The Last Dance

I stare at the joint intensely. The seemingly inanimate object returns my gaze, and I sit completely still for what seems like eternity.

Finally I pick it up and raise it to my lips, inhaling the sickly sweet smoke and holding it in my lungs, closing my eyes and beginning to count.

One, two, three...

I go as high as I can before my body is screaming at me to breathe, and I let it out slowly. I feel my body becoming more and more intoxicated. It's like I can see the smoke working into my bloodstream, racing through my body, flooding my brain with a welcome relaxation.

I sit the joint back in the ash tray, and then lean back against my computer chair and stare at the ceiling. I can feel my mind melting, becoming soft putty for my thoughts to work with.

Or maybe my thoughts are becoming obliterated.

At the moment, I don't care, and I look across the room at a small clock on my dresser. 2:36 in the morning. My alarm will go off in about three hours, and it'll be time to go to school.

I haven't really slept in about three days. I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid of what I'll find in my dreams, in my nightmares. The monsters that threaten me there....

So much anger is inside me now. I contemplate this for awhile, then nod to myself.

I know what must be done.

I have thought about it for a long time... but only now have I decided that it was time. I will prove that my life is in my hands. And if I'm going down, I'll be damned if I'm not taking as many people as possible with me.

I reach across the desk and pull out a spiral notebook and start jotting names down, making two columns as I go. One is labeled, "Who I Hate". The other, "Who I Don't". I write down names for a long time, and anyone watching me would not know that I am making death plans as the lists grow longer.

Checking the lists twice, scratching certain names and circling others, I make my final judgement, and roll another joint since my previous one has burned out. (That was good stuff, too...) I light it and take a deep drag, letting it out after about a minute. Then I stand, my mind mostly clear except for the soft, comforting haze of marijuana. I head down into the basement, grabbing a hatchet that sits beside the main basement door.

Then I head for the gun cabinet.

It's a simple wooden affair, with a cheap padlock. One hit with the hatchet snaps the hinges off the cabinet, and I open it, surveying my choice. Shotguns, no... too big, too awkward to shoot in close confines. Well... maybe my confines don't have to be so close...

I stand there for a moment, thinking about where I want this to take place. I decide I'd rather be up close and personal, and I choose a pistol that holds six rounds. A box of ammunition for the handgun is in a shelf at the bottom of the cabinet, and I take the entire box, loading the gun and flipping the safety on.

Then I scrounge around the garage, picking up a can of gasoline. Then it's out to the recycling bin, where I find a few empty glass bottles that are suitable for my purpose.

Hauling my treasures up to my room, I sit them on my bed, then go into the kitchen and return with some corks I found in the "junk" drawer, steel wire, and a plastic funnel.

I survey my load.

Five glass bottles. Plenty of gasoline. A dozen corks. A pistol. Fifty rounds of ammunition.

Digging in my dresser, I find a plain white tshirt and start ripping it into small shreds. Steadying the bottles on my desk, I put the funnel in the neck of the first bottle and fill it about half way with gas. Then I cork it tightly, and do the process with the remaining four bottles.

I wrap the shreds of cloth around each cork tightly with the wire, and fill a plastic thermos with some more gasoline. Then I return to my dresser, pulling out five tshirts and wrapping one around each bottle. Unloading my books and folders from my backpack, I replace it with the wrapped bottles and thermos, and then the gun and ammunition.

Donning a pair of baggy jeans, and a black tshirt, I sit on my bed, thinking about what I'm going to do today.

I'm ready.

About half an hour later, my alarm rings. I shut it off, and remain seated for awhile, then go out of my room and make it look like any other normal day. Just before I leave, I slip a lighter into my pocket.

I board the bus, and go to school, talking with the same people, nothing looks amiss to an outsider.

People start to file into the building, and I head into a bathroom, into a handicapped stall. I unwrap the bottles and throw the tshirts in the toilet, but don't flush. I pour enough gasoline for my purpose onto each rag attached to a bottle, and put the gun in my pocket, along with loose bullets. The safety is still on.

I slip each bottle into a different pocket. This is pretty easy, considering I'm wearing cargo jeans that are several sizes too big for me.

Leaving my backpack in the stall, I leave, holding a bottle in my hand and a lighter in the other. I go out into the hallway and chuckle, checking the clock. I have fifteen minutes until class starts. Plenty of time.

No one notices me. It's actually quite amusing. I lean against the wall for a few seconds, then spot someone who I absolutely detest, one of the circled names on the "Who I Hate" list. I flick the lighter and hold it to the rag. It catches flame almost immediately.

The minute the orange flame bursts into life, it's like time has slowed down just for me. Everything becomes black and white, and nothing is interrupting my concentration. All my thought is focused on the task at hand.

I don't even have to aim, and I lob the cocktail at my chosen victim. His back is to me, and the bottle explodes on him in a sudden burst of flame and heat. He goes down screaming, and all is silent. Everyone is staring at me.

Grabbing another bottle out of my pocket, I light it and turn around, throwing it at someone who is walking down the hall, a person unknowing of what is about to happen.

Another explosion.

Now everyone is running, screaming, and I'm in the middle of it all, standing there calmly. The two kids I hit are on the floor, screaming, flailing wildly as flames consume them. All the other kids are trampling them as the flee.

Smirking, I go down the hall and go up the stairs quickly. The upstairs has heard nothing. I run quickly to the back hall of the school, looking, looking...

And I spot him.

I light the rag and pitch. It hits him smack in the chest, and his shirt erupts. Everything is still in slow motion, and it seems like no adults are in range. Yet.

Two more bottles to go... I tear down another hall, bursting into a room, lighting a bottle as I go. I smash it over the teacher's head, screaming obscenities at him as I disappear out of the room and down a corrider, flying down the stairs and out of the school.

I come around to the front of the school. People are pouring out of the entrances, and no one knows what's going in. I light the last bottle, and throw it into an unsuspecting crowd.

Then I pull out the pistol, clicking the safety off. I watch the confusing mass of writhing bodies, spot my next one... two... three... four victims. Raising the gun, I pick them off. It's a turkey shoot; they're all sticking together. I reload; I will not be caught with less than two bullets in my gun at one time.

Taking off down the street, I sprint as fast as possible around the back of the school, entering the rear of the farthest building from the one I just attacked. Slipping my gun and hand into my pocket, I look around the crowded hallway. Rumors are flying; but no one knows exactly what's happened just yet.

One shot, two shot, three shot... I crack off five rounds and disappear into the crowd, reloading. Screams and cries spread quickly; no one knows where the shots came from.

This is almost too easy.

I shoot into the crowd around me, hitting atleast four people. Then I turn a corner and am out a back door, running for the library.

The last show down in always in the library.

Everything is in utter chaos; no one knows exactly who is the person doing all this. I go into the library, I find a familiar face in a corner of the library, looking around the shelves.

She looks at me, cocking an eyebrow.

"You smell like gas," is all she says.

She knows. She's known this would happen for a long time...

And she doesn't judge me.

I smile, and throw my arms around her. She returns the embrace.

"I want to go with," she whispers. I nod. This is not romance. This is friendship of the deepest kind. This is true loyalty.

I ask her if she is ready. She nods, and I give her the gun. I tell her that we will exit through the main entrance of the building, with our hands up. Then she will shoot me, one shot, in the head. Then... she will shoot herself.

Without hesitation, she agrees.

And we go. Down the stairs, out the lobby. There are police everywhere, media crews... it's amazing. No one sees us at first, and then suddenly all eyes are on us.

She shouts something insignificant and I stand in all my glory. I am the ultimate form of revenge, of hatred set free. Then the barrel of the gun is turned towards me.

A crack rings out, and something slams into me, spinning me around. I hit the ground hard, and stare up at the blue, blue sky. I am conscious just long enough to hear the second crack, and feel a warm body slump against mine. I smile weakly, and then...

All is encompassed in black.

It is over.