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Where Death Exists

Darcy Wilmoth

    He walked to school that morning in a haze. He tried to remember his dream from last night, but couldn’t. It was a nice spring day. The weather was warm and the trees were green with new buds. Birds chirped. Flowers were blooming. Everything was new and alive.
    He didn’t notice.
    As he walked inside Appledale High School, he didn’t pay any attention to the guys laughing behind him. They realized that he was wearing the same green cargo pants and old grey t-shirt as yesterday. He didn’t. Why couldn’t he remember the dream?
    The bell rang for first hour as he sat down at his desk. The teacher, Mr. Briley, talked about algebra. Formulas and equations, X equals Y and blah blah blah. He didn’t hear him speaking. His mind was focused on one thing, his dream.
    This was the way he spent most of his days. In a bubble. A mental bubble he had created for himself. It allowed him to get through the day without having to deal with things around him. Most people just thought he was shy, maybe a little weird, and that was fine. As long as they left him alone. Let him live in his bubble. He managed to listen in class just enough so that he pulled a C average and stayed under the radar.
    “Ok, for tomorrow you guys need to do questions one through twenty-seven at the end of chapter eight. Don’t forget to show your work!”
    He snapped back to reality as the bell was ringing and students were getting up out of their desks. He grabbed his backpack, unusually heavy today, and headed for the door.
    Through the hall he kept his eyes down. He didn’t want to have to make eye contact or even exchange casual social niceties with anyone. Not today.
    He finished his morning routine as usual, second period History, a quiz in English, followed by fourth period Spanish. It was just a normal day in the life of Alex Martin. Except that he felt different. Besides the frustration he felt over his dream, he felt next to nothing. Numb. The depression and anxiety he was growing used to dealing with day in and day out was pushed back somewhere. And he didn’t care where. Today he just wanted to feel nothing.
    Alex walked into the cafeteria. It was pizza day, his favorite. He didn’t grab a tray and get in line. He didn’t go to his usual table in the corner. Instead, Alex Martin walked to the back of the cafeteria, pulled two 9MM handguns out of his backpack, closed his eyes, and started shooting.
    One bullet went through head cheerleader Stacey Arnold’s chocolate milk carton before landing in Mr. Briley’s chest. The next one went through Brian Walden from the Math Club’s right knee. In the next minute, Alex shot a total of twelve students and teachers. Seven were killed, four were injured. And with his last shot, Alex Martin put a bullet through his brain on a warm spring afternoon in the small, sleepy town of Appledale.

* * *

    “It’s time to get up in the morn-ing!” Alex heard his mom calling out like she always did on school days. She was still his alarm clock, and he much preferred her sweet sing-songy voice to sirens going off in his ear.
    He slowly opened his eyes and stretched. Then he remembered what today was as he felt a sharp stab of excitement and nervousness in his stomach.
    It was the first day of sixth grade.
    Alex had been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading this day all summer. He had gotten a new haircut for the occasion a couple of weeks ago. At first, he thought it was a cool new look for him but as the days passed he wondered if he just looked stupid. His mother assured him it looked great and that all the kids at school would love it. He believed her at first, but isn’t that what all mothers say?
    It turned out she was wrong. All the kids at school didn’t love it. In fact, they all seemed to hate it. They either openly made fun of him to his face or snickered to their friends as he walked by.
    “Hey Alex, I really like your hair, where did you get it done?”
    A little rush of excitement went through him and as he turned around to say thank you and confess that it was his mother that cut it, right as the group standing behind him suddenly burst out laughing. Somehow over the summer something had changed. Things like haircuts and the brand of jeans you wore became incredibly important. People also started grouping together and generally disliking anyone who wasn’t in their group for no particular reason.
    By lunchtime it had become apparent that the only person left willing to overlook his new haircut and still be his friend was Mark Lewis. Mark was also confused by the way things were happening and didn’t give much thought to clothing or haircuts.
    And so this was the way sixth grade went for Alex. He did well on his tests, ate lunch with Mark on the playground by the old tractor tire, and tried to stay out of the line of social fire.
    In seventh grade, the new fad was to write the name of the girl or boy you liked on your shoe. There was one name on more shoes than anyone else’s that year and that name was Chasity Kirke. She was pretty and unique, but best of all, new. And to a town this small, that was everything. The boys all fell for her immediately. She was fun and outgoing; her hair was always a different color. One week she would come to school and it would be blonde, the next brown with pink streaks. Most of the girls made fun of her while secretly envying her, wishing they could be that free.
    And for some strange reason Alex could not figure out, this girl became his friend. He couldn’t see why she would want to hang around with him. What could he possibly bring to the table in this friendship? He was quiet and socially awkward. She was beautifully untamed and charming. Every now and then he would tell a funny joke that would make her laugh uncontrollably, but that couldn’t be enough to explain the phenomena that happened when she decided to befriend him.
    Chasity, Alex and Mark quickly became the only people one another counted on. And Alex quickly began to fall in love.
    Most people think of first love as an innocent, naîve perspective on an emotion that a young person cannot yet begin to understand. They forget how real it feels. How maybe the naivety makes it the purest love they will ever feel, before hopes get shattered, hearts broken, and the bitter sting of reality sets in.
    But the way she looked at him wasn’t the way he looked at her. It would be easy to blame her if she were shallow, or scared, or even just a bitch. But she was none of these things. The hard truth was she just didn’t love him. Not the way he loved her. She didn’t have to say this for him to understand. So he suffered in silence and felt grateful she was even his friend to begin with, although sometimes this made it harder.
    Eighth grade came and went. He went from being ridiculed to being invisible. Sometimes he even missed the other kids giving him shit, just for the human interaction. Life at home wasn’t much different. His older sister Heather had just found out she was pregnant and his mother thought of little else. She was constantly talking about baby names, labor, and how having a baby was going to ‘change Heather’s life for the better’.
    His parents had been divorced for a few years now. His father, re-married within a year of the divorce, was so busy with his new family he was beginning to become more of an acquaintance than a father. When they would speak, it was never about anything real.
    “How’s the high school football team looking this year?” His father would ask.
    “My buddy Jim’s boy is starting running back. Alex, you could throw a decent ball when you were younger, why don’t you think about joining the team next year?”
    “I don’t see the need in giving the guys that would love to kick my ass a free pass to do it every day Dad, that’s why.”
    “Oh don’t be ridiculous son. If you gave these guys a chance and stopped being such a goddamn recluse then maybe they would want to be your friend. And watch your language.”
    He would go on to brag about his new stepson Will that was going to college next year on a basketball scholarship.
    “Maybe if you applied yourself a little, you could get a scholarship too and I wouldn’t have to spend so much money to send you to college when you’re probably not going to give a shit about that either.”
    Alex found it easier to just agree with the things his dad said while watching the clock and counting the hours until he could just go back home and sit in his room by himself.
    That summer he walked a lot. Just walked around and tried to clear the thoughts out of his head for even a few minutes. Sometimes his thoughts were exhausting. He just wanted to shut them out, although most times it would be in vain. They clung to his mind like a child clinging to their favorite toy when their sibling walked in the room. When he tried to push them out, they screamed even louder to be heard.
    He wouldn’t tell anyone where he was going, he just got up, went out the door and kept walking. The truth was he didn’t even know where he was going. Some days he would be deep in thought and look up and realize he had no clue where he was.
    By the beginning of freshman year, Chasity and Mark were spending more and more time together without Alex. One day, during lunch, he looked up and caught them looking at each other in a strange way. As soon as he saw the expression in her eyes his stomach hit the ground. He realized he had become an outcast even in his own group of outcasts. It would be better to just be alone, to live inside his own world.
    Six months passed by with Alex living this way. He spoke to no one unless he had to. The sad thing was, no one really noticed. Six months. Six months and no one even noticed that he was still alive. He could have gone on one of his walks and never came back and they wouldn’t even have known the difference.
    One day he decided to try to come back to reality but he found he didn’t understand anyone around him. He felt like he was the only sane person alive and that everyone else was crazy. A lonely soul drifting in a sea of madness.
    He couldn’t believe the things that people would say and do. Living their lives blind but boasting a strong comprehension of the world. Asking what was wrong but not really wanting to know. Convinced something bad would never happen to them and their delusional little world they so happily lived in. Did people actually care about the mundane bullshit they always talked about? Were they really happy or just playing the game?
    He began to believe there was no way he was the only person that felt this way. They all had to be faking. Deep down inside they were screaming to get out of this prison, just like he was. Maybe he was the only one brave enough to admit it. Accept it. Life was not grand or wonderful or special. It was a routine lie passed on for generations to appease society.
    He decided to break the cycle. He decided to set them free. Maybe then they would notice him. No, not only notice but be grateful. Grateful he saved them from this charade.
    The truth is he had spent so much time thinking about death that it really didn’t seem that bad anymore. After they accepted it, they no longer had to deal with the pain, inconvenience, and disappointment of life.
    Fear of death made no sense to him. We should not fear death because where death exists, we do not. We do not mourn for the dead, but for the living.
    These thoughts began to grow like a virus in his mind every day. The only pleasure he ever found was in sleep. It was the only thing he looked forward to anymore. The only way he could escape. He lived in his dreams, they were his real world. He awoke into a bad nightmare every day and fell asleep back into his normalcy at night. He remembered his dreams nearly every night. And the next day, they were what got him through. Every now and then he would wake up and not remember, these were the hardest days of all.
    He laid down and closed his eyes. He hoped tonight his dreams would be especially good.

* * *

    He walked to school the next morning in a haze. It was a nice spring day. The weather was warm and the trees were green with new buds. Birds chirped. Flowers were blooming. Everything was new and alive.
    He didn’t notice.
    As he walked inside Appledale High School, he didn’t pay any attention to the guys laughing to each other. They realized that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He didn’t. Why couldn’t he remember the dream?
    The bell rang for first hour as he sat down at his desk. The teacher, Mr. Briley, talked about algebra. Formulas and equations, X equals Y and blah blah blah. He didn’t hear him speaking. His mind was focused on one thing, his dream.
    “Ok, for tomorrow you guys need to answer questions one through twenty-seven at the end of chapter eight. Don’t forget to show your work!
    He snapped back to reality as the bell was ringing and students were getting up out of their desks. He grabbed his backpack, unusually heavy today, and headed for the door.
    Through the hall he kept his eyes down. He didn’t want to have to make eye contact or even exchange casual social niceties with anyone. Not today.
    He finished his morning routine as usual, second period History, a quiz in English, followed by fourth period Spanish. It was just a normal day in the life of Alex Martin.
    Alex walked into the cafeteria. It was pizza day, his favorite. He didn’t grab a tray and get in line. He didn’t go to his usual table in the corner. Instead, Alex Martin walked to the back of the cafeteria, pulled two 9MM handguns out of his backpack, closed his eyes, and started shooting.
    One bullet went through head cheerleader Stacey Arnold’s chocolate milk carton before landing in Mr. Briley’s chest. The next one went through Brian Walden from the Math Club’s right knee. In the next minute Alex shot a total of twelve students and teachers. Seven were killed, four were injured.
    He raised the gun up to his temple. He took a deep breath.
    Suddenly his dream came rushing over him like a tidal wave sucking him out to sea. Now he remembered so clearly.
    He had dreamt about today. Only it was different because she had saved him.
    This girl, she had given him hope for the future, she had stopped him from going down this road, stopped this day from ever happening. She existed only in his dreams, and she had been in many of them.
    She would laugh madly at jokes no one else understood, he told her secrets he never told another soul, and she kept them. She liked his haircut and his old t-shirts. They talked about what their lives would be like after high school, where they would go to college, if they would go to college, the trips they would take, the adventures they would have.
    She would convince him that he wasn’t crazy when the bad thoughts would run through his mind. They made fun of the popular crowd together.
    A figment of his imagination, but she could have been real. In fact, she could have been anyone, his mother, his father, Chasity, Mark, the girl who sat behind him in English, his sister Heather, but she wasn’t. None of them made him feel loved or special the way that she did, and she didn’t exist here.
    So with his last shot, Alex Martin put a bullet through his brain on a warm spring afternoon in the small, sleepy town of Appledale.

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