Title: The Westfield 15
Summary: They're more than names on a plaque, faces in a yearbook, and dates of stone slabs.
Warning(s)/Kink(s): Triggery things related to the Westfield school shooting, violence, sexual situations, angst
Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story.
A/N: The idea for this has been floating around on my computer since the middle of season one but I only really sat down to work at it with serious intent today. The idea is to do a series of snippets on the 10 other kids that Tate killed. There will be at least two more chapters. The italicized bits are sort of like candid conversations going on between the character mentioned and a person with a video camera (think graduation video/year book project/time capsule video). All the names are the names on the plaque seen in the Westfield School Library.
He didn't see it, but he felt it. He remembers the kids around him scattering like the buckshot that took half of his chest with it. After he came back around to it all metaphysically and mentally and saw the lump of meat that had been one half of a perfect pectoral set half-hanging on the bottom of a locker grate. He figured he got lucky enough to be deformed, not dead. Suffice it to say he wasn't exactly chipper over finding out he was both, for awhile at least until he worked out the kinks and reformed himself to his formal glory.
It was the missing coronal arch (and the perpetual blood spray coming from the torn half of his upper torso) that tipped him off to his new state of being.
"Come one don't be like that. Do the move."
"Give me a cigarette."
"Step by step…"
"Oh my god he's really fucking doing it!"
"Stop saying fucking, we're going to have to edit all this out."
"Oh yeah, right. Sorry."
On the days she wants to feel sad and lonely and wax weepy nostalgic she visits the classroom where her dad taught eleventh grade English and sits at the desk like she used to at the end of day when he packed up his ungraded papers and she swept the floor with sneakered toes to semi-circle the chair back and forth. He cried. She remembers that. Right there in front of the cops that closed the scene and kids he taught and staff members he worked with and the EMTs that zipped her up in a bag. Sobbing. And then later at the memorial with her little sister and her mother who he hated and divorced all that was there was stony stoicism which was always his MO. But he cried like men cry when they really love something, and it's good she thinks that he cried and then didn't because there's her sister and her dad always was a weight of the world kind of guy. Unbreakable. But that hurts. Because she's dead and they moved on as well as they could, more than they should, and live like she's not a ghost waiting, or maybe really just hoping they'll come around again for a memorial service they hold every few years. 'The world keeps spinning' she thinks wryly, making the chair do a full circuit with a hard push of her foot off the floor for mental emphasis.
Her knee gushes and she wishes she had a tampon or something to staunch the leak.
"So you think you guys are gonna win at States?"
"Heard you got a sport's scholarship."
"Yeah. Crazy right?"
"What's your dad think?"
"Thinks it great he doesn't have to pay for school."
He ran until his asthma grabbed at his lungs like play-doh and he's dead no matter what because no one's going to help and his inhaler is in his bag under the table in the cafeteria they use for morning study hall.
Fucking kid didn't even shoot him, just watched him smother and wheeze and piss himself, gasping like a fish flopping on the carpet. Suffocation is excruciating, he wishes the kid had shot him.
"So what college are you going to?"
"I'm not. Going to hook my way to Las Vegas and get famous."
"Dude, come on. This is going to play during graduation."
"Okay, let's do it again."
"Yeah, no. Wait. Hold on."
"Luke! Put your fucking balls back in your pants!"
"Gimme the camera."
"That's fucking disgusting, no! Get your fucking nasty balls off the camera. Fuck, man!"
"Seniors, Ninety-Four! Bay-Bay!"
His mother had told him not to speed that morning. He was late and had to make up a chemistry final he missed because she'd needed a ride to chemo that day. She had told him a final wasn't something to get in an accident over. He did sixty all the way to school and made the bell anyway.
The shot that missed him got his locker door.
The one that almost missed him took off enough of his neck to count.
He had a thing about telling his mother he loved her before he left every day for school because he was sure one day would be the last time. He didn't figure it would be like this. In any case he's glad he did.
"Yeah, I guess."
"Wanna show it off?"
"Yeah, hold my jacket. Back up."
"Hey! Watch it. Almost kicked me in the face back-flip boy."
"You must stick the landing!"
"That accent is awful."
"You sound like Sean Connery."
There's the image of her best friend trying to claw her way across the sports field stuck behind her eyes. The last thing she saw before the bullet blew open the back of her head were the stupid fucking nets they'd been dragging out of the equipment room for morning practice.
No. That's not right. She can see the smoldering orange lace of the cigarette they'd been puff puff passing while goofing off and acting like assholes, a black boot smears it out on the grass before pressing down on the backs of her shoulders so whoever it is can rest the barrel of the shotgun against the back of her skull and blow it out through the front of her face.
"So how's the tooth?"
"I've still got most of it."
"That last game was pretty brutal."
"We play hard."
"We're all rooting for you guys."
"Thanks! Varsity! Whoop-woo!"
"We've got the best team ever."
"They're pretty loud."
"Yeah, sorry. Is that all you need for the video?"
"Yeah. I think that's it. Thanks guys!"
"How's my hair look."
"Ah! You bitch."
"Yeah, see? Best team ever right here, right girls?"
A/N: So yeah. Mind you this is not the fic I said I was working on to a few of you recently. Nope this was a spur of the moment sort of thing that happened while I was pondering that other fic I'm writing.