It was high school. I was 16 and I was pissed off.
My English teacher assigned us a creative writing assignment: Write anything about being in high school. Anything.
So I wrote a story about a school shooting.
Except, in my story once the shooter was cornered by police, instead of blowing his own brains out he began teaching the children himself, executing the ones who misbehaved or didn’t follow directions. At first his executions seemed irrational and cruel. But as the kids got older, the executions became more pragmatic and designed to prepare the survivors for the “real world.” The story ended at the graduation ceremony. The shooter cried as he hugged all of his students. He congratulated them and told them how proud he was of their accomplishments.
The story received a horrible grade. But so did most of my writing assignments in school. It was always for…
View original post 1,694 more words