Dying by gunshot was definitely not on my bucket list. I wasted time by writing pointless crap that I probably wasn’t going to do anyways. When we create the bucket list, we don’t really think about the actual DYING part, we focus on all the friken idiotic and cool things that we want to do before the dying part. That’s all I can think of, how I never did any of that idiotic crap. I continue to contemplate this as I lie sprawled on the cold, hard linoleum floor, pain radiating from my lower abdomen and the left side of my chest. Did I mention the blood? Oh yea there is a bunch of that, soaking my brand spanking new white lace shirt. I want to smile as I think of all the money I spent on this stained piece of fabric, but everything hurts.
You know how in books and movies, where the dying protagonist reflects on everything they had ever done in life and are all of a sudden comforted and happy to leave? Well that’s a filthy lie because they have never been in the situation that i'm in right now and they have never felt the pain that I feel at this very moment.
Before I go off on a rant, I should probably tell you who I am and how I got here. I am Elodie, Elodie Scott and I honestly don’t know how much longer I am going to live, breathing has already become a laborious task. I am your average quirky teenage girl. I have equally interesting friends. We scream and laugh 24/7; we have pretty much annoyed the day lights out of every single person in our graduating class with our shenanigans. I have a loving mother and father who are … wait for it… NOT divorced and a little brat for a sister (god knows I love her). Like all teenage girls, I have a crush. Had is a more appropriate word, he is kind of the reason why I am here on the floor, life draining out of my veins. His name was Cole. He was different. I realize how cliché that sounds, but there is no other way to put it, he was different, ominous almost. He did not fit into any of the social cliques of high school. He wasn’t a loner, he had friends, he was a gentleman, he was funny and kind and he was smarter than any other kid in school. But there was always something…..different, there is literally no other word to describe him. I had had a crush on him since the sixth grade, I know obsessive right? He started talking to me about two weeks ago, in which I almost peed my pants. He said that he had had a crush on for a while and was just nervous about what I would say. Cute huh? We set up a date for today. Isn’t that just friken dandy how life seems to be cruel and ruin your plans?
Cole is the reason why I am here, staining the green and white tiles red. It was going to be such a great day. I had planned an outfit to give him a sneak peak of tonight. I had my hair done and everything, which is saying a lot, because when I wake up at six in the morning for school, the most I can do is throw on a pair of sweats and a t shirt. I walked up the steps to the dictatorship that is my school, texting my girlfriends giving them a meticulous description of my outfit. Things were going good. I didn’t have a lot of classes, they were serving buffalo chicken pizza, it was all…. Good for one short moment. But then that moment ended as soon as last period started. My economics teacher had started to drone on about supply and demand when a piercing scream echoed down the hall, followed by five loud bangs. All twenty eight heads including mine shot up, eyes wide as owls fear clear as day. My breathing quickened and every sound was muffled, I could not hear the words coming vehemently out of my teachers mouth as he rushed to close the door, all I could hear was the constant banging coming closer and closer to our class room. My friend was across the room staring at me tears streaming down her face. I honestly don’t know what my expression was, but I hope it was comforting because in that moment, the door slammed open and everything went black.
When I woke, I was on that cold, hard linoleum ground, pain pulsating in my abdomen, staring straight into a pair of black, empty eyes. “I wanted to tell you one thing before we go Elodie” that voice, so eerie, yet so beautiful. My vision cleared and I saw the face that I had fallen in love with, distorted with rage and grief. “I really did like you, but I just can’t stay here any longer, so I’m taking you with me and soon, we will have all the time in the world to be together” I saw the determination in his eyes and knew that there was no convincing him to spare my life, so I just closed my eyes and waited.
The bullet grazed past my breast and sank into my chest and once again the world went black.
I’m not sure what I’m doing still alive, but I know I’m not going to last much longer. There is a frightening silence in the room, my eyes roam and I instantly regret it. Twenty eight bodies including myself are sprawled across the room, eyes wide open and blank. Scarlett fills the room dripping on the walls and off the desks. A movement catches my eye, and it is Cole. Sitting on top of a desk, gun pointed at his head. His face is blank, dead. His breathing even and calm. With one swift motion, a loud bang filled the room, making my ears ring. I watch the killer fall, fall to the ground on top of the pile of his victims with a solid thud.
Silence consumes me. I turn cold, so very cold, that can’t be a good sign. As my final minutes are streaming out of my body, I reflect on every single soul in this room. They were pure and beautiful souls. They should not have died like this, they had so much life a head of them and it is unfair that their lives have been taken by a single lost soul.
Fingers will be pointed and tears will be shed. I do not blame him. I do not hold a grudge. I am at peace. Sure he could have spoken to someone; sure we should have seen the “signs”, but there is no going back, what’s done is done. What happened today is a tragedy. I wish I were one of those lucky survivors to rush to their families and embrace them, but I guess I will just have to wait, I hope (for their sake) for a very long time.
I am Elodie Scott. I am 17 years old and I am going to die. Dying by gunshot was never on my bucket list, but as the saying goes, “Go big or Go home”.
Goodb-