Playtime's Over

“Playtime’s over,” they said.

It’s over.

Just like every day, Ms. Martin rang the bell to end recess.

Just like every day, we all converged together at the door, managing to form a single file line.

Just like every day, the toys were left on the ground for us to stare at sadly through classroom windows.

Just like every day, we sat down on our mats to read during story time.

And then it happened.

He broke through the door. He pointed the gun at Ms. Martin. A giant bang hurt my ears, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Ms. Martin was lying on the ground with gooey red stuff all over her.

Then he pointed it at Timmy, and Timmy fell down, too. And Rachel after him. And then my friend Lisa.

I looked at the man, scared that he would make me fall asleep, too. I didn’t know him, but he pointed at me, not with the thing in his hand, but with his finger, like he knew me.

I tried to hide, but he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out the door. I screamed, but it was too late.

Playtime was over.

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