Knock knock knock
"I want to see my mother."
Knock knock knock
"I want to see my mother."
"I'm sorry Mr. Svensson. Visiting time is over."
"God damn it. What's wrong with you people?!"
"Mr. Svensson, we just can't accommodate people here after hours. You should know that by now. We go through this every week."
"I just want to see my mother!"
Mr. Svensson stormed out the automatic doors and back to his 1992 brown Toyota Camry, license plate 721 WJB He opened the trunk and pulled out the 2 handguns he had been saving. He knew he was right. Mr. Svennson was always right. He had God on his side.
He had a special jacket for this occasion, navy, made of a heavy matte denim.
The words "active shooter" rang in his head and he knew what he had to do. He plunged the 2 handguns into the pockets of his heavy denim jacket.
Jacob Svensson, active shooter. He knew he would never see his name on the news that night. He had played it all out in his head, over and over again, how this mass casualty suicide was going to go down.
Now was the day. Now was the time. It was zero hour. He slammed the trunk closed and straightened up. With a feeling of purpose that he had never felt before in his life, Mr. Svensson calmly strolled back through the sliding glass doors. The woman behind the petition glanced up and had barely registered surprise before Mr. Svensson riddled her body and face with bullets. She vanished on the floor behind her desk. He was surprised at how easy this was. Mr. Svensson remembered the girl in second grade who had thrown mud at him. It had stuck to the back of his jacket and all the kids laughed at him. When he got home, his mother had said, "It's ok, honey. We'll just wash it." But that wasn't the point.
The elevator opened. An orderly carrying a tray stepped out and looked at Mr. Svensson, confused. Her mouth opened as if about to say something and Mr. Svensson shot her in the face. There was a feeling of satisfaction that overcame him. She had brown hair like the girl in 6th grade. Mr. Svensson had accidentally gone into the girl's bathroom and she saw him sitting in the stall. The school didn't have doors on the bathroom stalls. That was one thing. The brown haired girl followed him back to class and announced Mr. Svensson had been pooping in the girl's bathroom. The teacher said, "Well I'm sure he will know which bathroom to use next time." But that wasn't the point.
Walking down the hallway of Hillside Gardens, he glimpsed through the open doors the sleeping residents. They all looked dead to him anyway. Mr. Svensson shot in the stomach a nurse who came out of a room. It was pretty quiet here. He had imagined people running and screaming while Mr. Svensson stood strong amid them. There was a girl once, when he was 14. Mr. Svensson tried to kiss her and she ran away. When he told his brother, he said, "What a homo. There's always other girls." But that wasn't the point.
Mr. Svensson approached room 16-A. It smelled bad here. Mr. Svensson said, "Hello, mother." and shot her through the temple. She had told him she loved him once, but that wasn't the point.
