School Shooting Fiction Novels & Stories

Different targets started moving horizontally, making the target a bit more difficult than the still one. I shot my first bullet, hitting my target's head as different images started flashing in my head. I saw images of my daughter and wide as I kept pulling the trigger. Images of Joe when he was bitten by the infected flashed in my head also, making me feel vexed with myself. Images of me escaping from the horde of infected in the compound and the way I almost ran Austin over, flashed in my head as I kept pulling the trigger of the Glock-22 pistol.

I roll over with the pillow over my head. I toss and turn for hours, and sometime after two in the morning, I sleep. I wake up feeling groggy and decide to take a jog to try to shake the heaviness out of my body. I stay in good shape to fight and earn money. I plan to shoot Frank with my Smith and Wesson .38 Special. Five shots that pack a punch. The gun is small and easy to conceal. If I can't kill Frank in five shots, it's because I'm already dead. Really though, I want to beat him to death and listen to him beg while I break every bone in his body.

V [WHILE ALI IS IN THE SHOWER] I quickly finished my sandwich and struggled to clean up my mess. I wanted to hurry up and find the gun in my room. It was totally fake but it looks real. If a person took a closer look at it, they would be able to tell it was fake. I got it from a store and figured, this would be great to have for when I want to intimidate any boy that tries to date my little sister. I’ve always wanted to do the whole typical scene of sitting on the couch, cleaning my gun; questioning the young boy, brave enough to face me.

he said and fixed my posture again before commanding me to shoot, which I did The bullet hit the jaw " We are getting there, you know what helps me sometimes or what helped me, imagine the one person you hate the most in front of the gun and shoot" he said and for some reason, I imagined my father as the image of him standing over me as I did my home work, the sound of us voice she yelled at me, his belt ready and waiting to strike and my mother as she stood there watch too scared to speak and my shaky hands as I tried to grip the pencil and suddenly rage flled me and I aimed and the bullet hit directly in between the eyes

Survival was more than just pulling a trigger; it meant knowing when to pull it, who to aim at, and making sure they never got back up. Traitors hid behind expensive suits and fake smiles, knives ready to strike my back. But they forgot one thing: I played by the rules until someone played me dirty. And when they did, the retribution I served was tenfold. No one played me for a fool and lived. The cigarette had burned down to the filter. I crushed it into the ashtray, grinding it until the ember died. The tray wobbled on the edge of the table. My hand shot out to steady it, but the booze in my system dulled my reflexes. It tipped over, shattering into a thousand glinting shards.

Fabio started laughing as my grip on the gun began to slip, my hands becoming sweaty as fear pulsed through my veins. This was it. That was how I was going to die… at the hands of a madman. Bang! There was a deafening shot as the gun went off, jolting out of my hands entirely as my vision turned red and pain washed over me.

I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, my heart racing as I held onto the gun tightly not ready to let go and face whatever he was planning to do next Bang My eyes instantly snapped open as the gun suddenly went off, the sound of the shot deafening in my ears. I felt a jolt of shock, my body freezing as I realized what had just happened, I waited for the pain to hit - is this how I'll die without my family knowing where I died? I waited for the numbness to come but it didn't, instead, I saw Caleb's eyes widen in surprise, his face contorting in pain

Explosions boomed—charges detonating trucks, fireballs lighting fog. Pain bloomed in my shoulder—grazed. I spun, headshot. Back-to-back with Shane, we mowed them—bullets whizzing, bodies falling. Girls to van, us last. Tires screeched, docks fading. Safe house: Nuns' shelter, girls handed over with tears. Home: Wounds cleaned, whiskey poured. Shane bandaged me, lips soft on skin. "We won this round." Alejandro's call: Voicemail rage. "You'll pay."

The moment a dark shadow appeared, she would immediately turn off the lights and fire. With the smuggler's vision suddenly impaired and unable to see her, it would be the perfect timing for her to attack them. Millie tightly gripped the gun. Although she had handled real guns before, it had only been for practice. She had never imagined actually using it to kill someone. She was just an ordinary person, living in a country with strict gun control. Hence, holding a gun now felt almost surreal to her. The moment Millie saw a dark shadow appear, her heart was in her throat. She acted decisively and turned off the lights, aimed at the window, and fired without hesitation.

My finger moves to the trigger, my hands shaky, but steady enough. Without another second of hesitation, I squeeze the trigger. The shot cracks through the air—sharp, deafening in the enclosed space. The man's head snaps back. He drops instantly, dead before he hits the floor. A perfect hole between the eyes. I don't even flinch. Another one bursts from the bedroom—his rifle pointed right at me. I reload fast. One breath. One shot. Right in the center of his forehead. He crumples next to the first, his weapon clattering to the floor beside him.