People who have been involved in a school shooting, what was it like?

Hidden Truths and Confrontation

That night, I went to Mark’s apartment. I needed to see him, to know for sure that he was okay. When I got there, I expected him to be as shaken up as I was.

I thought we’d sit and talk about what happened. But when he opened the door, he was different than I expected; he was eerily calm.

He greeted me at the door, and I asked him if he was okay. He said that he was fine, and I followed him into the apartment.

The place was a mess, which was strange for Mark; he was usually pretty tidy. Empty coffee cups and papers were scattered everywhere.

It looked like he hadn’t been taking care of himself, but he didn’t seem to care. We sat down, and I tried to talk to him about what had happened, but he kept deflecting.

Every time I brought up the incident, he’d change the subject or give me some vague answer that didn’t really say anything. It was frustrating, but I didn’t want to push him too hard.

I figured maybe he was dealing with it in his own way, and I just needed to give him some space. But over the next few days, things only got stranger.

Mark became more and more secretive. He’d leave the room to take phone calls, and when I asked him who he was talking to, he’d just shrug and say it was no one important.

He started avoiding certain parts of campus, especially where the incident occurred. He did this even though he had a class in the Humanities Building twice a week.

Every time I tried to ask him about it, he’d brush me off or get defensive. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

It was like he was hiding something from me, and I hated it. I’d always been close with Mark, and we’ve never kept secrets from each other.

So why was he acting like this now? When I heard him talking on the phone late one night, I couldn’t help myself.

I had to know what was going on. I crept down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, and pressed my ear against his bedroom door.

My heart was pounding so loud I was sure he’d hear it. I strained to make out what he was saying, but his voice was muffled. I could only catch bits and pieces.

But then, clear as day, I heard three words that sent chills down my spine: “wasn’t supposed to”. I froze, trying to process what I just heard.

“Wasn’t supposed to” what? I thought of the possibilities, and none of them were good. I didn’t dare stick around to hear more.

I quickly tiptoed back down the hall and threw myself onto the living room couch. I threw something on the TV and tried to pretend I’d been watching it the whole time.

A few moments later, I heard Mark hang up the phone. He walked into the living room, and I forced myself to act natural.

But inside, I was freaking out, trying to piece together what those three words could possibly mean. I started to get suspicious.

I knew something was going on, and I was determined to find out what it was. I started digging around, talking to people who knew him, trying to figure out what he was up to.

It didn’t take long before I found something that made my stomach drop. Mark had been spending a lot of time with a group of students notorious for pulling extreme pranks.

These weren’t harmless or funny; they were dangerous, the kind that could get people seriously hurt. The more I found out, the worse it got.

I couldn’t believe that Mark would get involved with people like that, but the evidence was piling up. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I had a gut feeling that this group had something to do with what happened that day on campus.

I tried to confront Mark about it, but he just got more defensive and more evasive. It was like he was a completely different person, and I didn’t know what to do.

Then one night, I went to his apartment again. I was determined to get some answers. When I got there, I heard voices coming from inside.

Mark was arguing with someone, and they didn’t know I was outside the door listening. What I heard made my blood run cold.

They were talking about the incident, about how it was supposed to be a prank. They had staged the whole active shooter scenario as a joke, thinking it would be funny to cause chaos on campus.

But things spiraled out of control when the campus security officer fired his gun and Ryan had a heart attack. They never meant for it to go that far, but now someone was dead.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; my own brother had been involved in someone’s death. I felt like I was going to throw up.

I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to burst into the room and confront him right then and there, but another part of me was too stunned to move.

I waited until the other student left before I walked in. Mark looked up at me; his face went pale when he saw the expression on mine.

He knew that I had heard everything. I instantly asked him what the hell did he do and what was going on.

He tried to explain and justify it, but nothing he said made it any better. He kept saying it was just supposed to be a prank, that they never meant for anyone to get hurt.

But that didn’t change the fact that someone had died because of what they did. My classmate was dead, and it was partly Mark’s fault.

I felt like I didn’t even know him anymore. I don’t know how he could be so reckless. I was furious with him, but more than that, I was devastated.

I had always looked up to Mark growing up. He was the kid adults loved. He always did the right thing, even when no one was watching.

He was the kind of person who would always stand up for what was right, even when it was hard, even when it meant putting himself on the line. The Mark we grew up with wouldn’t have let things get this far. But somehow, somewhere along the line, something had changed.