[ WP ] You are a psychopathic school shooter . What is your internal monologue during the act ?

To think I used to hate coming here, everyday dreading the endless hours in this prison called a school. Now the bars have flipped, and I'm the one in charge, the prisoners at my mercy. Too bad they beat the last shred of mercy out of me long ago. They scream and cry as they run or hide or try in vain to muscle through the exits I chained shut. Johnny Chambers is different from the others, though. He does n't look scared, and he's running right at me. He still does n't take me seriously, still thinks he can do whatever he wants to me. I fire a round from my shotgun and it pulps his knee, sends him tumbling towards me. His calf is barely attached to the bloody mess at the end of his thigh. He's shrieking and I think I've never heard a sound so sweet. As I level the shotgun at his head he raises his hand to shield himself. Idiot. I shift the angle of the barrel and fire again, blowing his hand apart, and he sings even sweeter. I move on, leaving him there. He may die or not. I hope he lives forever, and each countless day of his eternity is haunted by the smile I flash him before I stepped away. 
 
 Everyone is trapped with me on the third floor. All the exits are chained and useless, save one. Someone must have found it because suddenly the screams are drowned out by an explosion set off by the tripwire I set. I run towards the sound, already giddy in anticipation of the sight that awaits me. It does n't disappoint. A girl is trying to crawl away on stumps among the whimpering wounded and the lucky dead. I casually finish off the rest of them with my revolver, but not the girl. Oh, it's Angela. I stomp down with my boot a few times, crushing her like a bug. That's how she always treated me. 
 
 I stop. I listen. There's barely a sound now. Some sobbing, sure, but hardly any. It's time to end this. The halls are empty of anyone alive. The survivors have hidden themselves in classrooms and whatever holes they could find. I go door to door, lighting a pipe bomb and tossing it into each room. By the time I'm done my ears are ringing too much to tell whether there's anyone left making a sound. It's only been ten minutes since I fired the first shot. It feels strange to live the dream that's kept me going all these years and know it's almost over. I go into the teacher's lounge, the only nook I have yet to deal with. There's only one teacher, Mr. Perkins, just standing there, staring at the door as I step through it, as if he were waiting for me. I tell him to get on his knees. Without a word he does so. I approach him, tower above him, a monument to my own vengeance. I pull out the envelope containing the letter I wrote. My ramblings. My manifesto. Whatever they choose to call it. It is my warrant, by which I have taken these actions. You can kill my soul, and reduce me to this thing I am. You can make me wish I was dead every waking moment, and eventually I will match my body to my murdered spirit. I have spent most of my life wanting to kill myself, but I needed to practice with all of you so that I would be up to the task. I slip the letter explaining all this into Mr. Perkins' shirt pocket. He looks up at me with blank eyes. `` Why?'' he says. `` Because you have to ask,'' I reply, and shoot him between those empty eyes. 
 
 I get a Coke and a bag of chips from the vending machines in the corner, and have a little snack as I wait for the cops. Suddenly, I'm not sure whether I'll let them take me alive or not. I was so certain that my death would be the grand finale of this drama, but now I just do n't know. I hear movement outside. I grab my grandfather's pistol, specially loaded with the explosive bullets I learned how to make online, and tuck its muzzle under my chin. My head will be mist if I pull the trigger. 
 
 Time to decide.
