I regained consciousness very soon, because when I woke up, the blood looked just as fresh as when I had collapsed. I retched at the sight of the hand, lifeless. The question was, though, who cut off his hand? I hadn’t heard anybody else’s footsteps, so I was puzzled as to what could have happened. Trembling like a leaf and with blurry vision, I walked over to the window to make sure that the rest of the madman wasn’t anywhere in sight. He was. His deceased body sat there in a pool of swirling blood, which was slowly spreading across the floor, reaching the sole of someone’s vermillion colored sneakers. He must have died from blood loss. His knife was still in his one limp hand, glinting under the fluorescent lights. He had cut off his own hand. Why? Maybe to scare me? If that was his goal, he sure met it. I was horrified. I don’t know why he did it. Know one knows why psychopaths do the things they do.
I took the first aid kit from my bag and bandaged up the deep cuts the shattered glass had inflicted. I placed the first aid kit back in the backpack, and took out a few crackers to eat. Maybe the crackers would settle my upset stomach. They didn’t help. I zipped up the rusted zipper of my evacuation pack. I replaced it on my aching back, and stood up on unsteady legs. Now that the threat of getting shot was over, I needed to see if my friends were ok.
First I needed to get out of this room. Since the shooter had already shot out most of the window pane, I figured smashing the rest out and then climbing out would be the best course of action. I walked over to a small, plain wooden bookshelf. As I neared it, I noticed some sort of taffy-like substance was stuck to the side, and it had attracted all sorts of dirt and grime. Now was not the time to think about that, though. I picked up a nasty-looking dirt encrusted Math Makes Sense 8 textbook, and headed towards the direction of the door window. My footsteps echoed as I got closer and closer. I pulled back the textbook, gripping it with both hands, and thrust it through the remains of the window, which fell out all at once. A few pieces pierced my skin with searing pain. I hissed and picked them out. Surprisingly, most of the glass sheet had completely fallen out, and only a few jagged pieces of glass remained in a few corners, threatening to cut me. I removed the backpack once again, and pushed it through the frame. I jumped out after it. Once I was outside of the staffroom, I put the backpack back on my shoulders.
I looked around the hall. The sounds of crying students filled the air, and the reek of blood burned my nose. There were a few chips in the wall here and there, and lots of broken glass littering the school floors. I ran over to Ms. Norton’s class, because it happened to be the closest class that I needed to visit. I knocked at the door and I heard a chorus of screams. The window was unbroken, and the door was still locked. So far so good. I peeped into the window and did a quick head count. Yup. All of them were there. Alive.
I sprinted up the muddy stairs, faster than Usain Bolt, needing to know if Caroline and Alia had survived the brutal attacks. I reached the classroom, and fell pale when I realized there were bullet holes in the door. I cautiously opened the dotted door, bracing myself for what I could find inside. I turned the cold, metal door handle, and slowly opened the door, inch by inch, clutching on to the rough wooden edge. When the door was finally open, I saw most of the class shaking, hidden in the corner without Ms. Robespierre. They all had a shocked, horrified look on their face, as if they had seen something unbelievable. And soon that look would be on my face too.
Lying in the corner were the bodies of Eric and Ethan. I fainted for the third time that day. Maybe something was medically wrong with me.
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