Atticus came home from school, nervous as always. He did his work, grabbed his sniper and parked himself in front of the window above the door. This was a routine for him ever since Commie had died. The killer had taken many victims and Atticus knew he would be next. He always was the nervous one and he knew being on guard would be useless. Still, that didn't stop him from trying.
At midnight, the door in the room Atticus was in opened. He saw it through the reflection of the window he was looking through. He turned as quickly as he could with the sniper in his hands. Thankfully, it was not the killer. It was his fellow posters.
"Oh, it's you guys" Atticus said, putting away his sniper and giving a sigh of relief. "You scared me there for a second. What are you doing here?"
At that moment the posters pulled out their guns and aimed at Atticus.
"Wait, what are you doing"
And then he realized hat was going on. "Oh" he said. "Wait, you guys think I'm the killer? Guys, I'm not him! Listen to me! I'm-"
It was too late. They loaded and readied their guns.
"NOO-" he screamed.
A storm of bullets hit him like rain, each one more painful then the last. The forces of the bullets launched out the window and he fell to the ground many stories. As he fell, he saw the broken pieces of glass being illuminated by the light from upstairs he fell from. He was relieved that he saw such beauty before he died. When he did, he hit the ground and a pain, one that he could never imagine, shot through him for the brief moment he was still alive.
His fellow posters saw from the window. Some of them were his friends. They felt regret but they knew it had to be done.
