He walked through the hallways and all he saw was gossip, crude comments, insulting words.

                     Endless pain.

                     That's the only way he could describe high school.

                     High school reminded him of a book he had recently read by Richard Connell called 'The Most Dangerous Game'. Specifically, when Zaroff said to Rainsford, "The world is made up of two classes - the hunters and the huntees."

                      Except in high school there was the bullies, and the bullied. And sometimes you couldn't quite decipher who belonged in which section. But his position was quite clear.

                     He was the bullied.

                     But he was sick of it. He wished to stand up to bullies but nobody would stand by him, so he took matters into his own hands, not sparing anybody.

                     If you're not willing to stand up to the bullies, you may as well be one, he justified.

                     He looked at the blood splattered on the walls, the lockers, the floors . . . everything.

                     He smiled.

                     "I saved them," he voiced his thoughts.

                     He looked at the gun in his hand, and lifted it to his face, kissing it.

                     "Thank you," he said to the gun. It had helped him save all those people. It was out of ammunition, but it had already done its job.

                     There were approximately two hundred people who attended his school, and quite a few teachers. He knew he got most of the ones who didn't run out of the school at the sound of gunshots, but he was still alert, he knew someone could come inside if they were oblivious to what was going on, or were just plain stupid.

                     Suddenly he heard a sharp inhale.

                     His head snapped toward that direction, his neck letting out a small cracking sound at the abrupt movement.

                     "P-please, don't h-hurt me," the girl was around a meter away from him, looking like a dear caught in headlights. She was crying, hiccups escaping her plump, pink lips.

                     After further examination of the freckles on her cheeks, that crossed the bridge of her nose, her unblemished pasty white skin, her hair that had clearly been dyed silver, her pale, almost washed out blue eyes, and rather tiny, and bony trembling figure he decided that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

                     A smile spread across his lips. "Hurt you?" He questioned, in a terrifyingly innocent, light tone.

                     "Now why would I do that?" He questioned, smile widening. He couldn't help but smile when looking at her. He had never felt that way before.

                     Her terrified eyes scanned the hall, a tear dropping for each and every dead body they laid eyes upon.

                     "I . . . I j-just thought-" she stopped herself, her eyes ran down his body, and stopped when they saw the gun in his hand.

                     "H-how? Why?!" Her breathing became ragged, and quickened abnormally.

                     He tilted his head. "What's wrong?" She started looking angry.

                     "What's wrong- What's wrong?!" She raised her voice the second time she repeated herself, her face reddening.

                     "I don't know why you're getting so angry," he frowned, confused.

                     "I- are you human?!" An eerie smile spread across his face at those words.

                     "Of course. I wouldn't have done all of this-" he paused, gesturing to all the dead bodies surrounding him. "-if I weren't human,"

                     "How is murder a humane thing to do?!" She screamed, tears falling rapidly from her eyes.

                     "You come here every day, correct?" He paused, and she nodded. "Are you bullied or are you a bully?" He questioned.

                     "I- I- they made fun of my-" she hiccupped, "-weight," she looked down at her hands, wringing them together.

                     He slowly made his way to her. It angered him that they thought they had the right to do that. He noticed now, how skinny she really was.

                      Once he'd gotten to her, he gently ran the back of his hand against her cheek. "You're beautiful, skinny or not," she jumped back.

                     "Even if I were, that's besides the point, you- you're evil!" She shouted.

                     "No I'm not!" He screamed loudly, before calming down. "I- I did this to . . . to help them," he sighed in frustration, running his hands through his hair, pulling at the bleach blonde strands, unintentionally staining them with the red blood that was on his hands.

                     "You should understand! You of all people should understand! I tried- I tried to get people to stand up to them but . . . but nobody would do it! There's two types of students- the bullies and the bullied and-"

                     "Shut up!" She screamed. "Shut the fuck up!" He stared at her with wide eyes, not expecting her to so rudely interrupt.

                     "Yeah, being bullied sucks- life sucks! But that does not give you the right to take a life! These people had mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, they had lives and you thought 'oh poor me, people don't like me, let's kill everyone!' You're an idiot! A half wit! A retard-"

                     "Enough!" He screamed, nearly pulling his hair out. "They hurt me! And other people were being hurt too! Like you! They hurt you! They bullied you, insulted you, taunted you, and so many others were being treated just as bad!"

                     "And you killed them too! You're worse than the bullies!"

                     "No I'm not!" He screamed in her face, causing her to shrink back.

                     "It's time for you to go," he concluded, calmly.

                     "O-okay," she says, slowly turning around, preparing to walk away.

                     "Oh no. Not that way," she stopped dead in her tracks.

                     "Nobody leaves the building unless- well, must I finish?" She began trembling, she whipped around, facing him.

                     "Please- no! I'm sorry! I'll do anything j-just please don't!" She said, unintentionally backing herself right up against a locker, covered in blood.

                     "It's okay," he smiled. "It'll be over soon, I promise," he approached her, and grabbed her head gently with both his hands, tears streaming down her face like a waterfall, sobs wracking her body. And then he did it.

                     He snapped her neck.

                     "All beautiful things must come to an end," he smiled. He slowly sat down, laying the girl who's name he'd never learned's head in his lap.

                     "So beautiful," he smiled down at her, stroking her soft, silver hair.

                     All of a sudden there was so much noise being made. It was a large group of police officers.

                     "Put your hands in the air!" One of the officers shouted.

                     He looked up, and continued stroking the girl's hair, smiling.

                     "Emily?!" One of the officers screamed, clearly distraught. "Oh my god, that bastard killed my daughter," the officer was looking down at the silver haired girl in his lap with his hand over his mouth.

                     Emily, he thought. I love it. Beautiful, innocent... perfect. He smiled.

                     "Put your fucking hands in the air!" The first officer shouted.

                     He shook his head again, and instead reached for the empty gun that was sitting beside him, knowing they'd be forced to shoot.

                     He grinned as the gun was aimed at his face.

                     "I saved them."

                     And then the gun sounded.

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