Sonofjango615
2008-12-26, 03:01
I wrote this a while back, back in the fall or winter of last year, maybe. I have yet to flesh it out, but have considered doing a The Good War or World War Z take on a school shooting event. I honestly don't think it's that great, I'm just wanting some extra opinions/suggestions. Of course, the formatting is a bit off, so just bear with me on that one.
It is a somber Monday. It is not the same “I don’t want to be here” Monday; a different Monday. It’s the one Monday that no student in any level ever wants to endure. Even as I pull into the school’s entrance, it’s different. Sure, I’m going to school. Sure, I’m driving the same old crappy hand-me-down jalopy to school. I’m going to sit down at the breakfast table with my friends before the first bell rings. I’m even going to the same classes.
No…Not the same classes. The classes would never be the same from now on. I try not to think about it. The images. The sounds. The memories.
Sitting down at the breakfast table, my friends’ faces mirror mine. None of us said anything. Silence covers the cafeteria, although two-hundred or more students occupy it. It is filled with silence, but I could tell; there was pain. People urge to yell with pain. I know I do.
My friends and I sit there at our table, some of us with our heads down, others looking at each other, comforting each other, only using our eyes. Each of us saying to the other, “It’s going to be okay.”
The bell rings. Class is about to start. The first class since we’ve been allowed to come back.
.
My first period English teacher tries to read us Mark Twain, but breaks down in the middle of A Dog's Tale. No one says anything, we all feel the same way. I look around the room and a pain hits me as my eyes reach Dave‘s desk
What used to be Dave‘s desk.
The girl behind me, Alyssa, touches my shoulder, trying to comfort me. Reaching back, her hand is wet. She'd been crying. She knows how close Dave and I were. She was close to him as well. We were all close. We were The “Terrible Trio”. We hold hands for the rest of the class, speechless, looking at the desk, silently comforting each other. He died doing what he did best. He died being a friend.
As the day goes on, the silence will dim more and more. In between each class, the atmosphere becoming less dark and morbid, and turned more into a peaceful memorial. Less sniffing and crying, to more hugging and laughing, thinking of good memories of those lost.
None of us, however, could hide the fact that twelve of us would never be returning.
“Okay, my sweet little angels!” Mrs. Robson said in a desperately gleeful tone, trying her hardest to get us excited about English IV. She is a sweet teacher, short, and fun to pick on. “Today”, she said, with that funny little smile of hers, “we’re going to read a little of one of my favorite American authors, and one you all know very well,: Samuel Clemens.”
Kids in the class looked at each other, somewhat perplexed. The majority of the class was confused about who this author was. I knew; I’m a big fan. Some others knew who she was talking about, and either smiled in anticipation for the unit, or groaned in disgust. Beside me, Dave groaned. He’d heard me talk about him before. Dave hated writing, and any form of literature, except for comic books.
“Most of you know him as Mark Twain, author of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and Prince and the Pauper.” I was shocked at that last one; I didn’t know he wrote it. Well, I’ll just admit it: The only thing I know about that story was from the Wishbone episode. “Today, we’re going to just read about Mr. Twain and his life, and tomorrow, we’ll look at one of my favorite essays by him, ‘A Dog’s Tale’”.
I look to my left again to tell David my little embarrassment, just in time to see a wadded up piece of paper come flying from behind and hit Dave in the back of the head. I knew exactly where it came from: a girl named Alyssa. She’s a cute redhead, slightly shorter than Dave and I, and man, what a flirt. She had been all over my best buddy since I can remember. He liked her too; you could see it when he looked at her, and when she looked at him. Their eyes meet like no other couple that I have ever seen. And they’re not even a couple. They’re just friends. I would give anything for the connection that they have. I just wished they would say something to each other.
Dave scowled at her, and then turned to me. He placed his chin in his hands, and then gave me a big beaming smile and a bright-eyed look. “Yes sir?” He asked, and I could sense a large amount of sarcastic interest in his voice there.
“Never mind” I said, and I crumpled up a piece of paper lying useless on my desk, and handed it to Alyssa. She smiled at me, then proceeded to chunk the piece of paper at Dave’s face yet again.
They make a great couple.
The bell rings and snaps me back to class. I wipe a tear away from my eye as Alyssa's arms wrap around my chest from behind. Her cheek presses against mine, and I feel a soft kiss from her lips. I love her, and am glad for the hug and the kiss, I just don’t feel like talking right now.
It is a somber Monday. It is not the same “I don’t want to be here” Monday; a different Monday. It’s the one Monday that no student in any level ever wants to endure. Even as I pull into the school’s entrance, it’s different. Sure, I’m going to school. Sure, I’m driving the same old crappy hand-me-down jalopy to school. I’m going to sit down at the breakfast table with my friends before the first bell rings. I’m even going to the same classes.
No…Not the same classes. The classes would never be the same from now on. I try not to think about it. The images. The sounds. The memories.
Sitting down at the breakfast table, my friends’ faces mirror mine. None of us said anything. Silence covers the cafeteria, although two-hundred or more students occupy it. It is filled with silence, but I could tell; there was pain. People urge to yell with pain. I know I do.
My friends and I sit there at our table, some of us with our heads down, others looking at each other, comforting each other, only using our eyes. Each of us saying to the other, “It’s going to be okay.”
The bell rings. Class is about to start. The first class since we’ve been allowed to come back.
.
My first period English teacher tries to read us Mark Twain, but breaks down in the middle of A Dog's Tale. No one says anything, we all feel the same way. I look around the room and a pain hits me as my eyes reach Dave‘s desk
What used to be Dave‘s desk.
The girl behind me, Alyssa, touches my shoulder, trying to comfort me. Reaching back, her hand is wet. She'd been crying. She knows how close Dave and I were. She was close to him as well. We were all close. We were The “Terrible Trio”. We hold hands for the rest of the class, speechless, looking at the desk, silently comforting each other. He died doing what he did best. He died being a friend.
As the day goes on, the silence will dim more and more. In between each class, the atmosphere becoming less dark and morbid, and turned more into a peaceful memorial. Less sniffing and crying, to more hugging and laughing, thinking of good memories of those lost.
None of us, however, could hide the fact that twelve of us would never be returning.
“Okay, my sweet little angels!” Mrs. Robson said in a desperately gleeful tone, trying her hardest to get us excited about English IV. She is a sweet teacher, short, and fun to pick on. “Today”, she said, with that funny little smile of hers, “we’re going to read a little of one of my favorite American authors, and one you all know very well,: Samuel Clemens.”
Kids in the class looked at each other, somewhat perplexed. The majority of the class was confused about who this author was. I knew; I’m a big fan. Some others knew who she was talking about, and either smiled in anticipation for the unit, or groaned in disgust. Beside me, Dave groaned. He’d heard me talk about him before. Dave hated writing, and any form of literature, except for comic books.
“Most of you know him as Mark Twain, author of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, and Prince and the Pauper.” I was shocked at that last one; I didn’t know he wrote it. Well, I’ll just admit it: The only thing I know about that story was from the Wishbone episode. “Today, we’re going to just read about Mr. Twain and his life, and tomorrow, we’ll look at one of my favorite essays by him, ‘A Dog’s Tale’”.
I look to my left again to tell David my little embarrassment, just in time to see a wadded up piece of paper come flying from behind and hit Dave in the back of the head. I knew exactly where it came from: a girl named Alyssa. She’s a cute redhead, slightly shorter than Dave and I, and man, what a flirt. She had been all over my best buddy since I can remember. He liked her too; you could see it when he looked at her, and when she looked at him. Their eyes meet like no other couple that I have ever seen. And they’re not even a couple. They’re just friends. I would give anything for the connection that they have. I just wished they would say something to each other.
Dave scowled at her, and then turned to me. He placed his chin in his hands, and then gave me a big beaming smile and a bright-eyed look. “Yes sir?” He asked, and I could sense a large amount of sarcastic interest in his voice there.
“Never mind” I said, and I crumpled up a piece of paper lying useless on my desk, and handed it to Alyssa. She smiled at me, then proceeded to chunk the piece of paper at Dave’s face yet again.
They make a great couple.
The bell rings and snaps me back to class. I wipe a tear away from my eye as Alyssa's arms wrap around my chest from behind. Her cheek presses against mine, and I feel a soft kiss from her lips. I love her, and am glad for the hug and the kiss, I just don’t feel like talking right now.