Bullying
Location
A young, innocuous boy
Bullied from day one, saw no way out
Of the severe pain and cruel traps he was always getting caught in.
He found his escape,
Metal, black, and fatal
And with it, he marched into his school.
Nineteen minutes later, the ominous cloud still hung low.
Hysterical and fearful, we survivors refused to leave our hiding places
Under desks and math homework that would never be finished.
Mangled bodies were thrown around,
Just like the forgotten clothes on their bedroom floors.
The pools of crimson blood stood still,
Among the cold, contorted, corpses.
Chairs fallen on their side;
Abandoned backpacks littered the floor.
The hallways that witnessed stampedes of panicked, wailing students
Were now empty deserts,
Desolate, with no signs of life.
Hours later,
The cracks and pops of his gun still rang in our heads,
Perfectly.
But little did we know,
Slowly, the faces of those unfortunate few were already
Slipping our memories.
Quickly, the face of the boy,
Permanently staining our minds.
We ask, Is the boy the monster?
Or is he the victim?
Murders are usually crystal-clear,
But this, perplexing.
Were the ones whose lives taken away even innocent at all?
Or did they contribute just as much to this tragedy?
The real monsters, villains, and foes are rewarded
Seen as brave and heroic
The real victim will spend the rest of his life
Locked away
For an act that they started.