Later that day, they sat a mock exam. The room in which the exam was held was modest in size. It was soundproof. Originally it had been a music room, but that was a long time ago.

Ken stared down at the paper before him, scribbling furiously. The mock exams were just as important to him as the real ones; they showed where you were doing well, and where you were failing. And if he didn’t do well in his mock exams, his parents, his mother especially, would not be happy.

She had plans for him, and he was expected to follow them.

Ken put all his efforts now on his task, his mind was far away. He didn’t look around him, but stared down at his papers.

Behind him Mustang sat. He paid no attention to the test that was before him. Instead he spent his time drawing rude pictures all over the paper. Then when he grew bored of that, he folded the test into a paper aeroplane and threw it through the air.

Ken felt something jab the back of his head, and turned.

Everyone behind him was looking down, concentrating on their papers. Everyone, except for Mustang, who stared back at Ken; trying to adopt an expression of confused innocence and failing miserably at it.

Ken gritted his teeth, miming the words piss off, before turning ahead again.

He continued with his test for several minutes, the teacher standing at the head of the room, overlooking the students as they worked in silence.

For a long time nothing happened, and then the door opened, and a hooded man walked in.

Everybody in the room stopped and looked up, frozen for a moment.

‘Excuse me’ the teacher said striding up to the man. ‘You're not allowed in here. Please leave.’

The man pulled out a gun, and shot her in the head at point blank range.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and the teacher fell back and collapsed on the floor.

She was dead.

People began to scream, rising from their seats to escape.

Ken was unable to move. He had frozen where he sat, consumed by fear.

The hooded man turned his attention onto him now. Ken’s heart plummeted in his chest. The heightened fear he experienced, was unlike anything he thought possible. A primal fear. The true terror experienced by one who could see the end of their life right before them.

Ken knew as the stranger reached for him, that he had mere seconds to live.

Ken was pulled from his chair and forced to his knees; the stranger pressed the gun to his temple.

‘GOD SOMEONE HELP ME!’ Ken screamed.

The stranger suddenly stumbled to the side and Ken threw his head back to see that Mustang had lunged for the man. They fought for the gun, Ken watched in frozen shock as Mustang struggled to take the gun from the stranger. Mustang forced the man’s hand down and the gun fired, he grimaced in pain as he was shot through the leg. The stranger pushed Mustang back and the gun fired again.

Mustang staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his side. Ken turned to him, seeing blood seeping between his fingers from the open wound.

He had been shot in the stomach.

His attention flickered back to the stranger, who pointed the gun at Mustang now, inches away from his forehead. Mustang glared back at the stranger in hate and anger, but Ken was shocked to see that there was no fear in him. Not a trace.

Ken gasped slowly as he watched the stranger tighten his finger, pulling the trigger.

The gun clicked but did not fire. It was empty, and Mustang did not even flinch.

Several more figures ran into the room, tackling the hooded stranger and forcing the gun from his grasp.

The shouts around Ken sounded far away, distant…almost as if he were hearing it underwater. Ken paid no attention to them. He ignored the voices as they called all around him. His focus now was on Mustang, and Mustang alone.

Mustang hunched his body over, groaning in pain, his hand pressed against the ground as he held himself up, holding his stomach with his other hand.

‘Mustang…’ Ken uttered.

Mustang raised his head to his, his body beginning to tremble. He groaned again, hanging his head and falling to his side.

‘MUSTANG!’

Ken crawled over to him, leaning over him.

‘Oh no….’ he whimpered.

He was deathly pale now, his breathing shallow.

Tears welled in Ken’s eyes as he stared down at him, rolling down his cheeks.

‘Please don’t die!’

‘Get back give him space!’

Ken was pulled to his feet by one of the teachers as several other teachers surrounded Mustang.

‘Call an ambulance!’

Ken stared down at the scene around him, feeling a sudden sense of unreality, like this wasn’t really happening…like he wasn’t really here, like this was just a horrible nightmare.

He heard suddenly screams and the sound of hysterical crying in the corroder outside.

This room is soundproof Ken thought vaguely. He must have killed more before he came here.

His attention drifted then to the stranger dressed in black. Ken was shocked to see that he was dead.

‘They said it was a cyanide capsule that he had taken’ Ken said in a distant voice as he sat there in the quiet room. ‘They said that he was schizophrenic…and that the voices in his head told him to do it.’

‘And what about Mustang?’ the therapist asked him. ‘You haven’t heard what happened to him?’

‘N-no’ Ken whispered, his hand going to his head, and tears streaming from his eyes. ‘I….I don’t even know if he is alive….or dead…..oh god…’ he buried his face in his hands. ‘I suffer night terrors….I see it….play out in my mind all over again…again and again…its horrible….I see the gun…I see Mustang lying there….and the blood’ Ken shuddered, hugging himself, beginning to tremble violently. ‘My parents won’t help me!’ he said, voice breaking. ‘They say I should just put my faith in god….but….it was not god who saved me…but Mustang……I would have died if not for him!’

‘Why do you think he did it?’ the therapist asked him.

‘I…I don’t know.’

‘Is it possible that he has stronger feelings for you than you thought?’ the therapist asked him calmly. ‘Positive feelings…an attachment of some sorts perhaps.’

Ken glanced up at the man.

‘W-what…?’

Shortly after the incident, Ken had gone to the hospital Mustang had been admitted to to try to find him.

‘Please’ he had begged the woman. ‘I have to know if he’s ok.’

‘I'm sorry’ the secretary had said. ‘We keep our patients files confidential, only the family are allowed to see.’

Ken returned to the entrance of the hospital, where his own family were waiting for him by the car, ready to take him home.

The days passed and Ken stayed at home. He had learned later on that several people in the school had been killed by the stranger before he entered the hall during their mock exam. The college had been closed for several days after that, reopening days later. Things went back to normal.

But Ken had not returned.

In his mind, Ken was still in that exam hall on that day. When he watched TV, gazed out the window, lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling, he saw in his mind what happened that day. No matter where he was or what was happening around him, he would see the same horror, play over in his mind again and again.

No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop it, no matter what he did, it never went away.

‘Ken?’ Sue his young sister said to him as he lay on his bed silently. ‘Ken are you ok? We’re all worried about you?’

But he did not answer her.

Later that evening they all sat down for their meal.

They began to eat.

Ken stared down at his plate, eyes wide. He had not moved for several minutes, but just sat there, head bowed.

‘Ken?’ his mother spoke tentatively from beside him. .

Ken turned his head to her, staring silently. She watched him with an expression of deep concern.

‘Eat something’ she told him. ‘Please.’

Ken didn’t respond. He made no acknowledgement that he had heard here at all.

‘Here’ his mother said, picking at the food with his fork and bringing it to him. ‘Eat it’ she told him gently, holding the fork before his mouth.

Ken opened his mouth and his mother fed him.

Ken chewed slowly; then swallowed.

He let out a sob then, bowing his head and leaning forwards with his elbows on the table, hands gripping his hair as he began to cry.

His mother reached for him and he turned to embrace her, crying into her shoulder until his eyes were red.

He was taken to bed early that night; his mother tucked him in, patting his sheets down tenderly.

Ken lay on his side, wearing the same wide eyed expression he had since that day.

‘If there is anything you want’ his mother told him brushing his hair back, ‘just come to my room, it doesn’t matter what time it is.’ She waited for a response. None came. ‘Sleep well’ she told him, leaning down and kissing his forehead. ‘I love you’ she told him. ‘Good night.’

She moved away, pausing at the door to look back, before closing it after her.

It took hours for Ken to fall asleep. When he did, he dreamed of that hooded figure, of Mustang standing before him…that gun……blood….

Ken sat bolt upright in bed screaming. It took him several minutes to calm as he remembered where he was.

At home in bed.

Ken hugged his knees, covering his head with his arms and crying, gasping as his whole body shook.

His door opened then and he jerked his head around, heart racing in his chest, pounding against his rib cage so hard it hurt.

‘Ken?’ came the delicate voice of his sister.

Behind her, the taller figure of his brother stood. Ken recognised his silhouette in the doorway, lit by the light in the hallway.

They moved over to him.

‘It’s alright’ his sister told him. ‘We’re here for you.’

It was many weeks later when Ken returned to school.

‘I can’t believe this has happened…’ Ken said in a distant voice as he stood before the memorial.

His friend Keith stood beside him, and together they stared at the fountain that had been built in memory of those that had died that day.

There were seventeen in total. Many of the families of the deceased had brought flowers and pictures of their loved ones.

The pictures were left to fade in the sunlight, and several of the flowers were slowly beginning to die.

‘How can this happen?’ Ken mumbled. ‘It’s just…so horrible…’ he hung his head, shoulders hunched, as his body began to tremble. ‘I thought…’ he began, ‘I thought….’

Ken bit his lip, doing so hard enough to make it bleed.

‘Have you seen or heard from Mustang at all?’ he asked his friend.

‘No’ Keith mumbled to him. ‘No one’s heard from him.’

Ken turned away sharply to hide the tears in his eyes.

He made his way slowly to class, thinking in his head.

Maybe….he did die after all.

He attended class. His mind however was far away, and he hardly heard the teacher speak. Instead, for the first half of the lesson, his eyes glazed over, as his thoughts began to drift, until the moment the classroom door opened.

Ken’s attention snapped sharply back, and he witnessed a flashback of that day when the door to the hall had opened, and the hooded figure stepped in with gun.

Ken clutched his head with both hands, screaming in horror at the sight of blood before him.

Around him, his classmates and the teacher that had walked in stared in shock. To them, everything was perfectly normal, save for Ken

Minutes later, Ken sat alone in the nurse’s office, head in his hands and shaking violently. There were several rooms here, and Ken had been left in a quiet room alone, where none could bother him.

A short while later and Ken’s parents came to pick him up.

They took him home.