[ WP ] Write a story of a school shooting that makes us sympathetic with the shooter .

*Probably some of the most difficult writing I've ever done, but I'm proud of it. Hopefully it can garner some sympathy. * 
 _______________________ 
 
 Tears of hopelessness stung at my eyes as I kicked open the front door of my school. But it was n't like I had a choice anymore. 
 
 Dozens of thoughts coursed through the indistinct haze that seem to envelop my mind. Among them were apologies, tearing my heart to bits in an attempt to reconcile myself in forgiveness that would never come. Doubts too, like whether or not Mr. Clark had even planted the bomb like he claimed. And mingling in with these soul-crushers was the childish regret that I would never be able to finish the eighth grade. 
 
 The first person I encountered in the hall was kind old Mrs. Andrews, the English teacher. I almost turned back then, it was so hard. But I remembered the stakes, steeled my nerves, and began the slaughter with a bang. 
 
 A bomb in the school. The sadistic bastard had planted a bomb and could have easily killed them all with it, but it was n't enough for him. My history teacher needed *amusement*. That's where I came in. 
 
 Someone had heard the gunshot and up ahead there was a scream. I turned a corner and separated four more souls from their earthly vessels. 
 
 He'd planned this in advance for who knows how long. Every intricate detail of his master plan he had explained to me with enthusiasm. Every door had been locked from the outside besides the main entrance, which he presumably locked behind me once he'd heard the first shot. He would hang around to listen to his symphony of chaos unfold from the outside until the last minute, just to make sure I did what was told. 
 
 Teachers had started locking their classroom doors now, and the staff in the office had presumably already attempted to call the police. But the ever-thoughtful Mr. Clark had cut the phone lines already. 
 
 I turned down another hallway and found a few more stragglers who had not yet reached the temporary safety of classrooms. Mercy flowed forth from the barrel of my weapon, granting permission to miss the final fireworks show. 
 
 If everything was going according to plan, there were only a few minutes left now. But I did n't know how many shots he needed to hear to be satisfied, and I knew I had to press on. If he was n't satisfied, there would be four more victims today. My parents and two little sisters. 
 
 His sadism held no bounds, and worst of all, he was like a ghost. No one could ever link him to this, as I was to be the scapegoat. I was the killer, and he was just the lucky teacher who called in sick on this unlucky day. 
 
 Another hallway, another few chosen souls allowed to leave early. Surely that was enough now. Surely even he would be content with this. I strode to the end of the corridor and slumped down onto a bench against a wall to wait for the explosion. 
 
 Silence. One would never know that school was in session today, with all of the doors closed and the inhabitants scared into a nearly palpable hush. 
 
 After a few minutes, I began to realize something was wrong. The bomb should have gone off by now. Too much time had passed. 
 
 Just then a door to the outside just down the hall from me was kicked down, and a team of policeman rushed in, guns pointed at me. I slid off the bench onto my knees, dropping my weapon as tears began streaming down my face with confusion. The phone lines had been cut... 
 
 Handcuffs were placed on me and I was led outside. And there one the lawn stood Mr. Clark, an expression of innocence and fear plastered on his face as he cowered next to the chief of police. 
 
 `` Good work everyone!'' the chief bellowed. `` We could n't have gotten here in time if it were n't for this hero's quick thinking to call us!'' 
 
 And then I realized the full scope of the master plan. Mr. Clark was n't just a ghost behind the scenes of the crime, he made himself the hero. There was no bomb. My family was in no danger. It had all been a ruse, and now I was a murderer in vain. 
 
 As I was shoved into a squad car, I swear I saw his expression change for just an instant into a tiny, triumphant smile.
