Sayaka

Sayaka Shinohara stepped through, dragging a heavy black duffel bag behind her. Her uniform was wrinkled, stained, and clung loosely to her thin frame. Her face was blank… but behind the silence, something had changed. She had walked this path a thousand times. Every time: whispers behind her back. Laughter in the halls. Pencils snapped. Notes stolen. Slaps to the head when no one was looking. The teachers ignored it. Her parents told her to toughen up. The students just… laughed. Every day. Every year. But not today. Today, Sayaka walked without flinching. Passed the same students. Heard the same giggles. She smiled. Not a kind smile. A crooked one. The kind that comes after everything inside breaks. She didn’t say a word. She walked past her classroom. Past the lockers where her shoes were once stuffed with garbage. Past the desk where someone carved “Freak” into the wood. Straight to the bathroom. She entered. Locked the door. The zipper tore open. She pulled out a black vest. Strapped it on. Pulled gloves over her hands. Lifted the M14 carbine rifle from the bag. Cold. Heavy. Ready. She stared into the mirror. No fear. No hesitation. Just that smile again. You all had your fun. Now it’s my turn. She loaded the weapon. Today wasn’t a breakdown. It was a plan. ✈️