White Space Season 1

Heller paused, staring at Manny with hollow eyes. He kneeled and whispered something to him.
    Heller then turned to the whiteboard, pointing at the word “eleven” with the barrel of his gun.
    He parted his lips and shoved the gun inside his mouth.
    Heller pulled the trigger and Milo screamed.

    Milo shot forward from his mattress, screaming, wondering if he would ever be able to dream anything else ever again. It was hard enough to have witnessed the horror of what happened, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on seeing the visions played out over and over every time he fell asleep.
    Milo swung his legs from bed and threw the covers toward the footboard, shaking his head. This couldn’t be real, Alex’s goofy dad couldn’t have gone Columbine. It didn’t make any sense.
    Milo went to the bathroom, took a piss, and wondered if today’s misery would be any dimmer than the day before. He sure as hell hoped so because the school was opening its doors tomorrow, and Milo was damned sure he was gonna have a bad day.
    He scratched his arms, annoyed that his stupid allergies were coming early. They seemed to itch even more than they had the day before.
    Milo thought skipping the funeral would make him feel better, keeping him from having to stare the icy reality between the eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Jessica, or the others, frozen forever. It wasn’t just that. Milo could have forced himself to look inside the coffin. It was everyone else that would tear him apart. Despair he could deal with, no matter how bleak, as long as no one spoke to him. Once they did, Milo would break.
    Milo perked his ears but didn’t hear Other Mom at all. He could always tell when she was in the house, even when she was quiet. The house had a different feel and sound when others were in it. For the moment, Milo was alone.
    He crossed his room, opened the door, then peeled the pink Post-It from the front of his door:

    “In Seattle with Janet and Teena. There’s $50 downstairs on the kitchen counter. Go out and do something fun, or order a pizza. Whatever you want. I won’t be home any later than 4:00 or so. Take care of yourself. Maybe order a movie from PayPerView? Whatever you want, it’s okay. xoxo”

    Milo hated the x’s and o’s, and hated Beatrice for writing them. She could be gone a whole month with Janet and Teena for all he cared. That would save him from having to play nice and pretend like they were some kinda happy family.
    Milo wondered if it was even worth leaving his room as he sat at his desk and opened the lid to his Mac, then logged on to his LiveLyfe page, the social media site many of the kids flocked to once Facebook became their parents’ number one hangout.
    He updated his status:

    “ Going through Hell.”

    Milo scrolled through his news feed, looking through his friends’ posts and videos and pics, pausing at an entry from Leslie Sissom, another junior at Hamilton Island K-12.

    “This is America, where you can find a gun easier than mental health services.”

    Milo gave it a High-Five by clicking on the icon of the open palm, then continued to scroll, wiping his tears as he reached the bottom and waited for LiveLyfe to load older posts to the feed. He moved his cursor to the LiveLyfe search box and typed, “Hamilton shooting,” then stared at the list that swallowed the page, scrolling until he hit the fourth choice: Hamilton K-12 Shooting Survivors Group.
    Milo clicked on the link, then started reading through the posts from the kids at his school, a mix of names he recognized, screen names he didn’t, and names involving “clever” plays or words involving either 420, genitals, some racist term, or oftentimes a combination of all three.

    “One day I’ll leave the island, but every time I hear a firecracker snap or a balloon pop, I’ll see blood and probably jump.”

    “What a psycho, shooting up a school like that. Good thing Heller’s dead.”

    “I heard the gunshot, then saw the empty expression on Mr. Heller’s face, just before he pulled the trigger.”

    “MR. HELLER KILLED MY BFF. I HOPE HE ROTS IN HELL!!!!”

    “All the assholes on the news are asking, why did this happen on Hamilton Island?” They blame us for not taking more precautions, but how can you prevent crazy?”

    “If schools around the country can do metal detectors on kids, they ought to do it on the teachers, too!”

    “I knew Heller was a bit too ‘nice’ and