Bleach

Chapter One

 It was a normal Tuesday when it happened. October second to be exact. The day my brother, along with twenty nine other high school students and their teacher, were shot in the middle of a chemistry classroom, marking 1992 as the most tragic year in the school's history. The shooter, a fellow classmate, fled the building before the police ever had a chance of apprehending him.

Me? Well, I was at home alone. Indulging in the sweet relieving feeling of marijuana. Everyone around school knew I was one of those weird druggies, and I honestly couldn't give a fuck. My parents didn't seem to care either. I'd already gotten in-school suspension for skipping, and my parents never found out. Mainly because I could forge their signatures, but I doubt it'd be much of a problem if they signed anyway. My dad was a drunk and my mother, well, you'd have to be more specific. One was six feet under, and the other was the typical wicked stepmother.

Sheets were lazily strewn across my windows, and a record player sat atop a small table beside my twin bed. There I laid, unfocused gaze directed up towards the ceiling, with the aggressive vocals and hectic guitar riffs of Kurt Cobain filling my head with random thoughts. Then I heard the door slam from downstairs. My instincts kicked in. I reached across the bed and lifted the needle off of my copy of Nevermind, before moving to my closed door, placing my ear to the wood. I could hear the TV, but couldn't make out what exactly what was being being said.

All the sudden I heard the door slam once again, and rushed to my window. I pushed the sheet aside to see my father rushing back to his car. His movements were frantic, as if he was in a panic. I quickly rushed downstairs, to see the fatal news. A news report, covering the tragedy of Aberdeen High School was displayed on the TV screen. My heart began to pound, and I was soon rushing out the door in a frenzy. I hopped on my bike and took my usual route to school. I arrived to see massive crowds of locals, police cars, and ambulances all surrounding the school. I took a hard stop, causing me to fall and roll a short ways across the concrete. Quickly scrambling to my feet, I pushed through the crowds of students and parents only to be stopped by a police officer.

Suddenly, I was pulled back away from the crowd by a large hand gripping the back of my torn, oversized flannel.

My father.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He screamed, turning me around and gripping my undershirt.

"Get the fuck off!" I yelled back, fighting against his grip. This was a common occurrence, but we were in public. Yes, the massive crowd blocked the police's view, but there was nothing stopping me from calling for help. I had an advantage. So I relaxed, peaking in a quiet tone,

"I will scream for help at the top of my lungs."

With that, he let me go, shoving me back a bit. I couldn't revel in my victory for too long, however. I had to find this killer for myself, and if possible, be the one to put him down. Heaving a heavy sigh, I moved towards my bike.

Whoever did this was going to pay. And I'd be there to see it.