It's 3am. A Monday. Two young men are planning their rise to greatness. Delusions of grandeur. They're sitting in a darkly lit room. Candles on the desks. A lamp on the wall. Commando green chairs beneath their asses. The world waits for them. Today they will own their fate. Today they will be fate. Crude maps plastered to the wall. Something the shape of a building. A camcorder records their legacy. The one called Eric points to the map. The other named Corey nods his head. Conversation passes between the two. There's laughing. Small fragments of happiness. Corey asks a question. Eric motions for a gun. Illegal make on the desk. Corey sarcasticly applauds. Ideas are running. There's a mission. At least that's something. A plan filled with holes. That's something else.
It's 4am. Still Monday. Forever Monday. Guns adorn the walls. Both boys have been asleep. A half hour has passed. Dreams race in their heads. Coloured red for Corey. Just black and white for Eric. Violence and doom for each. A jolt here. A stir there. Nothing yet wakes them.
7am. They awake. One goes to the bathroom. The other waits his turn. Two trench coats are hung up. Black shadows waiting. Eric emerges. Corey goes in. Eric takes a coat. It's heavy. Weighed by two .45s. He puts in on. A map is ripped from the wall. He tucks it into his coat. Corey opens the bathroom door. Conversation begins. Maniacal laughing occurs. Insanity's closest acquaintance. Corey throws on the remaining coat. It's lighter. That will change. Momentarily. He grabs a knife. Puts it in a pocket. He grabs a hand gun. It's shoved into a holster. The coat has 3. Only one is needed. The gun on the desk. Favourite of both. Eric takes it. It's tossed to Corey. Smiles pass between them. Diabolical.
7:30am. An old Buick waits. Outside. Inside. The house is quiet. Everyone is gone. With exceptions. Black shadows walk out. Mafia men. Low men. They travel to the car. It resists being taken. It's tried again. It gives in. Eric drives. Corey talks. Driving is short. So far away. Too close.
8am. The perpetual Monday. Delusions are to be reality. Parking is easy. Never easier. Right outside the front door. A building. Tan brick. Double sided doors. Large rectangular windows. Young men and women walk by. Minions of the authority. Corey and Eric exit the car. Odd looks are expressed. Eyes. Too many. Children of disease. Obnoxious names are called. All parties move away. The boys move into the building.
8:15am. Bell rings. Plans are still in place. Minions scatter. Disappear. Two low men wait in the hall. Whispers fly between them. Eric produces the map. Points to 4 squares. Rooms. Corey frowns. A thought. A memory. The favoured gun. Left in the Buick.
"I forgot it."
"Then go fucking get it!"
8:23am. Wings of black. Stretched. Behind the running boy. Eric is impatient. Sets out alone. Nothing is suspected. All is quiet. Both hands are in pockets. A friend for each. Room 114. Outside. A wooden door. Large square window. Fantastic view. Inside. Calmness. Males. Females. Darks. Lights. Fools.
8:25am. Bafflement. Guns pulled out. Ready. A shout. A few screams. No time. Shooting begins. Brains on the wall. Blonde hair. Blood for the floor. One down. A shoulder here. A stomach there. Holes for all. A preacher felled. Minions still falling.
8:26am. Corey returns. Lost. Briefly. Room 114. Screams. Loud noises. He runs. There's chaos. Blood everywhere. Dead girls. Dead boys. Realization sets in. Oh well.
"What the hell Eric!? Why'd you start without me?"
"You took too long.."
8:28am. Teachers are racing. Nothing can be done. Students are under desks. Hiding. Typical. Two young men. Black trench coats. Guns. Walking death. Moving casually. Shooting down the hallway. One target. Two. Three. Many more. So many screams. So much blood.
8:32am. No one's a hero. No saviours. Cowards. All of them. Abandoned the plan. To little ammo. Muderer those you hate. Nothing else. A shot in one room. Two in another.
"What do we do now?"
"Go out in a blaze of fucking glory!"
"How Eric? There's no more ammo."
8:45am. They're walking. Bathrooms are down the hall. The only place. Quiet. Peaceful. They open the door. Sit on the floor. Nothing. No talk. Eric has two bullets. He hands one to Corey. Now he saw. Corey loads it. Gun to temple. Fires. Blood and brains coat Eric. His friend. What's left. A smile appears. Eric loads the bullet. One for himself. Gun under chin. Blood shoots. Death to horror. Death to chaos. Death.
9am. Police storm the school. Students are led out. Bodies are carried. Two boys are found. Skulls obliterated.
3pm. The camcorder is found. Still recording. Accusations start. Assumptions are made. Parents' fault. Goths. Sociopaths. Psychos. Drug addicts. Outcasts. Satanists.
10 years later. The truth is made public. Reality's mudane. Boredom. Depression. Nothing else.
this was inspired by the Columbine school shootings. The senselessness of it. It's also inspired by the rumours that spread about the shooters. They were not "goth", they were not Marilyn Manson obsessees, they were not in The Trench Coat Mafia. The entire attack lasted 17 minutes. The media made it last for hours and days, even years. The media also exaggerated the lives of the killers and the situation itself.