We do what we know.

Crowd together like rats.

That’s all we are to him anyway, right?

It’s silent,

Silent in a way that suffocates.

And it’s calm,

Chilling us to the bone because we know how this ends.

In a corner, a light shines with a final goodbye.

We don’t say anything.

It won’t matter anyway.

We hear him,

And he barrels through the hallway,

All blazes and fire and for a moment,

We swear this is what hell feels like.

Time stops.

But not for long.

The glass shatters like the quiet that surrounded us just moments ago.

We see him,

All we see is him.

And now we’re running,

Running, running, running.

Panic and adrenaline and the want,

The need to survive.

Why can’t we just survive?

Running, running, running.

And then we’re not.

It’s red, red like the anger that fueled him.

Red like the code we followed,

Red like the code that just didn’t work.

It’s everywhere, crawling through the cracks in the floor,

Staining everything in its way.

It’s us, desperately clinging to the hope that maybe,

Just maybe,

They’ll be here in time.

But they’re not,

They never are.

There’s no hope for us now.

Angelina Cotnam, 14

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