The dreadful monotony of school has taken its toll. Sitting in class, my mind drifts to thoughts of shapely Latina breasts and the delicious taste of greasy beef burgers. The shrill voice of the teacher has been totally snuffed out from my ears; my mind rejects enduring a lecture on 18th century geographers.

No; instead my mind focuses on thoughts of my cool scooter. The new scooter I received for Christmas. Its sleek chrome frame, the crimson rubber wheels, the flashy fire stickers I applied to the sides. It’s waiting for me at home.

Oh, to ride this cool scooter down the steep hills, to feel the breeze in my hair, to make fun of my friends for possessing far less cool scooters than mine. I could not wait. I don’t care if the kids at the skate park refer to me as a ‘”scooter-fag”; this is my passion.

But then a series of loud bangs and then screaming. Shrieking. My daydream interrupted. Thoughts of breasts and burgers and scooters expelled from my mind.

A small panic sets in, heart racing, what is happening, what is going on.

I kinda just want to go home. I need to ride my cool scooter. I do not have time for this.

The teacher and my classmates maintain protocol and hide under their desks, crying and wailing and clutching their friends closely, yet I remain paralysed in my chair. Curious and nervous and slightly annoyed at the change of routine.

My eyes affixed at the entrance to the classroom. I await a surprise.

Footsteps creep closer into the room and soon and I am looking down the barrel of AR-15, an iconic firearm, wielded by an ugly, pockmarked teenager, slightly overweight and wearing fingerless gloves and a trench coat.

Unfortunately, a rather boring and uninspired outfit. If I were to be a school shooter, I would opt for a more buzzworthy and nuanced look, like a clown suit or a pirate outfit or something, because copycats are just so dull. But whatever; I suppose this is how fate takes me.

The trigger is pulled and a bullet flies through my temple, shattering my skull and turning my brain to mush, an instantaneous death. Must have been hollow-points. Nice.

In the wake of my untimely death, my only regret is that I didn’t get to ride my new cool scooter, due to the fact that I’ve just been killed by a school shooter.