The room was full of joy and laughter. Everyone was having a great time at the spring formal until POP POP POP. Three shots rang out. The whole room filled with a strange sort of silence. It was as if everyone was afraid to breathe. We all stared at the guy holding a 9mm pistol, he was tall and lanky and he wore black jeans with a black hoodie that hid his face. I saw a glimpse of silver writing scrawled across the visible part of the grip and knew immediately whose arm was attached to the gun. It was my brother.
My brother ran away a couple weeks ago after we told him we were sending him to a mental institution. My brother had been addicted to acid. He got taken on trips and most of the time they were good but one time he saw me in his room and thought I was trying to kill him. He tried to quit after that but the acid had caused too much brain damage. Now he has bad trips at random times, always of me trying to kill him.
The gun was trained directly at my head. My brother was wailing incomprehensible things. I wondered if anyone had called the police. I looked at brother. He stared back at me, then pulled down the hammer on the gun.