Jim knew there was no going back the moment he took that six-shooter gun from his father’s closet. If something was holding him back before, then now there was nothing. It was all settled. Because, well, if he returns the gun, then his dad will ask questions. And Jim would have nothing to say.

This morning was gloomy. The sky was covered in dark, rainy clouds, and some drops were already falling off on the ground, making a soft noise. It didn’t stop kids from attending to school, of course. They’d be watching rain during lessons and gather in dark corridors, chatting among themselves. Or they could have done so, if it wasn’t for Jim.

The gun was safely hidden in a guitar case. Jim swiftly makes his way to the school, sniffing to himself occasionally. Damn. Did he catch a cold? It’s gonna be bad for him when he goes to jail.

He knew just what will happen once he’s done. And honestly? He didn’t care. All that was inside of him is pure hatred, hatred towards everyone. Classmates, happy kids from elementary school, teachers — Jim hated them all. They were happier, so annoyingly happier, he just couldn’t help but hate them. They had something he never did, and they better pay for it.

He goes inside. Some teachers say “hi” to him, and Jim nods, not really listening to them. His mind is elsewhere. No one noticed. Good. That means he can start. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a huff of smoke. Someone, from school staff, noticed him doing this.

“Miller! You can’t—“ Jim wordlessly shot them in the head. The silence that followed was surprisingly pleasant. And then, everyone screamed, everyone ran away, hiding from his gun and bullets. Jim snickered.

Spinning the weapon in his hands, the teen felt almost euphoric, ruthlessly killing everyone who got into his way. How many did he kill already? Damn, he didn’t count. Along with smoking, that was relaxing him and keeping his mind sharp, it felt amazing.

Those assholes with pumped up kicks are better run before he kills them all.