported me through the doorway and outside on campus. It was hell.
People were screaming and crying, and four ambulances were parked in the lot along with countless police cars. The air was filled with the sound of shrieking ambulance sirens and people sobbing.
Students and faculty were being loaded up on stretchers, most motionless. Others milled around with a shocked expression.
"Statistics?" I asked again as the officers let go of me.
With a somber face, the mustache guy shook his head. "Thirty two dead, and also the gunman."
My knees buckled under my weight. "Who---"
"Kent Lewis," the other said seriously, making notes in his paper.
"No."
"I'm sorry ma'am."
~~~~~
Robert Josephs
Monday 11:18
Chemistry Classroom
"this is the Missouri State Police, and we're here to protect you!" barked a loud voice from outside the door, accompanied with pounding on the door.
"Saved," I said in a hushed voice, still in a state of shock.
"How do we know?" Scott demanded, advancing forward. "Maybe this is a ploy. How do we know you guys are the good guys, hmm?"
"Son, you're gonna have to trust us," the policeman said again. "It's us, the good guys."
"C'mon," I said shakily, getting to my feet and starting to help Scott remove the barricade. "It really is them."
Soon, all the filing cabinets and whatnot were pushed aside and three heavily built police officers came in here.
"Anyone hurt?" the leader asked, running a hand through his hair.
I shook my head. "We're plenty scared, sir."
His face softened. "You should be," he said softly, going over and lifting up a girl who'd fainted from fright. "Let's go. . . . everyone's on the campus grounds."
"Sir," I said, straightening up. "did you get him?"
"Who, Lewis?"
I nodded as my silver cross touched my skin again reassuringly.
"Naw. Shot himself."
I was stunned. Sick world, this was.
~~~~~
Hailey Richards
Monday 2:00
Missouri St. Frances Hospital
"Hailey? Sweetheart?"
It took enormous effort for me to open up my eyes, and my mother's head swam hazily into focus.
"Mom?"
"Oh sweetheart," she said, crying slightly and hugging me. With incredible force, a horrible pain ripped across my body. "I'm so glad. . . . "
"Mom, I'm okay," I said, patting her back awkwardly. There were tubes in the back of my hand, and I discovered I was strapped in a hospital bed. "What happened?"
"Kent Lewis---your little friend's boyfriend. . . . he killed thirty two of you," Dad informed me, standing next to my mom.
It was strange. They'd been divorced for nearly 10 years, and finally they were standing next to each other. Being civil. Not fighting.
"I know, but me. . . " I said faintly. "How bad am I?"
"You've got a broken leg honey," Dad smiled grimly, smoothing my sweaty hair back from my forehead. "You jumped out the window, remember? And landed right on it."
"The entire shin is shattered," Mom said tearily again. "You're going to have crutches for a long time."
"Where's Ramona?" I asked again, thinking of my friend. "Where is she? Is she okay?"
My mom dissolved into sobs again, turning away. Dad gave me another grim smile.
"No," I said, my heart speeding up and the machine next to me spazzing. "She isn't. . . . "
"I'm sorry Hailey," Dad said, patting my good foot. "Really."
"No," I said louder, covering my ears. "She's fine. You just don't know yet."
~~~~~
Ariel Bower
Monday 2:30 PM
Campus Grounds
I'm in shock. Kent killed Ramona and thirty one other people. I thought they were a match made in heaven---but now they're both dead.
Ramona will make a beautiful angel---I just know it. And Kent. . .well, he'll go where he should go.
I can imagine all those people up there, sitting in beautiful white robes that could rival Ramona's beautiful white sweater, with feathery wings and a shiny glittery halo above their heads.
I heard Ramona died saving another girl. That sounds like her. She always was the nicest person in the world. . . it's only fitting that she sacrificed herself.
Hailey Richards, I heard, was in the hospital. She'd been one of those who jumped out of the window.
How could this happen? They said Missouri State was the very best of the best. . . . they say even an email was sent out about it.
Kent Ishmael Lyle Lewis is dead. Such a gorgeous boy. . . . the police carried his body to another ambulance, where a frail couple were watching sadly. His parents.
God, it must have been heartbreaking to realize that your own flesh and blood did this. . . . this chaos. I'm looking around at the campus, outside on the steps with my iPod, and it's terrible.
Jacob King was gone too. Rumors said he'd pulled a Ramona and tried to take down Kent barehanded, and was shot it the library.
"Hello young lady," a perky looking 30 something woman said, smiling fakely and shoving a microphone under my chubby chin. "I'm Alice Warner from WKSD News, would you like to comment?"
I wiped away a tear from my eyes and shook my head. Not now. It was too early.
"Did you know Kent Lewis personally?" she continued, smiling brightly. "Was he a friend of yours? A secret crush? A---"
"Hey! Leave her alone!" Counselor Olive rushed over, looking quite pale herself. "Back off."
"Would you like to comment?" the reporter asked. "Anything you want to say?"
"I said, 'get lost'. Leave these students alone," Mrs. Olive warned, narrowing her teary eyes. "They're still in shock. So back off."
"Let's go," the reporter finally got the subtle hint that she wasn't wanted here. "We're leaving."
Her burly camera man nodded and followed her back to one of many media vans.
I sighed. This was going to be a long afternoon.
~~~~~
Hailey Richards
Monday 6:00 PM
Campus grounds
It was starting to get dark, and I struggled in my new crutches over to where someone had carved out a cross out of chicken wire. Probably that guy Robert Josephs. . . always so talented. People had threaded roses in between the white wire.
The sun was starting to set, dipping near the horizon and people were crying everywhere, sobbing and shaking. Others milled around in a state of shock, clearly thinking That did not just happen.
Near the rose cross was a list---hastily scrawled on a sheet of loose leaf paper---of thirty two students and teachers who were no longer living.
I made my way over to it, biting my lip hard. Ramona was not dead---they had said there were others at the hospital, too. She wouldn't be there. . . she'd only fainted.
James Adams
Jessica Godric
Ramona Davis. . . .
No.
Suddenly I was engulfed in a mass of thick arms and someone crying loudly on my shoulder.
"they took my baby, Hailey," I recognized the woman as Jacob King's mother. "Hailey, they took my Jacob away. . . my smiling Jacob. .. . how could they do that?" she sobbed.
I could have only imagined what a sight we were, me a short girl on crutches and her, an enormous African American woman still dressed in a bathrobe, sobbing her eyes out on my frail shoulder.
Maybe a week ago I would have cared how we looked, but right now I didn't.
"How could they take my baby, he was always so happy, Hailey?" Mrs. King sobbed, wiping her nose generously with a large handkerchief. "He was such a nice boy. . . he tried to save his friends. . . . "
"I'm so sorry Mrs. King," I patted her back as best I could. "Jacob was the best there ever were."
~~~~~
Robert Josephs
Monday 6:30 PM
Campus Grounds
She was torn down, but beautiful. Standing by the cross roses, leaning haphazardly on her crutches, tears streaming down her face.
Jacob had told me that I should make my move. I owed it to him.
"Hailey?" I asked, loping across the grounds in my black SAMBAs, trying to smooth my hair a little. "Hailey. . . . "
she turned slowly, her eyes red and puffy. Tearing her gaze off of the list of the casualties, she recognized me and her mouth was slightly open in shock.
"Rob. . . . Ramona. . . . "
I was standing right next to her now, her red-black hair spread loosely around her face and her freckles standing out. "I'm so sorry. . . . . " I said awkwardly, patting her shoulder.
To my complete surprise, Hailey crumpled and threw herself against me, hugging me tightly. Her crutches fell to the ground, and she was sobbing loudly in my ear.
"Rob. . . . Ramona's gone. . . . . I just can't believe it. . . . " she cried, her arms around my neck.
I should have comforted her better, but inside, my heart was racing. Hailey---beautiful, shy, lovable Hailey was hugging me.
"Rob, I don't know what I'm going to do," she said, hiccupping, pulling away slightly so our noses were a few inches apart. "Ramona was the best. . . .she could have lived, but she went back for a girl. And I'm so ashamed of myself. . . "
Gingerly, I pulled a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead and tucked it lovingly behind her ear. "Ramona was the best," I said soothingly. "And don't be ashamed---it wasn't your fault."
"Yes it is," she sobbed, resting her head on my shoulder. "I didn't go back for the others. . . I was selfish and wanted to live. . . .I should have gone back and died like I was supposed to. . . ."
"Don't say that," I said, rubbing her back to calm her down. She was only wearing a thin cotton tee shirt and I had on my Missouri State hoodie. Even crying and shamed, she was absolutely stunning. "There are people here who would die if you did. . . . "
"Yeah right. Like who?"
"Hailey," I said softly, inhaling her sweet perfume-y scent and combing through her hair gently. "I would."
"Oh my God, there he is!" a heavy set mother waddled over with two others, pointing at me and screaming. "The hero!"
"What?" Hailey murmured, lifting up her head and looking somewhat curiously at me. I brushed a tear away from her cheek and grimaced.
"You saved my son!" the mother shrieked, squeezing my arm unmercifully. "You darling, how am I ever going to repay you?
I forced a smile on my face, completely aware that this woman interrupted our moment.
"Ladies! Over here!" the mother screamed, and more parents swarmed around us. "Here he is!"
A newswoman fought her way through the crowd and shoved a microphone under my chin. "Robert Lewis, am I correct?"
"Rob!" Hailey cried as the crowd separated us.
"Hailey!"
"Young man, is it true you barricaded the door to help your classmates survive?" the newswoman said impatiently, taking a clawed hand and turning me to face her.
"Er. . . . " Yes, it's true, but all I could think about was Hailey.
Of course, looking back on this, this whole scene would have the CLICH stamp all over it. . . .
~~~~~
Ariel Bower
Monday 6:55 PM
Campus Grounds
"Go to where you'll be safe," Professor Johnson said to us outside, her elegant hand extended towards us. "Don't worry about classes for this week."
I was sitting with a few other girls from my dorm and we were holding each other. I saw Hailey Richards crying so hard. . . . I feel so sorry for her.
Losing your best friend---no, I mean seeing her gunned down must be a nightmare.
There isn't any more screaming or ambulance sirens now. . . instead, there's chanting from different prayer groups scattered on the grass and people talking. And crying.
I felt cried out. . . like there simply weren't any more tears left in me. I think some other people felt that way too.
"Ladies," Mrs. Olive came over and smiled weakly. "There's an assembly in the outdoor commons. . . . please join us."
One of my friends tugged on my arm, and we followed her to the field.
~~~~~
Hailey Richards
Monday 7:15 PM
Outdoor Commons
The outdoor commons used to be a football field, with stand and everything, until the school built a bigger one after some football restrictions were changed. This one was used for demonstrations, explosive science projects, parties, and whatnot.
There was an enormous bonfire in the middle and sheets of paper and pencils on a table close to it. All faculty members were standing in front of the set of bleachers everyone was seated on.
Rob was seated next to me, and I was wearing his Missouri State sweater. It was warm, and comfy. Every now and then, I felt like looking for Ramona among the stands, and then the painful remembrance came back.
"You okay?" Rob smiled at me, having disentangled himself from the media only moments before and then, noticing I was shivering, had given me this sweater.
"No," I said honestly, staring at the bonfire. "I miss her already."
Counselor Olive was at a podium, which had been rigged to speakers and other electrical thingies. She looked somber---rumors were going around that she had sent the email.
"Students and faculty," she began, looking around at us. "Today is a sad, cold day for us at Missouri State College. . . "
I tuned her out easily, looking around at the faces of everyone. The fire flickered an orange-ish light on everyone, and Rob was listening to Mrs. Olive intently. I noticed goose bumps on his bare arm, as he was only wearing a blue tee shirt now.
A pang of guilt went through me. . . . Rob had sacrificed his sweater for me when he noticed I was shivering, and here he was, cold as well. Colder, probably.
They said that he'd risked his life to barricade the door---I fully believe that. Rob always was the nicest boy.
Ramona had always teased me for my slight obsession with him, and had dared me countless times to ask him out. And every time, I played the chicken. That had always been my role.
Like when Ramona had gone back. I was the chicken again.
Chicken no more, I vowed, watching Rob's intensely blue eyes flick from Mrs. Olive to me and smiled slightly.
But I didn't need a boyfriend right now, I argued with myself. Dealing with Ramona's death among 31 others was going to be enough for now.
But maybe I needed a friend.
At the same time, we reached for the other's hand at the same time.
~~~~~
Mrs. Brittany Olive
Monday 7:30 PM
Outdoor Commons
". . . . we will continue to remember those who lost their lives to help others," I continued, sweeping a look around the commons at the solemn students. Professor Johnson had a bouquet of white roses at hand.
"Professor James Adams, for holding the door closed for escaping students, and therefore, losing his own life," I said clearly, my eyes filling up again.
Johnson tossed one rose into the fire, and the student body roared proudly in response.
" Ramona Davis, for risking and eventually giving up her life to go back for another."
Another rose, another heartbreaking yell of remembrance from the students. And faculty.
"Jacob King, who single handedly tried to take down the gunman," I said, in a softer voice.
Once thrown into the fire, the white roses illuminated and then turned black, crinkling away into the flames.
When all the roses were gone, I wiped a few tears from my eyes.
"Missouri State College, let it be known that we, as faculty and students, as now one. . . we will not forget. Ever. We will remember for all eternity this horrendous day, am I right Warriors??"
"Warriors! Warriors! Warriors!" the crowd chanted passionately of our mascot, pounding their feet and banging against the metal of the stands.
No, we would never forget.
I hope you still feel small
When you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes
I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give fate a fighting chance
And when you get the choice
To sit it out or dance
I hope you dance
"I hope you Dance" by Lee Ann Womack
Professor Adams is based on the 75 year old Holocaust survivor/professor at VA Tech who held the door shut for his students and died....
Robert Jospehs is based on the boy hero who barricaded the door...
Jacob King is for those happy go lucky students who lost their smile that day...
Hailey Richards and Ariel Bower is for those students who are struggling to cope with their losss....
Monday, April 16th: a sad day around the world. This is for those who lost their lives, loved ones, or hope that day.
Live life to the fullest. You owe it to them.
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