17 Things - Part 3

I made sure I got up extra early that morning, so that no one heard me leave. I packed all the things I would need into my backpack, including my dad’s credit card (which I stole from him, guess I can check that off the list), all of the money I had left, some identification for the cops, a gun (thanks again, dad) and my list.

I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror, because it was probably going to be my last. Screw probably, it WAS the last time I’d see myself. I went into the washroom and splashed some cold water in my face, hoping it would calm my nerves, but all it did was intensify them. I threw on a shirt, and grabbed the backpack.

I crept down the hall very slowly and quietly, as it was 5:00 A.M, and my whole plan would be ruined if my parents found out I was gone this early. It was a Thursday, so I had to get up for school anyways, but they might be suspicious as to why I was leaving two and a half hours early. Nevermind the fact that I haven’t gone to school all week anyways, but they don’t need to know that.

I creaked open my parent’s bedroom, just to get a long, last look at my mom. She didn’t really deserve this, and it is in no way her fault, but it has to be done. I have a feeling what I am about to do is selfish, but I can’t let that stop me now. I closed the door and continued on, out of my front door. I had finally left the place that had caused so much chaos in my mind, and I was never coming back. It was a refreshing feeling to say the least, in almost a cleansing way. That aspect of my life had been washed away for good.



I stayed out all morning, just watching the cars go by, and seeing different people stare at me, as if I had no right to be where I was. I let them stare all they want; they aren’t going to be bothering me for much longer anyways. In fact, I stared right back at them, as if to say, “Yeah, I see you staring, but I really don’t care. I just hope you aren’t the one that gets shot later on.” I almost scared myself thinking about that, but I liked the fear. The fear fuelled my emotion, my adrenaline, and made me want more. I didn’t fear the fear; I welcomed it.

When it was time, I walked over to the convenience store. It was empty as hell as I walked in, and there was only one person working. It was an eerie environment, but I guess I should get used to that feeling for the next couple of days. I looked the cashier dead in the eye, and she looked back. I knew that she knew what I was about to do, but she didn’t do anything about it. I slowly reached into my backpack and pulled out the gun. I looked at the barrel and the trigger, and an enormous sense of power filled into my body. I felt as though this thing that was in my hand was capable of giving me whatever I wanted. I had the world in my hand, and it was in my control. Forget making an impact on the world, I AM the world.

I didn’t want to hurt the cashier, but I did want to instill fear in her. It’s all about ego, and mine was at the unhealthy size where anything and everything that made me feel good was first priority. I told the cashier (Her name was Cynthia, I believe), to put some cigarettes, some cash and some nickel candy into a bag, and hand it over. If she didn’t oblige, I shoot her. It was really a simple request, but I guess Cynthia thought of it as some sort of chess match. She tried to bargain with me. Bargain. Me? I own the world, dammit! I don’t bargain! So I shot a bullet into the ceiling. I think that got the message through, as she slowly put the cigs and the cash in the bag. Good thing she realized that she would have lost this chess match. In fact, she would have been quite like a pawn. Sacrificed.

(Did I just say that? I’ve never said something that bloodthirsty in my life. I have this haunting feeling as if I shouldn’t be doing this. Well, I know I obviously “shouldn’t” be doing what I’m doing… but I mean, on the bigger scale of things. Is this the best way for me to go? Am I really gonna make a big enough impact that the world will remember me? Couldn’t I do something productive like write an award-winning novel? Oh, who I am kidding… that IS what I’m doing! I just happen to be living the novel as I write it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Relax, Zack. Breath.)

After Cynthia finally got her act together, I just stared at her. I’m sure working at a convenience store she’s had experience with criminals before. Why was this one giving her a perfect view of his face? Why was he being blatantly obvious about what he was doing? Because he wants to be remembered, Cynthia. He wants the cops after him. He wants to be famous, Cynthia… can you get that through your little teeny-bopper mind? The kid that just held up your convenience store is gonna be famous. He’s gonna be a name that is said throughout the history of this city, this country and this world. The guy that just held up your convenience store is going to leave an impact, Cynthia. I hope you remember what his face was like, so you can tell it to the cops next week. And I also hope you remember the chilled feeling that ran through your veins when he pulled out a gun and looked you in the eye. Feel it, Cynthia… feel the fear.




Around 3:00 P.M, I went to go get Brit from school. I walked in, and my first period teacher, Mr. Strata saw me. He knows something’s wrong with me, that’s why he always tries to talk to me. He’s an English teacher, and that’s what I’m best at. Like I said before, he thinks I’m gifted and that I could write for a living. Well, this is my greatest piece of work, Strata… too bad it’ll be my last, eh? No worries, I plan on dropping this off at the newspaper before I go to end it. They’ll be sure to publish this lunatic’s work.

I walked by Mr. Strata and headed straight to Brit’s locker. She met eyes with me, and we both smiled. I told her I got the stuff, and we headed to the hills at the back of the school.

We shared a cigarette as we stared at the people walking by, at the sky, and at anything else that was around us. We were enjoying the last bit of quiet time we had left together. Everything from this point on was going to be business. We talked over what we wanted to do, and we talked over exactly how we were gonna do it. We both couldn’t stop smiling at the fact that we were actually going over it… however, sometimes my smile was broken by a cough. I had never tried cigarettes before, but they do seem to be soothing. Now I know why Brit’s always been on them.

So we continued on, discussing step by step what the plan was. We both got chills a couple of times, just because of the nature of what we were about to do. But in the end, she put her head in my lap and just rested there while we finished the cigarette. Nobody knew what we were going to do, no one. We had pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, and we were about to send shockwaves throughout the neighbourhood. I think Brit started to cry. It was a good moment, a bad moment, a depressing moment and an exciting moment. No one knew what we were about to do. No one was going to stop us, because no one had a clue.

Except Mr. Strata.