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16+ Violence

Deaths Door

by FallWolf

Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence.

The pistol was pretty easy to get. It was a SIG Sauer 1911, bought it with my dad’s credit card. The name didn’t mean anything to me, it was just a machine, a machine that spat metal death. I arranged for it to be dropped off at the post office instead of being delivered directly to me, so that I could maintain a level of secrecy. When I picked it up, the teller didn’t ask me what was in the box. If she had, I would have said it was some duck calls, or some other thing for my dad’s birthday. People are easy to fool. Now that, that thing sat in my hand, heavy and sleek. And cold. I didn’t, couldn’t hold it for long before dropping it into a rusty brown colored shoe box that I had kept for hiding secrets. It clunked down, the sharp silver meeting the dull cardboard like a rabid animal sitting on a couch. The pistol should do something… it was supposed to make you feel a thrill, the thrill of owning something that you were not supposed to. I just felt empty, staring down at it from my mountain of dark grey bedsheets like some homicidal god. Closing its lid, I slid the box and the fatal cargo it held under my bed, reaching as far as I could go, deep into the shadows. Yes, the shadows, that’s where the gun and its bits of glinting murder belonged. I looked up, surveying my room in its cover of reflects from the street. My blinds were open, showing the world below me in a flash of neon color, plastic sound and choking metal. Now I got up, my bare feet plodding across my carpet, and closed out that other world, the world of brightness and concrete and neon and honking, flashing cars. My clothes for tomorrow were laid out on my dresser, and I watched as they turned from yellow light to dark, hulking shapes. I slipped back into bed, but I couldn’t close my eyes. I couldn’t let the thoughts in my head have a screen to play on and show their gristly faces. So I stared at the wall, looking at the plaster that was held bare and dry, nothing to cover up its sheer blankness. Finally, my eyes revolted against my tired will and closed, letting the dreams in.

I walked into the school, a coat draped around me to hide the ghoulish thing I held beneath. Monsters, people of stone and steam, washed passed me, not touching me, not even looking up from their bright metal worlds to see me. I waded around them to the second floor, where I spotted him. Bright hot gasoline shot through me, fueling my arms and my hands, pulling the piece of wood and glinting metal from its hiding place. He looked at me, he saw what I have in my hand, and he saw, finally, my face. What he sees is not another punching bag or wall to spit on. With the lump of metal in my hand I am more than what I was without. I pull the gun up and level it at his face, demons seething inside me like white hot fuel, goading me on. My hand squeezes the trigger, but all I can hear is his scream, and all I can see is the red painting I make across the white school wall. Now I cannot stop, even if my rage had calmed to a tempest, even if the fire had been tampered I would still have gone on. I aim again, pointing at the girl with brown eyes and hair, the one who was so unlike the others, so open, but still had not seen me. Now, now I just flicked my finger. Such a small thing, but it dealt out so much, finally making the creatures look up from their worlds and notice that no, I am not going down again under their storm of mindless, windowless eyes and stupid feelings. Then, when I am surrounded by death, I put the pistol to my head and squeeze. For the first time, I hear the shout it makes as it punches a bit of metal into my head, through my brain.

I see nothing. I feel nothing. I am completely empty. I walk and stop before two doors. I look at them both, see the lines of students making their separate ways. Beside the door on the right stands the girl, crying as she watches others make their way down through the door on the left. She sees me, she watches as I walk towards her. The others don’t see us, standing there beside the right gate. I expected reproach in her eyes, maybe even hate. I didn’t expect the flood of words that came to me through her eyes, the windows to her very soul. They whispered sadness, implored with grief and a deep thing that I have no name for. I make my way to the right gate, but I cannot enter. I turn back to the girl, watch her dry her tears, look away from her fellow students. I watch, desperately as she looks at the right gate, and a light beams down on her face, taking away her tears. She opens the door, goes through it. I stand there. I try to follow, but I can’t push the gate open, I pound on it, scream at it, but it does not open. I don’t want to go through the left gate. It stares at me like a hungry animal, and I shrink against the barrier of the right gate, but I feel myself giving in, sliding to the ground and bowing my head, between the two doors. A crack of light shines on me. I jump up, but the right door still won’t open for me. The light plays around my head. Suddenly, I am pulled away, my arms wrenching and grasping at the door even as something pulls me back the way I had come. My arms give out, and I fly back through the dark.

Beep, beep, beep. My eyes open in a different world, a planet of disinfectant and white. My head throbs as if a sword had buried its toothy rod in there. I groan, long and loud, closing my eyes again. Beep, beep, beep. I turn my head painfully, hoping that a different position will help me get back to sleep, back to the dark. Instead, I see the girl sitting by my bed. She is small, a miniature of her sister; the girl at the gates. She looks at me with hazel eyes, sitting straight-backed in a hard seat.

“Why are you here.” I whisper hoarsely. “I killed your sister.”

Her shoulders go up, and back down. Her eyes dart away from mine. Carefully she stands up and places a book on my bed. She opens her mouth to say something, but shakes her head instead. She pats the leather book, and finally answers me.

“Ellie said she was going to invite you to Youth Group that day…” She looks back into my eyes, and I don’t see sorrow for death in those pools of brown. I see the pining that comes when someone you admire, someone you will dearly miss, has gone away for a long time, but I don’t see what I saw on my dad’s face when he got the phone call that had shattered our lives. She knows… I think blearily, she knows about the gates. The girl is speaking again, looking at me, and for a moment I could’ve swore that the light from the right gate came in her face and lit her from the inside.

“Ellie said that you were hollow inside, and that you needed something to fill you up.” The girl looks down and pats the book again, drawing my attention to it. “This was hers. I think she would have wanted you to have it.”

No more words, just a silent goodbye. She walks out of the room. Beep, beep, beep.

Three years later I walk up the steps of a house, weathered brown siding enclosing a dark green door. I grip a book in my hand nervously. My backpack had held more, but this was my last stop of the day. I raised my free hand and knocked on the door, then cursed my clumsiness when I saw the doorbell button. I heard someone come all the same and the forest green door cracked open. The girl regarded me with those same hazel eyes, looking even more like her sister, Ellie. I cleared my throat, but it stayed tight.

“May I come in?” I said. She looked at me before then nodding, widening the emptiness where the door had stood till I could slip through. Behind me, the door slid closed, reminding me so much of Heaven’s gate, at which I had stood at as I watched another brave girl, one whom I had never given the chance to to take me to Youth Group, shine in God’s glory as He led her to life everlasting. One day, one day I hope to meet her there.

Note: This is purely a work of fiction, and the author has taken some creative liberties in imagining what happens when you die. She does not know if there are actually doors as shown in the story. She does, however, know that everyone has a choice to either live for the world or live for God, and she knows that there is a Heaven and a Hell. Please pray for all the kids who go to public school, and for those who have survived a school shootout.

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79 Reviews

Points: 250
Reviews: 79

Mon Nov 09, 2015 11:06 pm
Sevro wrote a review...

Hi FallWolf, I'm Caterpickle!
I really enjoyed this short story. I absolutely love the metaphors you used within it, like the one about the gun hitting the cardboard box, how it was like a rabid animal sitting on a couch. This short story was very imaginative, and I love how I had little clue that it was a dream that the person was in, reliving his crimes. I also enjoyed your description of the gates to Heaven and Hell, it made me picture a double door, and how the right side is Heaven and the left side would be Hell. I can easily tell that you are a very creative writer, and that your views on the world are pure and good!

I really hope you keep writing short story's like this one, and maybe even longer ones, too, because this was the kind of story that you never want to end.

This wasn't much of a help, I'm sure, but I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed it!

FallWolf says...

Thanks so much =) I really loved this idea, as I want to bring awareness of the bad things that happen, but still give out some hope that the world can be better. However, if possible, I am taking this story off and re-writing it when I am more mature because I didn't like how dark it turned out in the end. Thanks for your encouragement to keep going with this story (=

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298 Reviews

Points: 15144
Reviews: 298

Mon Nov 09, 2015 10:49 pm
HolographicLadybug wrote a review...

Hello! I'm here for another review!

Your details are so imaginative and bright and practically flawless. I found myself holding my breath for the entire story. Well done. You've done a fantastic job here.
This was quite a story. It was also very dark. I felt like the darkness was surrounding me, the scenes flowing through it all. Even the bright blues YWS background seemed darker. You have done a marvelous job creating something that your readers could--and still can--feel. I will forever remember this story when I hear of something like this again.
Wonderful. (I mean this of your story)

Though I do not go to public school (I am homeschooled), I will wish for the best of other students as stuff like this does--sadly--happen in real life. I hope it never happens again (sadly enough, it probably will), but if it does, I wish for the best of students, teachers, families, and staff. I also hope that it will not happen near where I live, or anyone else here. How else am I going to read and review your beautiful stories?

Thank you for writing this. It has, in some ways, opened my eyes to this kind of thing more than it was. It was beautiful and realistic.

Never stop writing! :)
-Holographic Ladybug :) :)

FallWolf says...

Thanks so much HolographicLadybug! It's great to see that my story is doing what I meant for it to do; bring people into awareness about real life things that happen all the time. I think this story has to be re-written at a later date, when I am more mature in my writing (I found the finished product a bit too dark for my liking) but I'm very glad that you like it =)

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31 Reviews

Points: 212
Reviews: 31

Wed Nov 04, 2015 4:51 pm
FallWolf says...

After careful study of this piece, I have decided to keep it on only one more week, then take it off to re-write on a later date. Any reviews I get I will save for when I re-write this piece.

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325 Reviews

Points: 689
Reviews: 325

Wed Nov 04, 2015 1:48 am
SunsetTree wrote a review...

This was definitely a disturbing piece, and left me feeling uncomfortable throughout, but I'm certain that was exactly what you were aiming for.

One thing that strikes me right away, but has nothing to do with the actual writing is to split up your paragraphs. Right now you have quite a few miniature sized walls of text that makes this overall, just not as inviting to read. Do split them up, especially the first paragraph.

The pistol was pretty easy to get. It was a SIG Sauer 1911, bought it with my dad’s credit card.

The name didn’t mean anything to me, it was just a machine, a machine that spat metal death.

Use a hyphen instead of a comma in front of "a machine". "spat metal death" is an odd description to me, just because "metal death" makes me think a stoic, non-violent ending. When I think of metal, I think plain, is all, even though bullets are in fact made of, you know, metal. I'd change this to something else.

I arranged for it to be dropped off at the post office instead of being delivered directly to me, so that I could maintain a level of secrecy.

So by "secrecy", she's just going to make sure her dad doesn't check his credit statement and see that someone bought a gun? And she's going to make sure it gets delivered to a public outlet than at a private residency. This makes no sense, but then again, people who decide to shoot up schools don't usually have sense as their strong suit, so I guess this detail ends up working out. I wouldn't change it.

I just felt empty, staring down at it from my mountain of dark grey bedsheets like some homicidal god.

That's disturbing x_x

The high emotional pull this story has is really gripping. I'm definitely curious at just what your inspiration was to write something like this, as it's easily the most disturbing piece of work I recall reading on here, even with with the note at the end.

The ending is a bit confusing, I guess the narrator ended up going to heaven, but I'm confused at whether or not she was allowed in. She asked if she could come in, then the girl nodded and let he slip through. But then she said she hopes to get God's glory some day. Some clarification there would be apt, unless vagueness was your intent, if it was, then is what it is. I personally don't like the idea of people killing a bunch of people, then themselves and getting into heaven, I don't think that happens, but eh

one last thing, I think you might want to raise the content rating on this. Not something I'd say okay to a twelve-year-old reading x_x

FallWolf says...

Thanks for your advice =). I was definitely disturbed myself while writing this piece, and have even considered taking it off YWS and re-writing it at some later date. It was an exploration into a villains mind, sort of modeled off of C.S. Lewis' work "Screwtape Letters".
Thanks a lot for pointing out the confusion of this piece. Through the whole story I had a picture of the main character, but I guess I didn't make it very clear that 1, the main character is a boy (though I never really imply this) and 2, he does not go to Heaven. Since I'm sure you don't want to read the story over (cuz that would just be boring) I'll explain some of the more confusing parts: the "Brown haired girl", later identified as Ellie by her sister, sits by Heavens gate after the school shootout, regretting that she didn't try to reach out to more students. She later enters Heaven, and the main character (the shooter) tries to follow her, but is not let in. However, God lets him have another chance and the doctors are able to get the bullet out and revive him in time to save his life.
At the end of this story the main character says that he hopes to go to Heaven when he dies. The book Ellie's sister gives him is a Bible, and he read about God's saving grace, and later got saved. At the end of the book it is implied that he has been handing out books (Bibles) which I meant to be a hint that he was giving Bibles to all the families who had lost a kid because of his shooting at the school three years earlier.

SunsetTree says...

ah, that clarifies it, thanks :) Not sure why I thought the main character was a girl, must've read something wrong somewhere.

FallWolf says...

My mom says I write too much like a girl with male characters =P

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31 Reviews

Points: 212
Reviews: 31

Thu Oct 29, 2015 6:00 pm
FallWolf says...

This is purely a rough draft. I've had this idea ever since hearing about a school shootout, but didn't get around to writing it till now. Hope you enjoy =)

An arrow can only be shot by pulling it backwards. So when life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means that life's going to launch you into something great, so just focus and keep aiming.
— Unknown