A not so typical day.

It wasn't my fault for what happened. I was just trying to help. That day would change the way everyone thought of people different than them. That day when everything went wrong.

He walks in to the room as if death itself is behind him. Agitation and hatred etched onto his face. He never wanted to come to this school. A place where everyone is popular, rich and outsiders are looked down upon. A place where he doesn’t belong.

People watch him as he walks by. The older boys stick their legs out and try to trip him. Each one calls out a name worse than the other to torment him. He takes his seat in the far back corner of the classroom with out any plans to participate. The bell rings. Everyone faces the front of the classroom. All except him. He lays his head down as I rush into the room. I'm late again like always. Looking around I see that only one chair is left open. The chair right next to him. As I walk to the chair he doesn’t lift his head.

Sitting down I realize the cuts on his arm. Faded scars are covered with fresh cuts. I know that no one ever dares to talk to him but I lean over and try to get him to talk. He pays no attention to me.

Finally I try to physically get his attention. I tap his shoulder. I knew I never should have talked to him. As soon as my finger touches his heavy coat, he pulls a gun. Yelling words too fast for anyone to understand, he pulls the trigger. Over and over again he pulls the trigger. Five shots are fired. Two hit the wall. Three enter me. Falling to the floor pain erupts in my chest. My heart pounds in my head as blood rushes out of the open wounds. People are screaming all around me as he stands, yelling words no one understands.

Finally everything is quiet. The only people left in the room are him and me. By this time the blood has begun to pool. Looking down at me he silently sits on the floor. He reaches into his pocket just as a faint sound of sirens are heard. As he pulls his hand out of his pocket he glances into my eyes. All I tried to do was help him. All I wanted was for him to stop hurting him self. A silent prayer escapes my lips as he watches me die.

Lifting up his gun he reloads new bullets. The police are no where near the building as he stands up. He glances down one more time before lifting the gun to his head. One shot is heard. He falls only a few feet away from me but I know he's gone.

The room is empty now. No one uses it other than as a storage. The only thing left from that day are two bullet holes and a memory. One bullet hole for someone who just tried to do the right thing, the other for a tortured sole too scared to ask for help.