he felt no different than he had every day before.
living in this hell of which no one else knew, nor could
understand. various faces drifted past him prodding him with
greetings, he was not
of his replies back to them.
stimulus...response...stimulus...response. he looked around
at them quietly and calmly. he could see his cold anger
radiating out at them and he was
that no one asked
about it. everything
took on
a hollow echoing noise far away
and not having anything to do with him. he turned and
entered the room. sitting quietly in the room watching them,
working only in a cruel parody of them. they tried to be
helpful to him
they were wary of
and rightfully so.

the teacher speaks to him, he hears but it takes a
moment for him to translate in his head.
i do require you to speak orally from one of our many
books of filthy fascist shit
comes the translation.
he does not reply and only begins to read. he does not
recognize the word except as sounds from his own lips. he
does not the rhymes or the few words which he stumbles on.
he only
his hatred for them growing and growing
more so.

he finishes and there are no comments, but he does not
realize this either. he hears a voice close by him and looks
up in sight confusion as he
it is his own.

may I fetch my book teacher please?
she nods. he rises and embarks towards the door. he
looks ar the quiet faces returning his brief gaze and feels
brief sympathy for them but realizes that he will not miss
them when they are dead. anther continues reading and he
exits the room into the empty calm foreshadowing hallway. he
walks toward his cubbyhole. there is a small crumpled bag in
the back. he takes it out, holding it in his hand. cradling
it. this movement seems
to him and strangely
natural. he closes the light
metal door of the cache
and returns to the room.
he reenters the room causing the teacher to look up at
him. he reaches into the bag, making it lighter and dropping
it on the floor beside him. his hand raised in a flurry of
motion until it was extended straight out in front of him.
he guided the lead cone into the face of the teacher,
dissolving her nose, and throwing her backwards as the back
of her head opened shattering the window behind her and
coating the grass with glass. her body went completely limp
as she flopped to the floor face down.
there were several piercing screams as the rest of the
began to realize what was happening.
chaos broke out and desk began to overturn as they
scampered for cover that wasn
t there. his slender figure
was only a black mass as the furious orange sun or early
afternoon blazed behind him. he turned on the class and
raised the gun again and again and again. only two behind
the teachers desk survived and they remembered that he was
smiling as he left, the gun lying peacefully in the black
plastic garbage can.