To the person who made the copypasta below: Please make a part 4 im fucking begging you 😫😩😫😩 please(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡(ง ͠ಥ_ಥ)ง( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)(ㅅ •᷄ ₃•᷅ )(つ╥﹏╥)つ(,,>﹏<,,)👉👈(˶˃ᆺ˂˶)(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )
Story of the wonder girl:
Part 1
I was a depressed freak. No one in school wanted to play brookhaven
with me. They're all fake, I thought to myself, I should shoot up the
school. I had long black hair that reached all the way down to my
thighs. I have bright blinding blue eyes that could make anyone blind if
they stared into my eyes for too long. But no one ever stared at me
anyway, I was just a freak in their dull black and white eyes that
couldn't see the world how I saw it. I slowly walk to the closest gun
store. I lived in America, so there was always a store that sold guns
around the corner. "aren't you a little too young to be here?" the owner
asked. My blue eyes slowly turn into a shade of blood red. I couldn't
take the daily ridicule of not just the cruel high schoolers, but now also
workers who were clearly below me on the social ranking. I curl my
hand into a fist and smashed the glass that kept me away from the
AK-47. "NO" the broke worker who probably had nothing left to live
for cried. The minute my left hand managed to take ahold of the
AK-47, the underpaid worker knew it was over for him. I shuffle back
holding the gun as my hands slip into position, then boom. I fire the
gun at the worker sending him crashing into the wall. A small smile
appeared on my face. "heh..time to shoot up the school," I whispered
reassuringly to myself while laughing quietly. The blood red color in
my eyes were hard to see at first, but now they were easy to see from
a mile away, meaning I craved blood. I calmly slip the AK-47 into my
bag, then realize that I should get more people to shoot up the school
with me, which meant I needed more guns. I kept smashing the glass
and taking more and more guns. a mini gun, a rifle, a sniper, a pistol,
and much more. I looked up at the workers body, which had now slid
down to the ground and was bleeding out at a rapid rate. That fool,
I thought. He dared to question me, and now he faced the cost of it.
I walk out of the gun store as if nothing happened, knowing it was
quite the opposite. I close my eyes for a minute and take full control
of my inner demons that I let come out when I got mad at the worker.
My bag gave me a lot back pain since most of the guns were
extremely heavy. "I must suffer a bit in order to accomplish a goal.." I
said to myself. But while I wasn't looking, an old man had crept up
behind me. "Watcha doin' lil girl? Girls like you should't be thinking."
I couldn't control my inner demons. I instantly start levitating and
strike the old man down. I saw 10 people on the sidewalk, staring,
like they'd just seen Satan himself. They weren't just anyone though,
They were witnesses. They all had to die. My inner demons now in full
control grab the minigun from my bag and shoot everyone there.
"NO WITNESSES." My inner demons chanted over and over again. "NO..
WITNESSES!!!!" Once everyone on the sidewalk had been shot up with
the minigun, I take control of my demons, put the gun back in my bag,
and continue walking. I knew no one would notice a few dead bodies
on the side of the road, people always got shot up in America so this
was normal. I look up from the bloody sidewalk as my hair flew in the
wind. I had to go home, and plan how I was going to shoot up the
school.
Part 2
The walk home felt like a victory lap. Each heavy thud of my boots against the pavement was a drumbeat celebrating my newfound purpose. The weight of the arsenal in my bag was a comforting burden, a promise of the chaos to come. My mind, however, was a whirlwind of strategizing. How could I maximize the impact? How could I ensure that everyone felt the full force of my rage?
I pictured their faces, the vapid smiles of the popular kids, the sneers of the bullies, the blank stares of the teachers who never saw me. They would all know my name tomorrow, they would all tremble. A new wave of rage simmered inside of me, and my vision momentarily turned to a crimson blur. I had to focus, to channel this energy into something more strategic than just shooting blindly.
As I reached my street, I spotted a familiar figure on my porch – my mom. Her face was etched with worry, as usual. She was a good mom, I thought, in her own pathetic, oblivious way. She worried about me, made sure I had food and clothes, but she could never understand the torment I felt. She didn't see me, not really.
I forced a neutral expression as I approached. "Hey mom," I said, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears.
"Where have you been? I was worried sick!" she exclaimed, her hands fluttering nervously. "Also your bags looking extra heavy today."
"Just out," I replied, pushing past her into the house. The thought of having to explain to my mother why my bag was heavy, well, that idea was just sad to me. I went straight to my room, ignoring her calls behind me. I locked the door, then threw my bag on the bed, the springs of my bed creaking under the weight of the guns. I sank onto the floor, my back against the bed, a sadistic smile stretching across my face.
The plan started to form. I'd need to start in the cafeteria, the heart of the school, the place where everyone gathered to gossip. Then I'd move on to the hallways, the classrooms, hunting them down like the pathetic animals they were. The school needed to be cleansed. It needed to be reborn in fire. I pulled out a notebook, my thoughts pouring out onto the page, written in a messy scribble of a deranged mind. The cafeteria, then the hallways, then the library, then the gym, then the teachers lounge. Each location had to be marked and ready for action. Then I started drawing out the floor plan of the high school, marking every single escape route that the students could try to take. If they decided to try and run away, I would know exactly where they'd be going. Then I grabbed my phone and started searching up all of the most dangerous fighting techniques I could use to increase my chances of survival and also increase my chances of dealing severe damage. No one was going to escape me. I'd make sure of it. No one.
Part 3
The hours flew by as I finalized my plans. The sun began to set, casting long, ominous shadows across my room. I felt a surge of anticipation, a thrill that coursed through me like electricity, making my blood boil. It was almost time, and I was counting down the seconds.
Before I went to bed, I pulled out the AK-47, its cold metal a comforting weight in my hands. I examined it, each part of it, and the magazines that came with it, then I carefully loaded it, feeling the satisfying click of each bullet sliding into place. I had to make sure it was ready for tomorrow, and that I was ready too. I went through each individual gun and tested it out. Then I cleaned each barrel, making sure that they had no rust and no extra things that could mess with the guns performance tomorrow. Then I placed the guns back in a specific order, so that I knew where everything was located. The mini gun was on the left, then the AK-47, then the rifle, then the sniper, and then the pistol.
I fell asleep, my mind filled with images of the chaos to come. The sound of gunshots filled my dreams, replacing the taunts and the scorn I usually heard. It was a symphony of pain, and I was the conductor.
The next morning, I woke up with a sense of calm that surprised me. The blood red hue in my eyes was even more vibrant than the day before. It was almost like I'd permanently transformed into my inner demons. I went through my usual morning routine, but with a new sense of purpose. Every brushstroke on my long hair, every step I took, was deliberate, precise. I had to be perfect for the show i was about to put on. I put on my usual black clothes, pulled on a pair of boots, and grabbed my bag. A quick look at myself in the mirror confirmed that I looked ready to go. I was a goddess of destruction, a harbinger of doom.
My mom was in the kitchen, making breakfast. She smiled at me, oblivious to the darkness that had taken over my soul. I didn't bother saying goodbye, just walked out the door and into the morning sun.
My hand gripped the handle of the bag tighter as I walked to school. I barely even felt the weight of the guns anymore. It was like an old friend, ready to embark on one last mission. My heart started pounding out of my chest, as I neared the school. My time had come.(part four???)