Kyle had it all planned out. He had made his list, checked it thrice, and ordered them all by contempt of life. He had studied the art of chaos, memorized evacuation routes, and  knew the most likely meeting spots of his targets. He had blueprints and mapped routes. He memorized the times it would take him to get from room to room. He had even mastered throwing the knives he had with him in case the guns weren’t enough. His outfit of concealed weapons was laid out on his floor, like a football player would arrange his protective gear. As he set his alarm to get up early for school, he recited his final speech in his head as he rubbed a bullet between his fingers like a perverted security blanket. Tomorrow, he thought, they would pay. Tomorrow, he would make them all suffer, punish them all for their sins against him. Tomorrow he would have vengeance. Tomorrow would be a day of hell.            Brian broke the lock of his stepdad’s gun cabinet. He stuffed all the contents he could grab into a knapsack which he stuffed in a trunk by his mattress. He made sure to leave the most violent game he could find in his X-Box 360, so the news would have something to blame. This bit of genius, he thought, reassured him that he had chaos down to an art. He clipped his nails, made himself a dinner of Easy Mac, and crawled under the blankets with a sick serene smile. He put his hands behind his head in a dreamy manner. Tomorrow would be a hell of a day.

THE NEXT DAY    

            The entrance to Franklin Pierce High School started with a giant lawn, a divisor from the rest of the world inspired by the state university across town. Kyle always found this morbidly amusing, as though the gardens and shrubbery were the administration’s way of admitting that they were, in fact, completely aware that their entire academic program was designed to breed more power-mad, drunken, haze-happy sadist frat boys, and masochistic, drunken, date-rape victim sorority girls. Vermin, Kyle thought. A plague on intellectual humanity. Kyle did his best to convince himself that this was about more than vengeance, that he was doing something noble, being the martyr. Kyle knew he was full of shit, also. He suddenly felt a little disgusted. He checked his watch. 9:28, the red LCD display read. Very soon, first period would be letting out, and target one, star tailback Matt Hemshaw, would be meeting his girlfriend in the parking lot. Not today, though. It was about to start.

            Brian stood on the hill behind Franklin Pierce, smoking a cigarette. Very soon, he would be joined by a group of burnouts hoping to get high before PE. He would probably leave them alone, though. He figured no one would miss them, really. Most people would take this as a moment of contemplation, but from looking at Brian’s eyes, you wouldn’t think it. Cold, hollow, and emotionless, his eyes were as dark and empty as a forest destroyed by wildfire. It was impossible to tell if there was any thought process behind them, or if it were rather more like mechanical programming. 9:29, his watch beeped. He picked up the knapsack. Might as well start, he thought.

            Kyle tailed Matt Hemshaw as he cut behind the science classrooms, making himself foolishly, desperately alone. Kyle could have shot him at any time, but he forced himself to stick to the plan. In a few seconds, Matt Hemshaw would fall over Kyle’s crudely fashioned tripwire, and beg for mercy as Kyle would finish him execution-style, and would wish he had chosen to beat up someone else in the locker room. Kyle smirked.

            Gunshots erupted through the school, coming from the direction of the quad. Matt Hemshaw screamed and took off running, missing the trip line entirely. Immediately, Kyle’s world stopped.

            “No.” He said out loud. “No, this isn’t happening. This can not be fucking happening.” Kyle became the only person in the school running towards the gunshots.

            Brian didn’t shoot anyone in the quad. He instead fired his shotgun up into the trees, hoping to cause panic. The students and faculty ran like scared cattle, and Brian’s face contorted into a fake smirk. He followed them, cackling, shooting out windows and destroying doors. Every time someone fell over, he shot near them, to scare them up off the ground.

            “RUN, LITTLE PIGGIES! RUN TO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE!” He screamed. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he figured it would make a good sound clip. After a few minutes, he decided that the toying was over. It was time that he caused some real hell.  He turned and headed to the cafeteria.

            The cafeteria. That’s where Kyle had to go. Targets 3, 4 and 6 may still be there. He had to at least get them. He pushed his way though the panicking, screaming teens to find his way to a mostly abandoned hall which led to the cafeteria’s side entrance. Mr. Kasperzyk, a science teacher Kyle had never had appeared out of a doorway.

            “You can’t go in there, it’s being evacuated!” He yelled at Kyle. Kyle grabbed one of his guns and fired three shots in Kasperzyk’s direction.

            “SHUT UP!!”  Kyle screamed. He was in full panic mode now. Everything had been ruined. His plans were destroyed, his work had been made a moot point, and, he realized, with those three shots, he had destroyed his only chance of coming out of the situation clean. He didn’t care anymore. He needed a new plan. As he found the entrance, he realized that beyond the door was his last hope of finding anything resembling his plans for the day, or for his life. He opened the door.

            The cafeteria was empty. That was the first thing Brian had noticed. “Man, they evacuated this place quick.” He said to no one. Then, gunshots. Three of them. Were the cops here already?  Suddenly, he heard the click of a door, but which one? There were entrances to the cafeteria coming from all halls in the school. That’s why he decided to come here, and probably how they emptied it so quick. He pumped his shotgun and spun around the room. He prepared to shoot the first thing he saw. But he was not prepared for Kyle standing across the room for him, Smith & Wesson brandished.

            “Well, this is certainly interesting.” Brian said casually, as though he was remarking on something as plain and ordinary as ducks swimming in a park. Both boys kept their weapons on each other.

            “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Kyle screamed.

            “It looks like you know already, buddy.”

            “YOU’RE RUINING EVERYTHING!”

            “Oh, I’m sorry.” Brian shrugged. “Was this not my day? I meant to check the sign-up sheet, but I got so busy, you know.”

            “This isn’t a joke.”

            “Yeah, but it’s a little funny, you’ve got to admit.”

            “SHUT UP!” Kyle sighed. “What do we do now?”

            “I don’t know.” Brian admitted. “Have you killed anyone yet?”

            “I might have…” Kyle’s eyes grew wide, realizing this for the first time. “I might have shot a teacher.”
            “Wow. A teacher. That’s amazing.” Brian crossed the room.

            “Don’t go by the windows,” Kyle instructed him. “The police might already have snipers in position.”

            “Yeah, okay.”

            The two stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Kyle’s mind went faster than he imagined it ever could. How could he get out of this? Had he actually shot Mr. Kasperzyk? Could he pin it on the other boy? What would he say?

            “You hear that?” Brian asked sharply, snapping Kyle out of his stupor.

            “What?”

            “Listen.”

            With those words, the noise that Brian heard intensified. It was breathing. Fast, heavy breathing. The boys suddenly became very aware of the truth. They were not alone.

            Brian and Kyle, guns wielded, crossed the room together like they had seen cops do in movies, to what they believed was the source of the noise. They walked behind the small partition where typically, lunch ladies handed out government food. The noise was coming from a cabinet. Brian swung it open. A small, mousy 10th-grade girl Kyle had seen in the halls had curled herself up, hiding and trying to keep from crying.  

            “Shit.” Kyle breathed.

            “Get out of there.” Brian ordered. “Lay down on the ground.”

            “Please…” the girl pleaded. “Please…no.”

            “Get out of there!” Brian commanded. The girl complied.

            “What’s your name?” Kyle asked.

            “Annie…Wexler.” The girl sobbed. She looked up morosely.

            “Hi, Annie Wexler. I’m Brian, and this is…”

            “I’m Kyle.” Kyle added. Kyle wondered if he was the only one who found these casual introductions unnerving. In the short time he had known Brian, that is what he had figured out. Brian didn’t even seem to think there was anything wrong or strange about what was going on. He didn’t care about any of it. He seemed only technically human, as though he were somehow…broken.
            “Are you going to kill me?” Annie worked up the nerve to ask.

            “No.” Kyle stated.

            “Probably.” Brian also added.

            “Wait a minute, let’s talk about this.” Kyle interjected.

            “Fine.” Brian walked to the other side of the partition. “Tell her not to move.”

            Kyle joined him. “We can’t kill her.”

            “Really, Kyle? Why not? I don’t know about you, but I brought a gun to school today to kill some people. I’m not sure why you brought yours.”

            “She hasn’t done anything! She’s innocent!”

            “What about your teacher? What did he do? I’m starting to think maybe you just want to be the only one who shot someone today.”

            A shot of pain went through Kyle’s gut. “That was an accident. I didn’t want to kill him. He wasn’t a target.”

            “Target? Oh damn, Kyle, you’re one of those, aren’t you? I bet you had a plan, and a reason, and a list of everyone that had ever wronged you since the first grade and all that crap? Thinking you’re justified, taking revenge on the big, mean, High School bully? Did you leave a note that will make everyone sorry? Can I see it?”

            “I was going to e-mail it to the school from the computer lab.” Kyle admitted.

            “Wow. Why not just post a MySpace bulletin while you’re at it?

            “Look, can’t she just be a hostage, or something?”

            Brian looked back at the partition. “I don’t know. She’s pretty cute. Think she’ll get Stockholm’s Syndrome?”

            “Brian, don’t you care about any of this? We’re hurting people! It’s wrong! Don’t you see that?”

            Brian raised his gun and his voice. For the first time, Kyle heard emotion in his speech. “Don’t get all high-and-fucking mighty with me! You’re no better, Kyle! You’re worse! You know why? You know why you’re worse? Because you think you had a reason for this! I know I’m sick, Kyle. I know I should care about this, but I don’t. But you! You, Kyle, you’re normal! You’re just some little punk-ass who couldn’t take being picked on! Boo-hoo, High School sucks and Mommy doesn’t love me! Same as everyone else! You’re not special! Deal with it!”

            Kyle froze. No one had ever put it like that before. No school counselors, no therapist, no one. Brian was homicidal, sadistic, and insane. He was also correct.

            Brian spoke again, this time softer, with less expression. He was back to his old, unfeeling mannerisms, but this time the left Kyle feeling colder with every word. “You feel right and wrong, Kyle. You’re healthy. But you still did this. Me, I’m not. I know it. I don’t feel any remorse. I can’t. So who does that make better? Because at the end, you and I did this for the same reason.”

            Kyle gulped. “What reason is that?”

            Brian moved back near where Annie lay crying. “We want people to know who we are. We want them to remember us. And they’re going to remember me…as the boy who killed Annie Wexler!”

            Brian pointed his shotgun at Annie’s fetal position. Outside, the police and onlookers heard a gunshot echo from the cafeteria. Moments later, all was quiet.

            Brian’s blood, brain and hair spattered all over the wall behind the partition. His face, cold and empty as it was while he had lived, lay staring at Annie Wexler. Kyle’s one shot had managed to strike him in the temple. Finally, he felt his home-made training had paid off. He sighed, and was shaking. He slowly walked over to the body.

            “Annie? Everything’s all right, Annie.”

            Another gunshot rang out. Shot in the stomach and bleeding quickly, Kyle sat back against the wall and looked at Annie, clutching Brian’s shotgun for dear life. They stared each other down for what seemed to Kyle like forever. “I’m…” He began to choke on his blood. “I’m sorry.” He spat out in his last breath as police and paramedics flooded the room.

            The incident would go down as the strangest shooting in known record. No one was killed or wounded besides the shooters themselves. All shots fired had missed, including those fired at Science teacher Gary Kasperzyk. Only one person seemed to know what had actually happened, a fifteen-year old girl who refused to talk. Life eventually went back to normal at Franklin Pierce High, with the exception of a small memorial in the back corner of the lawn to two troubled boys who, it was decided, had taken their lives in a double suicide. During future tours of campus and official visits, this memorial was almost always ignored or forgotten.