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“That’s not funny, Gary. Real people die from shootings.” said, frowning at Gary’s attempt at a joke during science class. Gary shot her an irritated look. “I’m not stupid, Metal Mouth,” he hissed. “You’re such a snowflake.” He grinned, knowing she wouldn’t whine for long. Beatrice scoffed and ignored him; she figured he was just trying to be edgy, as always.
The classroom settled once the teacher began talking, though the tension never quite left. Gary spun his pencil between his fingers, his smug grin still plastered across his face. Deciding to mess with Beatrice; he roughly doodled something on an old, wrinkled sheet of paper, crumpled it into a ball and threw it at her head.
She perked her head up from her worksheet, staring at the paper ball on her desk. She glanced over at Gary, who had been smirking at her; he signaled for her to open it. She hesitantly unfolded the paper, her eyes widening for just a split second. She scoffed again. It was a poorly done doodle of the science classroom layout, with X’s marking certain desks— including hers. She knew Gary's antics, and she saw through him; he just wanted attention. Or so she tried to convince herself.
But she couldn’t focus in class; her mind kept wandering back to his words, his face, the drawing. She didn’t want to risk being a girl in the documentary interview, weeping about how she could have prevented it. So after class, waiting till Gary had left, she approached the teacher, gripping the paper. “Dr. Slawter…?” she nervously gulped. He gave her an acknowledging grunt. “Uhm… Gary… he was being weird. He joked about—”
Dr. Slawter cut her off. “He wasn’t being serious. Run along, you’ll miss class.”
Beatrice sighed and threw out the paper on her way out.
Friday, after classes, Gary, Jimmy, and Pete stood beside Gary’s locker. “You two need to help me. I’ve got an even better plan than yesterday’s, but you two need to tag alon—” A prefect cut him off, shoving him aside. “Hey, what the fuck?!” Gary exclaimed, trying to push the prefect away from his locker. “Don’t push me, Smith,” the prefect threatened. “We are just doing a few locker checks.”
Gary glared at him through lidded eyes. He knew locker checks weren’t something they usually did. But he had nothing to hide, anyway. What he did have to hide wasn’t in there. “Fine, check. You’ll find nothing,” He replied, almost challenging him. He unlocked his locker with the master key that every prefect had; the metal door creaked open. His door was newly decorated. Jimmy noticed the new stickers and images: a KMFDM sticker, dates and phrases written in Sharpie, and weird doodles. It didn't bother the unknowing prefect; he just continued digging through his items. Disappointed that he found nothing, he glared at the scar-faced boy. “You're off the hook, but just know: we will find out if you're hiding anything.” He walked away, leaving Gary scoffing. “What an idiot.” He muttered under his breath.
Saturday, in Gary’s dorm room, he sat on the edge of his bed, meticulously ensuring the door was locked and the curtains were closed.
He grinned, bringing the gun’s tip to his lips, giving it a kiss. “What a beauty,” he muttered, grabbing a cloth beginning to clean it— to make it stand out during the day. With only a few days remaining, he knew he had to finalize his plan, filling in any gaps.
As soon as he was done cleaning the DDM4 V7, he returned it back to its hidden spot in his closet. He scrambled through his desk drawers, finding the empty journal he'd been reserved for writing his manifesto in.
“You are all pawns— fucking idiots. You're all nothing to me. I own this school, and nobody else. Not some stupid principal, not some idiotic prefect. ME. I own it. And you will all cry at the mercy of my gun, weeping for forgiveness. And I wait for that day. Don't any of you dare blame it on the same shit excuses you always do. It was not my medications, (or, lack of), not the internet, nor the non-existent bullying. It's because I am your King and God. I will make you all my bitches.”
He spent the rest of the night writing entries for people to find in his journal, making his outfit, and mapping out areas to make sure his kill count is the highest of all.
He showed up to English class tomorrow as if nothing had happened. He wore the same sly grin and had the same calculated eyes everyone was used to— but recently, rumors had been circulating. Ones that he didn't spread.
“Who would he kill first?” Mandy giggled to her seatmate, just behind him. Gary’s scarred brow twitched. He didn't intervene— not yet; he let it play out. “I knew he was a freak! Watch— he's gonna start walking around in a trench coat!” She continued to giggle quietly, thinking he couldn't hear her. Instead of getting angry or feeling bullied, his grin widened. Everyone treated it like a joke, but they wouldn't laugh when the day came.
“You know, Mandy,” he turned around, his eyes darkening, but his expression remained controlled and smug. “I know all of your skipping spots, your dorm room, and where your friends usually are, too.”
He turned back around. Still, she treated it like a joke. “Right, as if! You're not gonna do anything.” She sneered, her annoying laugh piercing his ears. “Yeah, yeah, just you wait,” he murmured under his breath.
GLORY DAY
Gary’s breath hitched as he prepared his guitar case. It was a dress-down day, and he’d planned it precisely, so he could wear his outfit. Black fingerless gloves, black slacks, black combat boots, and a white shirt that emblazoned with “God’s Wrath”.
Into the case, he carefully packed his DDM4 V7, his journal, and an extra Glock.
At 8:26, on April 19th
Smith made his way to the second-floor boy’s bathroom. He’d gained some strange looks en route— but no one questioned him. A pit quietly formed in his stomach; he knew he had to do this perfectly, or he’d be a failure— just another boy dismissed as “bullied and weak.” He had to show them.
Inside the second stall, he opened the guitar case, and retrieved the gun. “Do good for me,” he whispered, giving the weapon another kiss, just as he had earlier. He masked his nervousness with a grin.
8:32 — Gary stepped out of the stall and crept into the hallway, packed with Bullworth’s students. “Useless,” he muttered, watching everyone hurry to their lockers.
He took a final deep breath before walking out into the hallway. He didn't hesitate, didn't give anyone the chance to react to the large, obvious firearm in his hands. He raised the gun at the group of girls ahead of him, and opened fire.
Screams engulfed the school halls, as Gary shot at anything that moved. The grin never left his face as he shot down countless boys and girls, making sure to inflict as much pain as he could. He held the power. “All of you are all morons,” he shouted, firing aimlessly.
8:41 — he shot out every phone he could see; but he knew the cops would come anyway. He needed to delay them. He wasn't counting, but roughly, he'd say he's gotten about 15 kids by now. He was now in the library, gunning down the nerds that hung around there.
Algernon hid under a table, pants soaked with fear. “That's pathetic,” Gary sneered, aiming the gun. “in your final moments, you're still peeing yourself.”
“Gary! Come on— we can talk about this! I mean- remember the time I bought you that soda?— We're friends, ri—” Gary laughed, cutting him off, as Algernon’s blood spilled. “What a tard, he thinks we're friends.” He snickered to himself, circling the library for hiding students.
8:49 — “Come on, don't hide from your God! This is Judgement Day, and hiding from your leader is a sin!” He shouted, his heavy footsteps loud enough for those hiding behind shelves to hear. He found a cluster of students hiding under a desk in the back, to which, his smile deepened. He did not hesitate to fire at each student— though he left a few alive, only wounding them in their legs or arms; to feel the power of deciding on who dies and lives.
Beatrice held her breath in the Science Fiction section of the library, Mandy shaking beside her. “I can't believe I'm going to die next to a nerd loser,” Mandy sobbed, her attempt at quietness failing to miss Gary’s trained ears. Beatrice’s head perked up at the sound of the footsteps— she knew he was close. She tried to tug Mandy in her direction, but she wouldn't move; she was busy sobbing into her palms.
Beatrice, forced to quietly sneak away on her own, bit her lip with stray tears falling down her face. She crouched behind a couch, watching Mandy through the crack between it and the wall.
Gary rounded the corner, clicking his tongue. “Well, well, well. ‘Not gonna do anything,’ huh?” He chuckled, aiming the gun at Mandy’s tear soaked face. “I'm sure you've just learned the biggest lesson you could in this school.” He grabbed her by the hair, feeling her struggle in his grip, before shooting her in her face, admiring his work for a moment before letting her body thud to the ground. Beatrice forced her eyes shut, trying to control her breathing.
By now, the police sirens wailed outside. Gary’s mask began to slip, his nervousness showing. “Shit,” he whispered breathlessly to himself, sitting down on a library chair. He was cornered— in no way would he go to prison.
8:58 AM— he already felt like he'd achieved the power trip he needed to complete his life. He grabbed the pistol from his guitar case, shakily pointing it beneath his chin. He paused for a moment, considering his last words. “SUBMIT TO THE GOD OF BULLWORTH!” he shouted— pressing the trigger seconds later. Gary Smith’s still body thudded to the ground, his blood soaking into the carpet beneath him.