As my professor drawled on about how Shakespeare was the pinnacle of the Renaissance era, I doodled in my notebook in effort of keeping myself awake. Like a good sum of college students, I didn't get much sleep last night, but for reasons that were not as relatable. For I was a student by day, assassin by night.

The professor paused to turn the page of his notes, but never got another word out before the unmistakable pop of a gun and the shattering of glass sounded. It felt like I had just swallowed a ball of ice as I realized that it was probably one of the many enemies I have acquired over the years, and now my classmates and other innocent lives might be compromised because of me.

I should have been more careful. Maybe I could have mastered more disguises, taken more online classes, or covered my tracks better. Shaking my head, I cleared these thoughts. It was not the time to be pondering my past. If this was my fault, I had to take care of the mess I made.

I pulled out my gun, and some students around me panicked when they saw it. Without time to reassure them that I was on their side, I ran outside to locate the enemy. My heart beating heavily in my chest, I ran towards the sounds of gunfire and screams.

Turning the corner, I found the gunman, dressed in civilian clothes. His back was to me, opening fire on the windows, and I did not waste a second in shooting him with deadly precision. I then ran over to the lifeless body and did a quick search to find any information as to who he was working for or where he came from, but found nothing.

Frustrated and confused, I stuffed my gun back into its discreet holster, and got off campus as fast as I could before anyone could find or question me.

Hours later, I found myself at a bar, a couple of towns over. My once curly, dark brown hair was now a straight red bob, and my eyes were a hazel instead of the blue they were previously. I was now homeless, phone-less, and bitter about the fact that I had been found by unknown enemies.

As my finger traced the rim of a glass of whiskey, some guy next to me started a conversation with the bartender.

"Did you hear about the college shooting in Melville?" he asked the man.

"Oh, of course. It's probably still on the news," the bartender replied, setting down a glass and turning on the wall-mounted TV.

Keeping my eyes on my drink, I listened carefully to the news anchors.

"...the seventeen-year-old, who had previously shown signs of aggression towards the college and administration..."

My eyes widened despite my attempt at keeping my face impassive when I realized that I was not the reason for the gun violence- it was just another horrifying mass shooting.
——
Word count- 498

YA prompt- Secrets
You're an active member of an organization in university. You've worked hard all your life to look good, but beyond proper appearance and well-honed etiquette, you hold a secret life.