After listening to a song I became inspired to write this short story.

Say Yes.

Cassandra walked down the hall, a smile lighting her face. Her mind was in the clouds, thinking of the church ski trip she would be going on that weekend. Last year she had looked forward with held breath, but a few days before she came down with the flu. This year was different. Her small tube of antibacterial lotion in her pocket, ready for a moments notice. In her other pocket she had a disinfectant wipes, she felt like Adrian Monk with her new found phobia. Nothing was going to keep her away from the ski trip, not this year.

She sat down in the classroom, her mind reminding her ears to behave. She hated gossip and loved at all at the same time. She knew it was wrong to spread rumors, she even had a nasty one told about her a few weeks ago. Yet her ears were curious for the latest gossip. As she pulled her books out of her backpack, and neatly arranged them on her desk. She waited patiently for the teacher by opening her text book and slowly going over last nights assignment. She was an average student, but she was content with just as long as she was able to say she did her best.
“Good morning class,” Mr. Anderson said, pulling down the projection screen. “I heard a few rumors that lasts work was difficult.” The class broke out in groans at the mention of Mr. Anderson's favorite form of torture. “I thought we do a few of the problems together.”
“Can we do problem 12?” A girl from the back shouted out.
“It was odds only,” Mr. Anderson said casually. Cassandra tried to stifle a laugh, but failed. She couldn't help herself. She didn't feel guilty, even though she should. She had been the victim of Mr. Anderson's illegible handwriting a few times, causing her to do impossibly hard questions. When they were done finishing the assignment, the bell rang releasing them for their next class.

Cassandra found her next class challenging. She entered her Creative Writing class with out a single idea of how to write. When everyone in the class appeared to be more experience the thoughts of dropping the class lingered in her mind. That is until she received a B on her first short story. She smiled, and almost danced with joy. It was no A, but she worked [filtered word] the story. Cassandra found her seat towards the back of the room, her only class in which she didn't sit in the middle. She unpacked her notebook and creative writing text book and arranged them neatly on her desk. She pulled out her trusty pencil. Sitting in the back of the room wasn't so bad, especially for Creative Writing class. What better inspiration was there then a bunch of High schools? From here she had a front row seat to inspiration.
“Would anyone like to share their short story?” Mrs. Cooper asked, her insect like eyes rapidly darting from student to student. She wore her blonde hair in a bun, a few loose grey strands framed her once lovely face. “Timothy? You always have interesting stories, care to share?”
“That rhymed,” Timothy said smugly. Cassandra looked to where Timmothy was. He was the king of the basketball court, and the destroyer on the football field. “No can do Mrs. C.”
“Why not?” Mrs. Cooper said, strutting towards his desk. She twirled her yard stick in her hand.
“I have the right to remain silent,” he said casually, ignoring the yard stick. They all knew it was part of the tough teacher act. The first few weeks they lived in fear of the thing as it grew larger as it came closer to our heads.
“Fair enough,” Mrs. Cooper said and quickly spun on her heels. She walked back towards the front of the room. “Cassandra, care to share?” Cassandra stood up, her neatly printed short story held tightly in her hands.
“Long ago, when the world was young,” Cassandra read aloud. At first she stumbled over her words, but quickly she was lost in the story. It was a silly piece, not to be taken too seriously. It was about a white bunny, who would ski down the mountain on his tiny little bunny skies. When the story was finished, Cassandra looked around blushing as all eyes fell on her. Mrs. Cooper started out a slow clap, and when no one joined in, except for Timothy, she stopped.
“How supportive,” Mrs. Cooper smiled and winked towards Cassandra, “this only proves the old legend correct. The unappreciated writers in high school, become best selling authors.” After a few more people read their stories, one about a girl who suffered from cutting and another about a boy lost in the woods, they were assigned their next writing assignment. “For Friday I want you to write a fictionalized version of a tragic event in your life. From a pets untimely demise, to your first heart break.” Until the bell rang, they all began to sketch out their new story. By the time the bell rang Cassandra had nothing on her piece of paper. She couldn't remember any tragic events in her life. Her parents were both loving and healthy. Her grandma died, but she was only two. She thought of last years ski trip, but that seemed to selfish.

Gym Class. As she pulled on her gym clothes she caught the stench of them in her nostrils. Everyone's clothing wreaked after the first 45 minutes of hell with Mr. Reynolds. Many tried to bring their clothes home for washing everyday, but the routine wasn't worth it. For at least 40 minutes of the day, all the girls in Columbus High School gave a skunk a run for its money.
“Come on ladies, the men have already finished their first two laps!” The coach barked from the center of the large gym. Cassandra slowly jogged around the gym, not wanting to waste her limited energy. “Faster Cass! Faster!” He coach shouted. The outburst startled Cassandra causing her to go from 0 to 60 in a heart beat. When her body couldn't maintain the speed, she flailed her arms and stumbled to the ground. Everyone tried to laugh, even Cassandra, but Mr. Reynolds ended it with a another four laps. Cassandra stood up, several of her classmates jogged passed showing their sympathy through their humored faces.

The legends of the school food spread to the freshman like wildfire. The time Mrs. Spuntix accidentally put little Amanda in her Chili being the tip of the iceberg. How the janitor would empty his bucket of mop water into the soup. When Cassandra was a freshman, she avoided the lunch lines like the plague. Being a sophomore, she now stood in line for the power slice pizza. She greeted Mrs. Spuntix with a grin and a thanks as she received the pepperoni covered pizza slice. She walked to her table, and plopped down. Her ears immediately tuned into the conversation.
“What do you mean you slept with him?” Jessica asked shocked.
“You know knocked boots, did the nasty in the pasty.” Angel said.
“So much for Sunday School,” Cassandra teased.
“What is God going to do?” Angel asked innocently, “throw me in hell?”
“Just tell me you used protection.” Cassandra asked. She wanted to wait for her honeymoon before she lost her virginity. She knew this was a dying custom, but the idea of giving herself to Timmothy on their honeymoon was romantic.
“Of...” Angel said mumbling the last few words.
“Angel!” Jessica shouted to loudly. The cafeteria went dead silent.
“Oh come on it was only one time. Besides you know you can't get pregnant when you lose your virginity.” Cassandra felt a knot tie itself in her stomach, she would have to have a talk to her after school. Right now, she had a pizza calling her name.

After lunch, and a few minutes in the bathroom to clean out the ketchup Jessica spilled on her, she once again had to endure Mr. Anderson's class. She sat in her usual spot and again unpacked and neatly arranged her belongings on her desk. Mr. Anderson stood quietly at the front of the room, observing the class and his students. This was the part of the class everyone feared.
“If a tree falls in the forest and there is nothing around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Mr. Anderson asked. The class exploded with laughter, they usually were posed harder questions.
“Laws of physics say it does.” James said, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“Are you sure the Laws of Physics apply when no one is around to observe them?” Mr. Anderson quickly shot out.
“Why wouldn't they?” James asked folding his arms in defiance.
“I don't know you tell me. I am just a math/critical thinking teacher.” Mr. Anderson paced back and forth in front of the class, his eyes staring intently on the ground. “Cassandra!”
“Yes?” She squeaked, startled her name was called.
“What is your response?” He asked stopping in his tracks. He titled his head up and rapidly shook his head. “Sorry class, I just get so...”
“Hyper,” the class said in unison, almost laughing.
“Of course it does.” Cassandra said smiling. “God hears all.”
“OK, but I said if no one is around.” Mr. Anderson said smiling.
“God is omnipresent, and if you consider him someone, then...” Cassandra said smiling.
“But thats cheating!” Mr. Anderson said in a whiny voice, yet still smiling.

Three gunshots silenced the class. Then the class exploded in hysteria. Screams and shouting from the hallway filled Cassandra with dread. She felt her heart tighten with unparalleled fear. Mr. Anderson quickly locked the door, covered the small window and became ordering the kids to the corner of the room where they were safest. Just before he turned off the lights some explosion assaulted their ears. Blasting the door open, and revealing the mass of students huddled in fear. Three more explosions rang in the distance. Cassandra tried to figure out where they were, hoping her friends were safe.
“Hello Students!” A voice called out from the hallway. “Today I will be your school shooter, how can I serve you today,” Smoke from the pipe bomb still blurred the hallway, blocking the image of the attacker. Blindly, the shooter shot into the classroom causing everyone to scream. Cassandra ducked low to the ground, hoping this was a nightmare.
“Please God...” she whispered to herself, tears trickling down her cheeks. She pulled her legs close to her chest. The shooter waltzed in, his shaggy blonde hair in disarray, a grin revealing his yellow stained teeth. He walked down the aisle, a MAC 10 held firmly in his right hand. His eyes were wild as he looked down at his victims.
“Well hello!” He shouted, his finger briefly squeezed the trigger. The sound forced a gasp out of Cassandra, and she felt a few small drops of blood splatter on her naked arm. She closed her eyes shut, her lips forming the words of a silent prayer. “Oops!” He said eccentrically, “that was my bad.” He turned his back on them. “Did I kill anyone?” He looked over his shoulder, giving him a crazed look. “No? Well thats good. You should be happy.” He turned around, his eyes slowly moving from student to student.”You, the one in the red blouse stand up.” A small girl in the back, her eyes blurred with tears. She joylessly pointed to herself, and when the shooter nodded. She let out a whimper.
“God save me!” She mumbled. Cassandra was staring at the shooter. At the mention of God his joyful and carefree expression changed like a sudden storm. The MAC 10 was shaking, and tears of his own began to fall.
“God?” He shouted. “God is dead.” He hocked a loogie towards the ground.
“Thats not true!” Rachel, the girl in the red blouse, shouted through her tears.
“Then he is a sociopathic dictator.” The Gunman shouted in rage. “Why else would a benevolent God kill me mom? Huh? Why would he force me to live with that abusive drunk? Where is God now?” the gun in his hand held strong as he pointed it towards Rachel. Cassandra watched in horror, her eyes transfixed on the trigger finger as it squeezed. Only a few seconds was needed before their was a clicking sound. He tossed the MAC 10 away and pulled out a handgun.
“Where is God now?” He shouted angrily into the whimpering and crying students. Cassandra's mind kept forcing her to hear Rachel's body falling to the ground. Each time louder and louder. She couldn't escape it. She turned her head away from the gunman and covered her head with her arms. She wanted it to stop. Again in the distance, there was another explosion. Another pipe bomb had gone off, but Cassandra couldn't determine in what part of the building. The gunman laughed at their distress. Just as quickly as he became rage filled, he became joyful.
“Why are you doing this?” A guy asked, his arms wrapped around his girlfriend. The shooter looked at him for a moment, his eyes almost childlike.
“Better question, Why not?” He laughed, filling everyone in the room with fear. Casually he began to slowly sway the handgun back and forth, as if trying to decide who to kill first. “You in the lovely dress. Why don't you come over hear and make me feel good.” He said, trying to sound like he needed comforting. The girl stood up, straightened out her dress and tried to make her way through the huddled crowd. Cassandra looked up at her and could see her struggle to fight back the tears.
“What...” She mumbled softly, “do you want me to-” she couldn't get the last word passed the lump in her throat.
“On your knees.” He said, taking pleasure in her humiliation. As she dropped to her knees the shooters face went serious. “You little b!+ch! You were going to...” He pointed the gun at her forehead and pulled the trigger.
“Oh God!” Cassandra yelled, and she clapped her hands around her mouth. She had known known Ashley since they were in diapers.
“What did I say about God?” The gunman walked over and yanked Cassandra off the ground. She let out a whimper of protest but knew it was useless. “Tell me you believe in God! I dare you! Tell me you believe in God!” The shooter shouted in her face, spraying spittle on her. The room went silent. The whimpering, the crying, all sound seemed to have disappeared except for the shooter and Cassandra. “Do you believe in God?” The shooter asked.
Cassandra closed her eyes, two tears falling down her cheeks, “Yes...”

The End.

If you were curious, it was the song Cassie by Flyleaf. The song was inspired by a report that one of the victims at Columbine was asked this question 'Do you believe in God?' after they answered, she was killed. Apparently this isn't how it happened, the question was asked, but not to Cassie but to a survivor.

But it struck something in me, it reminded me of those who have stood up to their beliefs. To those who resolve were unbreakable and unyielding. To those who fought and died for their beliefs, I dedicate this story to them.

I also dedicate this story to all those effected by school shootings, and to the shooters who believed this was the only way. Not all school shooters are as evil as the one depicted in my story. Some have been bullied, felt persecuted by others, and sometimes they have sought for help in teachers and adults. They felt this was the only way to end things.

So I hope that if you ever think there is such a threat, that you report it. I am a bit fuzzy on the statistics, but I believe in most school shooting incidents, they told someone or someone was aware of the plan.