His ears rang as he moved through the hallways of his high school.  He knew the shape of the poster on the wall, and even knew what it said.  But at this moment, it was all a blur, as his only motive was to keep moving.  He had to get away.

He had been running for only a few minutes.  With the shock, it felt like hours.  Ducking into the bathroom, he latched the door shut.  The lock had been loose all semester, so it wouldn't hold for long.  At least he could stop to catch his breath for a few moments before he continued to flee.

"Why is it always the quiet ones?" he asked the empty bathroom, panting heavily.  As his hearing slowly returned, he heard the horrible things happening outside the door.  Screams of terror.  Sobbing classmates.  Another round being fired.  Everything he heard were sounds of utter disbelief.

He unlatched the window leading out.  If nothing else, it would give him an opportunity to get farther from the mayhem around him.  He exited the lonely bathroom and began to run again.  His mind began to search for answers:  Why was this happening?  What caused it?  Why didn't anyone do anything?

Every question rewound back to day one-the day she transferred in.  She looked like any typical girl.  She wore glasses, was fairly pretty, and enjoyed reading.  A slight southern drawl, but that was typical from where she moved from.  There was nothing out of the ordinary.

It started as a comment made in jest.  She even chuckled at it.  The rumors got more demeaning.  Her laughter waned.  Within weeks she became a social pariah through no fault of her own.

Not everyone believed what they heard, and yet they kept their mouth shut.  It wasn't any of their concern, so why should they blow any whistles?

That question resonated in his head as he dashed under the swing set at a nearby playground.  Still terrified, he collected himself and slowed his breathing as he pulled out his cell phone.  Someone had probably contacted the police already, but it wouldn't hurt to give an update or call for an ambulance.  His carrier had spotty coverage in this area, so he had to move as quickly as possible.

"Our operators are busy answering other emergencies.  Please hold, as we will answer all calls in the order they are received."

It sounded like a cymbal had been hit, somehow causing his stomach to lurch.  As he touched his torso, a wet, sticky sensation greeted his fingers.  He turned around, his eyes meeting hers.  These eyes were not the same that he saw on that first day; those were filled with life and anticipation.  These eyes were now cold and lifeless.  Icy tears rolled down her cheeks as she pulled the trigger again, burying the round into his skull.
He grew cold quickly.  With his last ounces of energy, he turned toward his phone, hoping an operator had picked up to hear something-anything.  As his sight went black and his last breath was exhaled, the screen showed his efforts had all been in vain with one word.

Disconnected.