One Real Smile

(Making this clear: this isn't about me. No, it's not some complex denying the truth thing. I really like this story soooo.... please read.)

He sits in the library and monotonously writes the answers on a sheet of paper. The atmosphere is quiet, shut off from the shouting hallways and rambunctious students. The librarians watch like hawks over their small but strict domain. He stops writing the answers and looks straight at one of the librarians. It takes her a moment, but she sees him and his glare.
He hides a smirk. She pretends not to notice, but he knows that she is startled. He looks at different corner of the library, next to where the 300s are, and begins his stare at a much more hostile-seeming woman. She immediately takes notice of him but does not falter. Instead, she makes her face even more intimidating as the staring intensifies. He’s happy she notices him.
But what is she thinking? She’s thinking I’m another student messing around. She’s thinking about what a great life it is, to be a child. Isn’t it true that youth is wasted on the young? It must be true if it’s practically a cliché. The anger in her assumed thoughts grows until he bursts.

He almost shouted .

But instead, he goes back to the work he is expected to do. The hallway is clearing and Jared picks up his books and bag. Before leaving the serenity of the library, he stops. The books in the room whisper to him…
We know, Jared. We know. He knows he can’t hear it, but he knows what they say. It doesn’t end until he runs out of the library. He looks through the window that separates the hall from the quiet room.

We know… We know…

No, they can’t know. He walks hurriedly away from the window as if trying to escape while not being noticed. The books in his bag shift uncomfortably, but he keeps heading toward English. The bell rings as he enters the room, everyone noticing his tardiness. That’s what they call it here, “tardy.” Jared found it funny that words like “absent” and “tardy” were only used in school, and they seemed to not have any further use. The teacher looks at him disapprovingly as he reaches his desk.
The lesson is uninteresting to Jared. Something about review, something he already knows. He walks in the hallway to his next class with a friend. He’s not too close with her, but they seem to keep the tradition of silently walking to their adjacent 5th periods together. The only words were usually a polite “Goodbye.” Perhaps, Jared thought, he would say something different today, like “Have a nice afternoon” or “See you later.” His plan to surprise her is interrupted.
She turns around and stops Jared. She looks at him with timid eyes, as if she was embarrassed. But Jared senses something else... anger, but not quite.
“You’re so lucky, Jared,” she says. Jared stops for a second in the hallway as he contemplates the question. At first he is confused, but he understands after seeing her face again. She's even more angry now with every second that he doesn't answer.
“Why do you say that?” asks Jared, his face slowly hardening.
“You just… You just are. I mean, you're always so happy. I think you should appreciate it more.” She looks down at her feet as she puts some loose hairs over her ear. She's shy again with her second statement.
“And what makes you think I don’t appreciate this hypothetical luck? And why am I so very lucky?” Jared looks at her inquiringly, but he accidentally shows a bit of his anger. Some students look at them, confused but not concerned, as they walk around the small bubble that’s been created.
“I’m sorry, just forget I said anything.” She turns around and quickly walks away.
They don’t say goodbye. Jared begins walking home and sees his friend, well, perhaps not anymore, boarding the bus. He jogs over lazily to talk to her.
“I’m sorry,” says Jared. She looks at him, seemingly expectant.
“I forgive you. So don't forget then.” she answers. She walks, smug, onto the bus. She tries to hide her smile, her enjoyment of success. Jared bites his tongue and stares at the bus, terrified. The engine roars apathetically as the bus rolls away. Jared spots her in the window for an instance, and looks straight at her. He can’t tell if she sees him, but he hopes she does.
Jared walks away from where the buses follow each off the campus and truly begins home. His homework is easy and short. He’s haunted in his room by the books at his bedside. He tries not to hear them, not to listen, and eventually he convinces himself he doesn’t hear the taunting…
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When he walks out of English class, he doesn’t expect to walk with his friend, but she assumes her position at his right side. She doesn’t say anything until they are right outside their respective classrooms. She turns similarly to how she did last time but this time more confidently, with purpose.
“What’s wrong, Jared?” Jared stops and looks at her face. Is it sincere? Or is it simply polite, expecting an equally polite response. Instead it’s Jared’s turn. He walks more closely to her and grabs her hands. He decides that it is sincere. Some of the students who spotted them yesterday now assume that they’re just two love-birds. He doesn’t care.
She’s much shorter than him, so she looks up at his face, incredulously, and smiles. It’s a sincere smile. It’s real. It knows. So Jared responds the only way he can.
“Thank you.” He drops her hands and quickly moves to his classroom with the promise that they will talk again. He can’t surprise her anymore; she merely stands there for a second and then also turns to her classroom. For the first time, they see each other after 5th period. Now she’s frowning. Jared realizes he doesn’t know why.
“I’m moving, Jared.”
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She moves the next day.
Jared is on his bed, looking at the ceiling. It’s white and plain and wide. He likes it. It doesn’t have any flaws, but it does not have any good qualities other than the former. When Jared was young, he used to imagine the ceiling to be a huge screen, and his eyes were the projector. He’d spent hours watching scenes in his favorite books and making up stories and plots of his own. He swears that without the ceiling he wouldn’t have liked books so much, because half of the motivation to finish a book was being able to watch it.
There’s nothing playing on the ceiling except for one scene over and over… It isn’t from a book. It’s real, well, it was at one point.
“Is something wrong, Jared?”
“Yes.”
It’s so brief ; he must watch it a thousand times before he falls asleep.
The books get louder each day, more annoying, but he still goes to the library persistently. The library isn’t quiet anymore.
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Someone comes up to sit next to Jared. He doesn’t look up. It’s Jared’s close friend, Michael. Michael doesn’t expect Jared to look up; he’s been in a slump for days.
“Man, is something up with you lately?” asks Michael.
“I don’t know,” responds Jared, his eyes still not leaving the paper.
“Well, everyone is wondering if something’s wrong.”
“Why do they care?” At this Jared looks up and crosses his arms. Michael was always popular with girls… Jared never knew why Michael wanted to be friends with him. Jared likes him for the simple reason that he was kind down to his heart. A little slow, but he can’t blame him for that.
But Michael doesn’t answer. He’s not fumbling for words, he’s just not answering. After an awkward minute, Jared is about to start his work again when Angela sits next to Michael. Jared knows that they were in the library this period, but he told them at the beginning of the year that he needed to be alone if he wanted to get any work done. They agreed and also separated from each other.
“Michael, don’t get worked up.” Jared didn’t even notice that he’d hurt Michael’s feelings. He found himself feeling bad. Michael stood and walked away.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Angela.
“I don’t know. Maybe I was just born this way.”
“No, you weren’t always like this. You used to be happy and care-free until... until… what, a week ago? What the hell happened?” 8 days ago.
“Well, I’ve never changed.” Angela opens her mouth to speak again but stops herself. She doesn’t know the right thing to say. She smiles. It’s not a sincere smile. It’s not real. It doesn’t know. She pushes herself up from the wooden table and walks to talk to Michael.
Later, Jared approaches Michael.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright… It’s just, I’ve been going through a lot lately, and I don’t need to lose my best friend too.” This time I smile; it’s sincere to him.
“You won’t.”
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Jared watches his ceiling and this time listens to the books at the same time. They know. He pauses the scene at her smile. He wonders if he could zoom in, but the second he thinks it, it’s there. Her lips shine from her pink lip gloss. Her whole mouth seems happy, not as if just the corners are raised. It’s perfect, for just a moment.
He smells smoke.
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The fire burns the hallway and his room. He doesn’t take anything with him as he ran through the flames. And as he stands outside with his parents, he hears the books shouting.
Jared, we know! We know!
When he goes to school the next day there is the familiar, but not consoling, image of fire trucks surrounding the school. But somehow Jared knows that only the library had burned down. All he remembers of last night is watching her lips and something else… Flames. When he was running out of his house? Yes, it must be, he thinks.
He walks into the school. There are teachers who are directing students to the auditorium. Jared listens. When he arrives there aren’t any seats left because the entire student body has to fit. Surely this is fire hazard, thinks Jared humorously. The flustered principal makes his way up to the stage.
“Last night there was an act of arson. The fire department has told us that somebody, presumably a student-” He glared at a group of giggling kids,”-started the fire with the books in the library. It did not spread, because the library is the only room with that amount of flammable material. Although there should have been more damage, it seems we lucked out on that nothing else was burned. Still this is a serious…”
Jared stops listening. He knows, but his face shows the common feeling of boredom in the room. He plays it well.
When the “meeting” ends each student was asked where he/she was at the estimated beginning of the fire. Jared says he was in his room all night doing homework. The interviewer tries to catch him off-guard with details, but Jared speaks his truth.
Instead of going to 1st period Jared goes to where he knows he can’t be. He somehow manages to slip past the teachers and into the blackened library. Oddly, there aren’t any fire men there at the moment, so Jared has his peace.
Jared notices that it is a quiet place again. Then he hears the whispers of the book. Very faint. Very distant. Except this time they say something else…
Jared, we don’t know. We don’t know. Not anymore. No, you’re right. We never knew. Nobody ever did.
The sound of it increases, so he tells them. I have stress problems. I’m dyslexic and afraid to tell anyone. I’ve contemplated suicide. I don’t love my parents. I don’t believe in a god, but I pretend I do. I just can’t stand some people. I can get depressed. Sometimes I imagine punishing people for their wrongdoings. I judge people. I like to learn. I’m afraid of the dark. I’ve thought about murder…
With every knowing comes a flicker of a flame until finally he is consumed.

((Please comment with suggestions, because I want to make this as good as it can be.))

Read This Please

This won't be long.

There are obviously a lot of things going on with people... But I would like to tell people that I have my own problems. I think a lot of people don't recognize that. I would like to surround myself with people who understand me and also know that I can be understanding to them too. I don't really want responses to this (unless it's private, then it can be through e-mail), but I would appreciate if you told people to look at this.

Ultimately, I'm going through a very rough time right now, and I just need to be a little separated for a little while. I just can't take any more drama. Sorry if I seem insensitive. Honestly, I really just want to immerse myself in whatever boring life of doing homework and reading I can find. I need it right now. I might end up not acting any different these coming days and weeks, but I would like everyone to know this.

Thank you for reading and remember, I'm not in the mood to talk about anything or whatever, so just read this and respect it. I just need time to mentally relax.

-Jake

Hunger, part the Ninth

(who knows why Tele and Madi read this)
CHAPTER 11
It was 14 days in, that day. They were all amazed by how long I was stretching it out. It was not easy; the Hunger had made attacks almost every day since the eighth. I was measuring time in days since the initiation, because that was really my birth. Unlike most new-borns, I could count.
“I bet if he smells one, he’ll snap.”
“What are we gonna’ bet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the next body?”
“Not much, but I’ll take it. I don’t think this guy will snap. He’s different.”
I didn’t know if they knew that I was listening, but I enjoyed that even they thought that I was different. I was special.
The lust wasn’t hard to deal with. It hadn’t really strengthened, but the Hunger had. It was getting harder and harder to resist every time. At least it wasn’t my conscious that was going to kill. That was the one thing that I could count on, that I would never kill of my own free will. The event of my first feeding would be one when the Hunger completely overtook me.
Would I remember it? Would I like it? Would I even feel bad about it?
According to the others, I would be able to accept it, but I doubted that. As they said, I was different.
It was that day when I was truly tested. The smell hit us hard; it hit me hard. They simply turned their heads, and looked at me as I ran. The Hunger had my body. My conscious was trapped in the corner of my mind. I struggled to even see what my eyes were looking at. Did the Hunger have a personality, or was it just a simple instinct that would vanish after its use was up? This was the worst of times for those questions.
Something that remained to me was the scent. I guessed that the Hunger was trying to reason with me, let me feel what it was doing. If I could have, I would’ve scowled at it. What an ignorant instinct.
The smell was getting closer. I supposed that the Hunger was running faster than I ever had. It was stronger than me, faster than me. It was better than me, except of course for basic morals. That’s where I prevailed, and that was what would pull me out of this situation. It wasn’t hard to meditate without the burden of a body.
My head was an easy victory; that wasn’t what it wanted. The rest of my upper body was a challenge. I pushed down my control, and it felt like I was literally pushing down some force. My legs would be impossible. They were being controlled, and in my waist, the Hunger was well guarding its territory. I had the rest of my body to fight it with, and that is why I managed to get down to my knee. I fell, and held onto a root, losing my concentration.
The control of my legs was quickly regained by the Hunger, and it began to try and stand up, but I held steady. It was an extremely odd sight, watching a body convulse and turn as it fought itself. It wasn’t the sort of thing to happen to a human.
I held on like that for another 3 hours, until the Hunger gave up. It didn’t really give up, though. I knew that it would come back the next day, stronger than ever.
“You owe me a body.”
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It was the sixteenth day, and I was convinced that I was dying. It felt like it. The others were in awe of me.
“I can’t even go so long.”
“I thought you hadn’t eaten since I changed.”
“Well, we feasted that day, and we had a snack when Augustus fed.”
I spat on the floor, and when no spit came out, I realized how dry my mouth was. It was like my tongue wasn’t in control. That was something that the Hunger seemed to be able to keep indefinitely. I did not know how I could talk, but whenever I thought of the words to say, it spoke for me. The whole thing was strange and creepy.
Then, the smell came. Immediately as it came, the Hunger took control, and my conscious was thrust into a dark place of my mind. I wandered in strange memories, and all of my concerns escaped me. What was there to worry about in this easy world, where even the burden of thinking was erased? I was in a natural high. Then, when I thought, well “thought” isn’t exactly the correct word, life couldn’t get any better, I fell asleep. It was like resting after staying up for an eternity.
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They told me that I was vicious. I tore a woman from her husband, and ripped open her neck. I drained her within seconds, and then went on to the man, and did the same to him.
When I finally regained feeling, I felt something in my hands. A head? A heart? Something worse?
When I looked, it was worse than I could have thought.
In my hands, wrapped in a dirty rag, was a sleeping baby. Everyone was staring at me. It wasn’t the normal, emotionless look either. Then they looked at the baby.
“Don’t you dare.” I said. The shock of my voice finally changing was ignored due to the living being in my arms.
“You expect is to walk by that? To live by that?
“You don’t have to! I’ll just leave. I don’t need you anymore.”
“You never did, but you will be trapped in ignorance if you leave us. You have to kill it.”
“I WILL NOT KILL IT.”
“Then leave us. When we get hungry, that will be the first one to go. You will kill it, you will get hungry again.”
“I will not kill this baby. I refuse to become one of you.”
I continued to believe that, even as I was becoming more and more like them every day.
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On the twentieth day, I became hungry again. I looked down at the baby, and realized that the Hunger would immediately kill it, and obviously couldn’t let that happen. Like, before, I could survive for longer than this, so I would plan on how to restrict myself from it.
I then realized I didn’t know whether the baby was a boy or a girl, and it turned out to be a girl. I also realized that I would have to find regular food for her to eat. This wouldn’t be too hard. Back when I was human, I could find food for three, and a half, if you count my little brother’s massive appetite.
A shock went through me. I hadn’t thought about my little brother since I… since I… It was a very long time. When I was lying beside my sister, he didn’t even cross my mind. I was ashamed with myself. That should have been the first thing I had done after my initiation, find him. But he would be scared of me, and we wouldn’t be able to live together, would we? The Hunger would surely kill him… But I was taking that same challenge with this baby. It was better than letting her die.
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I decided that she needed a name. What did she mean to me? Well, nothing really.
I was walking at a comfortable pace, so that I could keep my arms completely steady. I probably could have held her pretty well if I was running, but it wasn’t like I was in a rush.
Was she providing me with hope? It was more worry than that.
Courage?
Light?
My difference from their kind? The last one certainly defined what she was the most. What was a name for such I feeling? I thought that entire day. In the end, I called her Mine, because that was what she really was. I was all she had, and she was all I had. Perhaps if she ever lived to talk, she would call me that too. Mine. I liked the sound of that.
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Mine and I were looking for food one day when they came. It was the pack that had done it to me. I didn’t know what kind of crazy-ass path they were walking on, but they always seemed to cross mine.
“Are you saving that?”
“Yes.” Well, technically I was.
“Hey, he’s that…” The two had me surrounded in seconds. The child had turned around, and I thought that I could hear whistling.
“You are not going to drink that, are you?” I grimaced.
“No.”
“Well then you should hand it over to us! We will take care of what you can not.”
“I don’t want her ‘taken care of.’” They both laughed
“Did you hear that? Her! You actually care about that little thing!”
“Oh, this is truly interesting… I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Well, burn it into your head, ‘cause I should be off.” I stared them down. It wasn’t a matter of blinking, but something else… something more sinister.
“I do not want to hurt your feelings, but I can not let you go past us.”
“No worries, I will just go this way.” I smiled sarcastically, and turned around. He was already there.
“Give me that, and you may pass.”
“Are you a troll? I don’t see a bridge.” At least, that’s how I remember the story, but perhaps my sister got it mixed up. I didn’t know where this sarcasm in the face of danger-not really for me, but for Mine- was coming from.
“Ha ha. Now stop with your adolescent humor and be serious. That will not survive with you. Don’t you know that? It will be better if we do it, so not to stain your… your… your conscience!”
“As long as she survives longer, then that is the route I am taking. Good day.”
“Oh, give up. He’s set on this thing.”
“Alright, alright, but when you kill it, don’t come crying to me.”
“I didn’t know we could cry.” He looked at me angrily for second, and then began to walk in the opposite direction.
“We can’t.”
I was satisfied with my small victory, but I was still getting hungrier.
((This one was hard to do sooooo enjoy.)

Hunger, part the eighth?

CHAPTER 10
It was the day of his feeding. I didn’t know about the others. I assumed that they would also join in on the “fun.” I would definitely not.
I smelled something. It was blood. It was not how I would expect it to smell. I imagined something disgusting that was weirdly attractive, but it felt amazing. There was a strange high created by the scent. Tempting, and lulling… and most certainly not disgusting. I was formidably hungry that day. It was certainly an option to follow Augustus, bit I still had will power. Enough will power to resist killing.
Augustus
“I thought you said-“
“Instinct finds energy form the strangest of places.” Maybe there was an equivalent to adrenaline for them.
“The venom is extremely energetic. One drop could easily power an elephant for a year. We produce very little each year. You will start to feel the gland growing above your mouth.”
I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. Well, I guessed that I would have to take all of the problems that come with being what I was, but would it drive me mad? Apparently being this way could do that to you. There was so much change happening to me. I’d no snippet of memory suggesting that change was ever good.
He was moving quite quickly, and I had to pay attention to keep up. Not effort, just attention, which to me was harder than it was with the simple application of energy. Anyway, we ran for a very long time. How far away was this smell? It baffled me that it didn’t seem like we were any closer after at least 10 minutes of a brisk run, which was pretty damn fast for them and me. I made a mental wager that we would reach the person in another 5 minutes.
Quickly after I made the bet, I disregarded the thought. Since when did I take a person’s life so lightly? I always have, I told myself. If it is inevitable, then I did not stress over it. That was my compromise. It didn’t mean that I could make bets that relied on how much time a person had left on this world.
“We’re close now.” I could tell. The smell was extremely strong and appealing now. I had a hard time not speeding up and taking it for myself.
It was an adult, thank god. It was convenient how normal he was. A simple, white man, with normal clothing. He didn’t scream; he didn’t protest. He stood there and waited for his death. It was pathetic, if you ask me. He didn’t try and hide or run, or anything! Maybe he just knew that nothing could help him once they were on pursuit.
Once we were on pursuit.
He wiped his mouth.
“He’s already dead, why don’t you have some, I left a pint or two.” I had no idea what a “pint” was, but I didn’t see what was wrong with warding off my killing another person. I bent down, and the smell drew me to his neck. It was beautiful, so perfectly sensational. When I began to watch myself drinking the blood, and the others watching blankly, I stopped. It was the most difficult things that I have ever done, but I stood up, only drinking for a couple of seconds, and I said, “I refuse to be one of you.”
I wondered how long the other two could survive on the amount of blood that they had drunk from the corpse. It couldn’t be too long, but they didn’t seem to be that hungry before the feeding, so I supposed that they could last for as long as I could. Unless I dug out some inner will power to resist for longer. It was four days since my turning.
“How long did it take you to feed after your initiation?”
“I fed that very day. I am surprised that you haven’t been tempted already.”
“I have,” I mumbled, “But I refuse to go through with it.”
He smiled, and we continued to walk aimlessly.
It was the seventh day, and I was starving. It was trying to take control, but I resisted, refused. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t let it win. The whole experience was repulsive.
One night we were walking (I didn’t know why we continued to do that), and my hunger was aiming for my legs. That was all it wanted for some reason. I started speeding up, and I couldn’t even feel my feet hitting the ground. The others followed at the same pace without saying anything. They knew what was going on.
My feeling seemed to let off right at my waist. It was awfully uncomfortable and strange. I had a plan.
I limped the entire top of my body. This immediately caused my legs to fumble and lose balance. It was too strong. The Hunger carefully navigated each step to account for my swaying upper body. I was pissed.
Well, if that didn’t work, then what could? They were running faster than ever, and it may have just been the Hunger trying to trick me, but I smelled something. That wasn’t what I needed right then, so I tried to focus on other things. Because of the fact that I didn’t have to control my legs, I could relax and mediate. It was the first time since that day. I concentrated on finding my purpose, and honestly, it felt great. It was still there, right next to me, waiting to be found. But this wasn’t the time. I concentrated on taking control of my legs. Slowly, I felt the nerves reawakening downward, further and further, one by one.
My feet still belonged to the Hunger, but it couldn’t run without obedience of legs. I tripped, and when I stood up, it was just me. I was the only one there. The Hunger had retreated to get reinforcements.

A Really Disturbing Short Story

Michael sat at his desk. It was almost embarrassing how seemingly mundane his life was. He was a living cliché of one of those inspirational films where the main character lives a boring life, but then he dramatically quits and finds a girl and invests in a small company that hits big and blah blah blah. For Michael, it ended at “a boring life.” He wasn’t young like one of those characters. This was his life for… He didn’t even allow himself to do the math.
But he knew. 37 years.
His desk was stark naked besides the keyboard, monitor, stack of post-it notes, and an overly expensive pen. The pen seemed to taunt him every time he put it down. You don’t deserve me. I’m better than this. I’m supposed to be for an important person, not you. You’re not important.
He only kept the pen to go against what it seemingly wanted. Perhaps he thought one day the pen would be content, and he would make it big. Michael wrote. He wrote stories, countless stories. If someone other than him would walk into his apartment, he/she would be shocked of the neatly stacked piles of paper all over the floors and shelves and tables. They all had one character in common. Him. But that was the only constant. While in each story he was a pretty popular guy, none of the secondary characters every returned.
He wondered why he refused to repeat even a name (he even kept a checklist of them, and had started to become desperate. Most of the names used even he didn’t know how to pronounce.). He figured it was because it was always a different story, one about love, one about happiness, one about believing in yourself. Only one story had a sad ending. He wrote it the day his wife died. In it, everyone Michael knew was slowly tortured for the whereabouts of Michael, and after all of his friends had been pushed to death, it was realized he merely took an unscheduled stroll in Central Park. Needless to say, he wasn’t feeling very rational that day.
“How’s it coming with that-” His coworker stopped mid-sentence, peering over the thin wall of their cubicles, when he saw his face. Michael was looking at him with the amount of anger that the coworker hadn’t been exposed to before. He sat down again. If looks could kill, this look would kill not only the coworker, but every one of his relatives.
Michael stood up. What now? He knew. Both the passport and the gun sat uncomfortably in his otherwise empty desk drawer. He opened the drawer, the rolling sound usual to his ears, as it was a common sound here, in this building. This prison of a building.
What should he say? Nothing, the voice told him. The voice was… his friend? Maybe it was, after all. Why was it always a problem before? The doctor said it was problem, his wife said it was a problem, and he thought that it was a problem, up until now. Now it was a friend, now it was a partner. First, he took the passport and put it in his empty pocket. He stared at the gun for a moment, just as people began to stare at him.
How was he going to let them know? He took the gun and walked up to his boss’s office. He liked his boss; he was always fair and understanding. But almost everyone he knew was this way, so why should his boss get special treatment? Hell, being the first was special treatment.
The door opened easily. The trigger went easily. The boss dropped to the floor without a sound, but the blast from the gun still rang in Michael’s ears. Michael saw the boss’s face as he fell from his expensive little chair. He didn’t understand it. It did not seem surprised.
It did not matter. He had to quiet the office, full of screaming and running. He walked out the door and shot the two people closest to the door. They thudded against the floor in the exact way he expected, the way the movies and the books would depict it. How satisfactory, to know that Hollywood got something right after all. Now he said his first word of the day:
“Silence!”
And, almost miraculously, there was silence, but in his head the voice was shouting. Yes! Yes! More must die! If you’re alone, let them be alone in hell! And let their loved ones be alone here, only to find them again in damnation! Hah! It’s funny, can’t you see? A sense of humor is vital, my friend.
“Vital for what?” Michael said out loud. The people stared at him with even more confusion. Some looked at each other understandingly. He’s gone insane.
Do you see what they’re thinking? Can’t you see? They think you’ve lost your marbles. They’re thinking that you are below them. Kill them.
Was he still a cliché? Did this sort of thing happen in stories often? He didn’t even know anymore, but he did know that this would be on the news, and people would know his name.
Don’t let them forget your name, Michael. Make them remember.
One person in the room didn’t look the same as the rest. Michael couldn’t see many, no doubt many were hiding in their cubicles. The one person was the coworker that had tried to talk with him earlier. His face had the common anxiety and nervousness, but there was something else… effort. He was standing up entirely strange, and Michael couldn’t see his hands. He pointed the gun at him, and shot. It hit him between the eyes.
Michael walked around the room now, occasionally shooting, occasionally reloading. His other pocket was filled with ammo. Everyone in the room had begun to accept their fate. Everyone was going to die, Michael was going to make sure of it. Well, maybe he would spare one. Just to tell the story, to be lonely and without a job. Once about half of the office had been shot, he stopped himself.
Was this what he wanted to do? What was this going to accomplish? The voice somehow made it seem like something was going to come out of it, and for some reason he had believed it. He never was told what exactly. He knew that he was leaving after he was done. That would surely benefit, a new life somewhere exotic. But this? People dead? What was good about that?
But as he was thinking this he noticed that he simply didn’t care if they lived, and there was a bit of a rush coming from it all. He wasn’t bored, and he didn’t feel lonely. Maybe it was good.
He killed three more people and stopped again. How much time would it be until someone came to stop him? He didn’t know. Maybe he would have to leave soon. He sped up his process. How many left?
Fifteen people were left, either praying or staring at him.
“Would any of you like to live?” Oddly, they all turned to him and nodded at the same time. “Only five of you can live, so… five of you can volunteer to kill two people.”
One person stood quickly, and the others looked at him in disbelief. He grabbed the gun and shot two of the people he sat next to.
“Can I leave now?” He sounded as if he had some place to go, and this was only an annoyance. Michael smiled.
“Yup!” He heard someone mutter something, it was a female.
“What did you say?”
“I called that man an idiot.”
“And why is that? He’s alive, and you’re not going to live.” This time she smiled. The sarcasm in her lips was staggering to Michael. He shot her. “Next person only has to kill one!” How generous.
This time an old man stood up and took the gun. He raised it to his head and shot himself. Michael picked up the gun nonchalantly.
“You people are all very interesting,” he said. “Well, three more!”
Two others shot themselves. Michael was flabbergasted. They were all so stupid. They deserved to die. Michael was basically begging for it, and yet they seemed to go against his expectations just for the heck of it. Maybe this was how his pen felt.
The next man stood up and took the gun. The two people sat on the floor were praying. Neither of them had prayed before this. The man with the gun took it and pointed it at Michael.
“Finally someone gets it.” But Michael was not looking for death; he was looking for a challenge, or perhaps a surprise. He had practiced getting a gun out of someone’s hands, and so now he did it how he had learned. Except the man seemed to know what he was doing. He took the gun away from Michael and shot him in the thigh.
Michael fell over.
“You son of a bitch, look what you did to my pants.”
“Don’t you dare act as if your fucking pants are more important than the lives you took today. God will be glad to put you in hell.” And then Michael was shot in the heart. The man went around the office and called 911, although they were already informed of the situation. He and the other survivor in the office went around to the wounded people. They found a few survivors… and then more… and then more. Only three seemed to be dead. The boss, the man who had tried to reach for his gun, and the woman who spoke up. Everyone else was shot in the same place, right next to the heart, but they all seemed to come back to consciousness after a while. There was much rejoicing.
Michael’s body was dead. The passport was on the floor, splotched with blood. His blood allowed him to go someplace special, not where he was planning. He was going to Hell, and he was going to be reunited with the three who had successfully killed. Did he try to kill the others? Who knows? When he reached hell, he was given the sentence of many years, and once that was over he was going to have to go through the act of dying, being killed by those whom he had killed.
What did it mean? It meant that the voice was wrong. And now that he finally had company, he did not enjoy it.

(Note- I wrote this from 11:30 until 1:30, so it isn't exactly my best short story. But anyway, it's all good practice.)