“God, I hate Mondays.” I say to the small, stained cup of lukewarm coffee in my hand. The empty halls of the school, silent and still, echo my words back to me, each syllable bouncing off the cold, hard walls. I take another sip and wince, the burnt flavour tasting worse because of my hangover. I place the cup down on my small desk, letting out a sigh as my eyes drift over to the newly installed metal detectors. The detectors had seen better days. Their once metallic grey, having yellowed long before their installation a month ago. My face scrunches as its light flickers, the pulsing light making my head throb. “Is this the best they can do? How is a worn-out piece of crap like this supposed to stop a school shooting?” I sigh, reaching for my cup again and finish the last of its contents with a single gulp. “Maybe if I get enough of this crap down, I’ll make it through the day.”

  My mind wanders as I turn my head and stare down the empty hall. My old squad from my time at the military had wanted to catch up to relive the glory days. Most of them never got help after the tours. Instead, they tried to bury that pain with alcohol. I normally avoid those events, but the entire squad was going, and avoiding my past is a habit I’m trying to break. A few catch up drinks on a Saturday afternoon spiralled into me getting home at 4 am and losing my Sunday.

  The metal detector lets out a muffled beep, its aging speaker unable to keep a consistent tone. I scrunch my nose as the sound assaults me, the din ringing through my head like a church bell. I let out an exhausted sigh and reach again for my cup. “Empty your pockets and take off anything metallic you’ve got on you.” I say, placing the empty cup to my mouth, letting the last few drops punish my tongue.

  Click.

  My eyes spring open, my breath stops, and my heart rate instantly jumps. I know that sound, the sound of a hammer from a gun hitting an empty chamber. I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears, the adrenaline sweeping away my hangover. Without even realizing it, I had turned the table onto its side and crouched behind it. With practised precision, I peek around the side, every part of me wishing I was wrong. I’m not. One of my students, a troubled kid I’ve been mentoring, slides the charging handle back on his AR15. The sound of a bullet sliding into the chamber echoes through my very soul, my breath hitching in my throat.

  The kid’s eyes look wild, his whole body trembling as he swings the gun back and forth. “Get out here Kevin! I’ll show you who’s weak.” The kid yanks on the trigger, the recoil of the gun jerking his aim away from the halls and towards the roof. The gun fires a 3-round burst. That’s not civilian hardware. Must be Ex military or police. Did he buy it or steal it? No, I can’t get distracted now. I have to focus. My priority is to get the civilians… Uh, I mean the students away from this. “We have an active shooter.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Doors slam, children scream, and now it’s just the two of us. I can feel my senses sharpening as the endorphins rush through my system. On the other side of my cover, I can hear the boy’s feet shuffling. He’s panicking now. This is the only chance I’m going to get to end this before someone gets hurt. “Micheal, it’s me.”

  Three more shots ring out, the first sending splinters flying as it hits my makeshift barricade. “Stay out of this teach. I won’t let you stop me.”

  “Micheal, you don’t have to do this. I can.” Another three shots cut me off, the last shattering a nearby window.

  My face hardens as I let out a slow breath. I have to stop him. What do I have? No weapons. Metal detector wand. distraction? Yes, not ideal, but workable. My cover, the table.. Yes. That’s it! I throw the wand as close as I can to the far wall, then push the table as hard as I can at Michael. 3 more rounds fly towards me, shredding the table. I’m hit, I have to move now! The table shudders as it scrapes along the floor, bringing me closer to Micheal. The warmth from my blood wetting my back grows with each step, making each breath harder than the last.

  I stumble out of cover when I’m close enough, Micheal staring at me with a stunned expression. “Teach, I didn’t.” His stammering gives me all the time I need to close the gap. I grab the gun and disarm him. Now neutralize! No! No, he’s a kid, a stupid kid, non-lethal. I jam the butt of the gun into his stomach, and the boy crumples.

  My breathing is haggard, and my eyes are struggling to focus. I can feel my heart beat in my ears. I need to do something, to stop the.. Secondary weapon. The target has a pistol, brace the weapon, squeeze the trigger, 3 rounds centre mass.

  The gun’s recoil saps what little strength I have left and I fall to my knees. “Wait. What did I just do?” My eyes struggle to focus, but the red pooling behind him tells me all I need to know. He’s dead. I killed a student. I fall forward, the warm barrel of the gun pressed against my face. Every breath I take is agony, and the world around me is becoming more muffled and faded. “I. I hate fucking Mondays.”