"any geek off the street"

She felt all tangled up in her hoodie, a scared critter caught in a tarp, fearful and wary of so much as breathing. The heft in the front pocket of the sweater felt infinitely heavy, and she was on the edge of panic thinking it was obvious.

She steeled herself and went to the pool. Make it normal. Indeed, it seemed a good idea to do everything as normally as possible and maintain her routine.

Swimming her laps calmed her nerves somewhat, though the gravity of her situation kept leaping up like a hyperactive child on an hours-long road trip.

Eat. You gotta have breakfast, she urged herself on. She doubted her ability to keep anything down but she pushed on, up the steps of the dining hall, through the line, her clattering tray sounding louder than anything to her ears. She could imagine all their eyes fixed on her. They must all be staring at her.

They weren’t of course.

She furrowed her brow at how lovely the day was, how cheerful those other students sounded, filing in singly or in pairs to languidly eat and chatter.

Her mouth was dry and she gulped another cup of tea. It was time.

She felt like she must have flown down the steps and onto the street, hands firmly in her hoodie. The steel didn’t feel as cold or hard as before. It began to feel familiar and dear.

Down the street she marched, long strides of long legs effortlessly carrying her past the bakery he liked so much.

Deftly, she sidled into the alley, hood up, and waited.

He was thoroughly predictable. It will be the death of you, she had joked with him on many occasions.

He turned in, just as she knew he would, oblivious even now. He hadn’t noticed her pressed against the moist brick of the bakery. He didn’t notice as she fell in behind him, lithe as a dancer, footfalls silent as a forest creature on moss.

Her hand came out. The steel she gripped was light as a feather, and she took aim at the back of his head in a motion so graceful, she would later wish she could have recorded.

The hammer of the revolver pulled itself back, and with a crash, he was face down on the glistening blacktop.

The echo of the gunshot cracked against the narrow brick walls, impossibly loud, a singular violent punctuation mark that instantly swallowed the cheerful morning hum of the street beyond.

For a suspended, breathless second, time froze. She stood there, chest heaving beneath the heavy cotton of the hoodie, staring at the motionless heap of his coat on the wet pavement. The smell of copper and sharp, acrid gunpowder cut right through the sweet, yeasty scent drifting from the bakery's exhaust vents.

She expected to feel horror. She expected the nausea from the dining hall to finally rebel. Instead, a chilling, terrifying clarity washed over her. The crushing panic of the morning was entirely gone, replaced by a thrumming, electric current in her veins.

Move, her brain commanded.

She didn't run; running invites eyes. She turned, slipping the steel back into the cavernous front pocket of her sweater, her fingers curling intimately around the suddenly warm barrel. She kept her head down, the hood shielding her profile, and walked briskly toward the opposite end of the alley.

Behind her, a shout shattered the silence. Someone screamed, the sound raw and tearing. A heavy delivery door banged open against brick.

She reached the cross street just as the frantic commotion began to spill out from the alleyway. Crisp autumn leaves skittered across the sidewalk, kicked up by her boots. She matched her pace to the heartbeat of the campus, blending seamlessly into a cluster of undergrads heading toward the quad.

She just needed to make it back to her dorm. Lock the door, strip off the hoodie, hide the piece, and become just another normal, invisible first-year student again.

this is a dream i used to have back in college, where my friend shoots me in the back.