School Shooting Fiction Novels & Stories

"I'm sorry for killing all your friends." He stands up and heads out. But as he reaches the door he halts and walks back to the man,"You know it'd be cheating to kill all this men and let you go. People might think that I like you, and I don't." He fires a bullet to his head casually and walks away. ... On the other side of the continent, Sophia wakes up from a mat on the ground and looks all around the room with disgusted expression. It's a wooden house. She walks out of the house and realizes that she's in the village The Hunter was telling her about.

I snap out of my thoughts as the gun is abruptly snatched out of my trembling hand. Flinching back to reality, my heart races as I see Charles suddenly pointing the gun at Rachel a few feet away from me. Time seems to slow down as my instincts kick in. Without hesitation, I throw myself in front of Rachel, pushing her out of harm's way just as the deafening sound of the gunshot fills the room. Pain shoots through my chest as the bullet tears through me. The world around me becomes a blur, and I collapse to the cold, unforgiving ground. Sirens wail in the distance, blending with Rachel's desperate screams and the haunting laughter of Charles .

They were just gray shapes with wide, painted smiles. "Don't let them touch you!" my father warned. He began to fire the gun, the golden bullets dissolving the gray shapes into static. "If they touch you, they’ll upload their 'happiness' into your brain. You’ll lose your anger. You’ll lose your drive for revenge!" "I won't let that happen," I hissed. I closed my eyes. I didn't think about peace. I thought about the man in the black suit shooting me. I thought about the green fog choking the children. I thought about the Publisher treating my daughter like a "Juvenile Asset."

So, I said to myself, "this is not going to be where the pen drops, this is not going to be the end of my story." After some few minutes of just waiting there, still, like a dead body, I heard some cracking coming from the ceiling, these fools decided that the only way they could get into the building was through the ceiling, I thought of shooting into the roof, but quickly did away with that thought, doing that would have given away my position, so I waited as they crept in one after the other, all five of them. I waited as they gathered in the same spot and fired the double barrel shotgun at them, two of them took most of the impact, one died on the spot and the other was incapacitated, he

It was cold and crisp, perfect deer hunting weather. My old man wanted to teach me how to hunt. We followed a buck near the falls. My gun got jammed, and before my father could help me, I shot him. The recoil pushed him back over the falls. His body was so mangled from where it smashed on the rocks that they never found a bullet wound. But I know what I did. I know how and where it took place. I'm a murderer in the silence of my thoughts. If I return to Falcon Falls, I am sure it will trigger me to rethink joining the army. After my father fell, I tossed the rifle into a river. I was fourteen and didn't want his blood on my hands.

“Am I? ARE YOU CRAZY?!” I leaned forward, still holding the gun. “It’s a fake gun, Fiona, not a real gun. Or did you wish it was a real gun? But you are my mother, I can't shoot you right? You picked me up from the trash can and gave me life. Why would I shoot you? Or don't you trust me?”

Nicolai's mind was focused, his senses heightened by the knowledge of the impending confrontation. The sound of gunfire erupted again, this time a fusillade of shots that rained down on them from above. Nicolai felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder, the impact of a bullet tearing through his flesh. He grunted, his body jerking from the force, but he did not falter. This was not the first time he had been shot, and it likely wouldn't be the last.

"There was Joey Stevens in sixth grade. Little son of a bitch led me on, then two-timed me with my friend." "Put his face over that target there, and plug one between his eyes." Teeth set, I shift, aim. My fingers tremble on the trigger. Then I lower the gun with a laugh. "Christ, I can't shoot a ten-year-old." "He's all grown up now, living in Bel Air, and still laughing about the skinny dork he dumped in junior high." "Bastard." Now my teeth bares as I take my shot. "I nipped it!" I shout, dancing a bit, and Noah cautiously removes the gun from my hand before I shoot myself in the foot. "It moved."

Sean I was walking back home when I heard the gunshot. I didn’t turn around because I didn’t feel any pain, but when I heard the second one, I had no choice. Before I turned around to see if it was any of our enemies from the Bratva, the Russian mafia ruling some of the bad parts of New York, I shoved my hand into my pants, taking off the safety on my Glock. If I needed to fire, I didn’t have time to fuck around.

“You know my grandfather was one of those men that taught nine-year-olds how to shoot tin cans using a rifle. Never liked the man but I enjoyed the sport. Guns, shooting, there was just something thrilling about knowing you had the power to take lives. So, imagine how it felt when someone offered me a good deal. Money, a fucking gun and a target to shoot? You know no one ever suspects the neighbor. Ever. Every thriller, every slasher chick flick, the pathetic neighbor is never the suspect. And that made all of this easier. Leonard Arkinson happened to be at the right place and time when I shot you from what? Five yards? Quite impressive if you ask me. And our dotting mayor? Where to begin ab