I snapped my head towards the area the bullet was shot. The man was ten - no, twenty - feet away from where I stood. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted the other way. It was a stupid idea since he could've easily shot me square in the back. Instead, the sharp bullet went through my leg, causing me to collapse.

I screamed as the unbearable pain overwhelmed my body. The worse pain I had ever dealt with was when I broke my arm from falling off of the monkey bars in fourth grade. A bullet shot into a limb had to be a hundred times worse. I placed my hand over the wound in a futile attempt to restrict the flow. I couldn't think as the blood started cascading from my thigh through my fingers.

"Why are you doing this?!" I screamed. I could've just laid down on the floor and acted dead until he left, and found a place to hide. But no, my big mouth just had to open.

I swore he was going to shoot me again. Right in the stomach, or in the head like Carly. Instead, he slowly walked towards me. My eyes widened and I shuffled back with my hands. He caught up to me before I could move a foot. He kneeled to my height, his gun not hesitating to look threatening.

"Where is the cafeteria?" His thick Jersey accent sent jolts of electricity down my spine. The cafeteria? I refused to look at the building next to me. It would be too obvious if I did. 

"Wh-why?" It was beginning to grow difficult to speak, but I had to stall. Stall him from going to the cafeteria, and from killing me.

"To get what I came here for," he replied. His breath smelled strongly of alcohol. "This school has been in debt for quite awhile now, so they have to sell drugs to keep it going. Did you know that?" I shook my head. I had no idea. A school where they had a whole lesson on how drugs are bad wouldn't do that, would it? "Well, it's true. It's not good for my business, though. So I simply have to clear off the source."

I felt my bottom lip tremble. He was playing with me. Pouring answers into my head, making me feel important for being the only one aware of his plans. Instead of letting me go, he'd place another bullet in my frontal lobe and end me right there, on the school floor littered with pine tree leaves. I'd read enough books and watched enough murder shows to know that.

My breathing began to grow heavier as oxygen escaped my lungs. I had always imagined the way I would die. It was usually me in my nineties with a husband. I'd die from a disease or from old age, having my last words be Peace out! or at least something like that. It seemed to be different, though. I wouldn't even be able to say goodbye to my mom, Carly (well, she was already dead), or even Evan. Evan, the soccer player who I was slowly falling for as we continued to grow up together.

 I would never get to see my little brother again. I would never get to feel my mother's body against mine as she held me in an embrace. And Evan, I would never get to confess my feelings. Or feel his lips on mine. 

The barrel of the gun was pressed to my temple, and I closed my eyes. Shoot, I silently pleaded. The pain is probably bearable. I fixed my gaze on his dark eyes and thinning hair, swallowing down my fear. I refused to allow him to see through me. If I was dying, I was dying bravely. At least I would get to stay me, someone that was overwhelmed with my big ego. I forced a smirk, which made him grin in amusement.

"Welcome back to school," he whispered in my ear. Then he clicked the trigger and the bullet dug into my skull, causing me to black out, and to take my final breath.