Code Red

by StarsWillAidInHerEscape

Rating: teen
Tags: Flash Sentry, Tragedy, Violence, DJ P0N-3, Wallflower Blush, Sad, Dark, Micro Chips, Equestria Girls, Snails
Length: 5320

A school shooting happens at Canterlot High.

I don't find this story to be in good taste now, but I can't bring myself to take it down... not sure what to do.

This story is not meant to be offensive and is purely written for the story. Each chapter is a different account of the story. The points of view are:
-Flash Sentry
-Derpy
-Snails
-Microchips
-Vinyl Scratch
-Wallflower
Each character recounts the experience and finds there own way to acceptance. This is a touchy subject, so please do not read this if you are sensitive about it. This is my first story so please give lots of feedback in the comments.

Published 2018-04-09 06:00:11 UTC
Last updated 2018-04-09 06:00:11 UTC

Flash Sentry

Flash Sentry‘s tears are running down his face and onto his guitar. His knuckles are white from squeezing so hard. All the emotions are screaming their way through his mind. Screams...screams. He screams himself. Flash gives himself over to the music and the memory.

Flash was in his favorite class, AP physics. The class was small, few people wanted to take such a difficult class. Still, Flash had always liked math and science, and it was essential for any good STEM career. And of course...Twilight Sparkle. Any class with her in it was worth any amount of homework and headache.

“You will be completing your odd questions in class and the even ones for homework. Work with student sitting directly across from you.”

Flash’s heart leaped up into his mouth with joy. Sunset Shimmer had left the room, so he had been paired with Twilight! Suppressing his emotions, he coolly walked over to her.

“I did not know you took AP physics!” She exclaimed.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really seem like it, but I love this stuff. This first problem looks fairly easy. Not to many variables.” The two began to work, conferring after each problem.

They were in the middle of working a problem when over the speakers came Principal Celestia. Her voice was high pitched and nervous. “Code Red...Code Red...this is not a drill...this is not a drill.”

Spikes drove through Flash’s heart and his heart raced. Twilight paled and grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Normally Flash would be delighted by this, but now he just thought about his panic...panic...panic.

”Into the closet! Into the closet!” The teacher shrieked. Flash swung open the cloest door, pushed Twilight in, and jumped in himself.

It was a tight fit. A tear slid down Twilight’s cheek. “Oh Flash, what is going on?!?” Flash shook his head in solemn silence.

The door handle. Someone was jiggling the door handle! “Help!” Screamed a voice from outside the door. “It is me! Sunset Shimmer! She is gonna shoot me!”

Twilight’s face expressed pure horror. “Sunset!” She cried. Twilight, crazed by the fact that her friend might be at the door, thoughtlessly grasped her necklace and shoved the closet door with her shoulder.

Flash’s sensitive ears immediately told him that something was wrong. “Twilight no! That is not Sunset!” He cried. It was too late.

The teacher did nothing, she was petrified by fear. Twilight opened the classroom door. “You are not Sunset...” she murmured, face pale.

The gunman stepped into partial view. Flash still could not tell who she was. Some students were murmuring prayers, some were closing their eyes and hiding their faces. Flash had never really been a religious person, but now he hoped fervently that some greater force would intervene.

Twilight ran at the armed person. She made a gesture with her hand and a desk flew up into the air towards the intruder. “Imposter!” She cried. “You murder.” The intruder shot at the flimsy desk and it fell apart. “Where is Sunset?” Twilight demanded. The gunman turned the gun on Twilight.

Flash reached his hand back into the closet, hoping for something, anything to help. His hand closed around a heavy textbook. It was too late. The gunman shot. As the sound rang through his ears, Flash hurled the textbook at the gunman. The gun clattered to the floor. So did Twilight.

Another text book hurtled through the air. And another. For a brief second, he saw Big Mac throwing, and he knew the other students were helping too.

The gunman grabbed another magazine from her back pocket. Flash could tell it was her last magazine and she had no extra ammunition. A gun typically has seven rounds. It was crystal clear to Flash. He had to get her to shoot seven times so she could not hurt anyone else.

Flash accpected terror, but all he felt was cool acceptance. He leaped our of the closet and charged at her, tackling her to the ground. She shot at him as they fell to the ground, thankfully missing. Six shots left.

Flash wrestled it out of her hands. Flash knew nothing about shooting a gun, and he did not want to accidentally shoot anyone, but he had to get the bullets out of the gun. He tried to shoot at the wall, but he missed and hit a bookshelf. That was three shots. Three shots left. The bookshelf fell and blocked the closet doorway. Now no one could help Flash. A stab of fear shocked him. He needed help, but his classmates were trapped inside the closet.

The gunman charged at him and he caught a glimpse of her face. Green hair, amber eyes. She was familiar, but he could not quite who she was.

While he was trying to remember, she snatched her gun. Flash dove to the ground as she shot again. Two bullets left.

He leaped to his feet, fighting back nausea from landing on his stomach so hard. Flash fell against the wall. She glared, aimed, shot, and hit. Flash looked at his sweatshirt. A blossom of red was blooming on the front. One shot left. Just one more shot, he thought. Almost done.

Gasping for air, Flash tripped her. Before he could take the gun, she sat up and shot one last time. The bullet was headed towards his face. Then it stopped and fell to the ground, glowing purple. Shocked, he stared at it cross-eyed.

Twilight Sparkle pulled herself up with a desk, one leg dripping blood from a bullet wound. Her necklace glowed from her magic usage.

The gunman ran out the door, gun useless. She could cause no more harm. Twilight could not run after her because of her shot leg.

Flash Sentry finally remembered her name. “Wallflower” he murmured. “Wallflower Blush.” He coughed violently, blood coming out of his mouth. He had to chase her, but his eyes were getting heavier and heavier, and his gun wound hurt really badly.

Twilight tried to get closer to Flash, but her leg would not let her.

Flash’s last thoughts before fainted were so many questions, some of which he knew he would never find the answers to. Who was Wallflower? Why did she shoot them? Would Twilight be ok? Where did Wallflower go? When the police arrive? Were his band mates ok?

Flash shut his eyes, the world was spinning. Gotta stay conscious. Flash could not stay conscious any longer, he was bleeding too heavily and he hurt to much. The police and ambulance arrived and he and many other students were rushed to the hospital. When he woke up, a couple days later, the gunman had already been arrested.

This is the first moment Flash Sentry has had alone since coming home from the hospital. Somewhere in him, there were stitches and healing tissues. In his mind, he had been torn apart and stitched up again, and like his physical state, he was still recovering from the experience. It had left its mark on him forever. Flash stared at his guitar and begins to play it slowly, getting faster and faster. He sings and plays for as long as he can. And then he writes a song. Many songs. Flash knows he would never be the same. Now his goals are greater than ever. Life is so much clearer now, he knows what is important to him. He will never be the same, but maybe that is not a bad thing.

Derpy

Derpy should be happy. It is a beautiful Saturday morning and she is delivering newspapers. She tries desperately not to look at the headlines on the papers, but her eyes keep catching words. Shooter...12 dead...11 injured...tragedy...Canterlot High...Derpy tore her traitorous eyes away from the paper. She did want to remember, but the truth was charging at her like a bull.

Derpy had to use the restroom. She had not gone during lunch and now she was paying the price. Luckily, the art teacher was absentminded and she was able to sneak out and use it.

All was well. But as she walked out, Principal Celestia came over the intercom. “Code Red...Code Red...this is not a drill...this is not a drill.” The usually strong voice of the principal was worried and strained, which really worried Derpy. Principal Celestia always seemed so powerful, the head of the school. The fact that she was worried meant that this Code Red was bad.

Derpy sped up into a run. She had to get into a classroom! She banged on the art classroom door. The black paper was covering the window, the students could not see her. “Let me in let me in!” She cried. She could almost hear footsteps. Derpy tried another door. And another. She charged at one door in desperation. Nothing happened but an aching shoulder.

“Think Derpy, THINK!” She said out loud. Bam! Was that a gunshot? She had to get out of here! Now! Her frantic mind finally produced an idea. The teacher restrooms! They locked from the inside. She ran in that direction. She did not care about being stealthy. She needed safety right now.

Footsteps. Footsteps! Derpy took a deep breath. They had to be her own, right? Wrong! They were getting closer. Derpy ran faster. She was not even trying to get to the teacher restrooms any more. She was just trying to get away.

Almost in slow motion, Derpy’s feet flew out from under her and she fell on her stomach. It would have been hilarious if the situation had not been so dire. It was over! All over! To her surprise, she felt no grief. Derpy’s head was clearer than it had ever been in her life. The moment the idea sprang into her head, it was executed.

She leapt into the nearby trashcan. Ignoring the disgusting trash, she hid her body just in time.

Derpy peered through a crack, straining her eyes to see what was going on. It was not a gunman, it was Sunset Shimmer. Sunset was running by, an expression of pure terror on her face. And then Derpy saw the gunman. Sunset had nowhere to go. But to Derpy’s amazement, Sunset ran towards the gunman and touched her shoulder. Sunset’s eyes widened. “You...”. Bang! Sunset never got to finish.

Derpy gasped, than slapped a hand over her mouth. Luckily the gunman did not hear. She ran past. Derpy was terrified. Sunset is dead. Sunset is dead. Sunset is dead. How could it be true? Derpy was frozen in shock. She thought the same thing over and over again. Saw the same thing over and over. Derpy shivered and wept, waiting to wake-up or have someone tell her it was all a dream. Even when the police arrived, she was to scared to come out. Hours later, the police found her took her out of the trashcan. And still, a whole day later, she was still grappling with it.

Derpy knows she can not avoid the truth any longer. Summoning her courage, she reads the paper. Bowing her head, a cool sense of acceptance comes over her. What is done is done. There was nothing to do now but to make sure it never happened again. The sacrifices that too many students made will not be in vain. These things take time, but she is willing to wait.

Snails

Snails’s head hurts. All around him, there are choices waiting to be made. Any choice he makes will lead to a whole new selection of choices to make. Snips used to help him make choices, but now...There is one huge choice looming above him. He hears the choice. Smells it. Sees it. Tastes it. FEELS it. He has to make it...but he can’t! He can’t! To Snails’s horror, the choice is making itself.

Snails was in band class, one of his favorites. Unlike so many classes, there was just him and his trumpet. The director told him what he needed to do, and the director did not, the sheet music did. No tests. No thoughts. Just playing his instrument. Best of all, Snips. If any choices had to be made, Sninps would just make them for him.

Sometimes, Snails wished that he was smarter and bolder, able to make choices.

Still, every time he had to make one was torture. But he did not have to worry about it now. The moment is now. Snails did not reflect on the past or ponder the future. He just acted, and that was the way he liked it.

Now, he was playing the monochromatic scale. Something was inturupting him. He did not like inturuptions. Once Snails started something he had to finish it. He played right through the announcement, wondering what was, but having a determination to finish the scale.

“Snails! Get down.” Said Snips. Snails was torn. He wanted to finish the scale, but Snips was telling him to do something. Snails got down. He would not have done it for anybody but Snips.

He bent his lanky frame underneath the seat. Snails wanted to know why. Why did he have to do this? Snails twitched, fingers wanting to finish the scale. He lifted the instrument to his mouth.

“No! Code Red!” Said Snips gently. Code Red...what was that? Something in the back of Snails’s brain panicked. Snails ignored it.

Snails loved Snips because he was always nice. Snips never judged him for making stupid choices. Snips just helped him.

Finally, he realized what a Code Red was. Someone bad. Someone bad was in the building.

Snails dropped his trumpet with a crash. All the students’ hearts raced faster. Snails closed his eyes. “So sorry so sorry so sorry so sorry!” His brain screamed.

Nothing happened. Snails allowed himself to relax. Whew! Code Red should be done any minute now. Not so fast! The students’ blood ran cold.

She seemed to materialize into the room. There was no where to hide. Everyone was screaming. The gun banged. A student fell to the ground. Snails could not see the fallen student’s face. Snails wondered who it was.

The teacher ran to the door. “Everyone out! Just run!” He bellowed, holding open the door. Children ran, screaming out the door.

Another student, Octavia, fell. The gunman picked off a couple other students as they were trampled by the stampede of running students.

Snails was frozen. He. Could. Not. Move. TERROR! Snips! Glorious Snips! Snips pulled him up. “Run!” He shouted. They ran. Snails had only one thought, the most important thought he ever thought. Run!

But Snips was slow, a bad runner. Snips fell down. Snails was frozen again. “Run! Leave me!” Snips cried. “Better just me than the both of us.” Snails ran faster than ever before, long legs bounding like some wild animal’s, tears streaming from his eyes.

He did not stop. Not even when he heard the gunshot. Not even when he knew Snips was dead. Not even when he heard the gunshot. Not even when he was one mile away. Not even when he heard the gunshot. He stopped running when he had no energy left and he fell to the ground.

His body had done all it could. It was his brain’s turn now. Had he done the right thing? Yes. Snips would have died anyway. Was it his fault? No. Only the gunman’s fault. Would it happen again? No. Never. Not if he did anything about it...Eventually the police found him and took him home.

What would Snips want? Does it matter? Snips is dead. There is nothing Snails can do about that. Actually, there is. Snails just has to remember him. Snips is in his head. Snips will help him make choices. It is what Snips wants, because Snips has left behind many gifts of memory. Snails is not alone.

Microchips

Click. Click. Check. Scroll. Taptaptap. Microchips loves coding. He loves how every available brain cell dedicates itself to the task of giving the computer commands. Unlike real life, he has complete control over what the computer does. Anything he wants to change is a couple clicks away. If only he could do that in real life. In the span of just a few minutes, life had spun so hopelessly out of control. If only he could go back time and change everything with just a few clicks.

Microchips went through his mental checklist one more time. Pencil? Check. Scratch Paper? Check. Calculator? Check. Microchips had studied all week long. He was ready for his quiz in Calculus AB.
Mr.Cranky-doodle was a tough teacher, but that is why Microchips liked him. He only wished that Sandalwood, his best friend, was in the class too. Sandalwood was one of the few people that did not make him feel awkward. Microchips often got embarrassed about how much he knew, but Sandalwood celebrated it.

“There is a quiz today. You kids better have studied!” Mr. Cranky-doodle growled, passing out the test. Microchips tucked into his test, leaping into the first math problem; he had entered math land, a state of oblivion where only math mattered.
“Code Red...Code Red...This has is not a drill...this is not a drill.” Microchips’s first thought was ugh, now! I’m taking an important quiz here! But then he realized that she did not say it was a drill! So wait, this is the real thing? It can’t be! That is so unlikely. This town? This time? A Code Red? Nonono! This must be drill.

Brain cartwheeling, Microchips walked to the farthest corner from the door, just like in the previous drills. He sighed. He wanted to finish the test. Minutes passed. Microchips closed his eyes. He was bored out of his mind.

Wait! Was that a gunshot? No! No way! It couldn’t be! He must been hearing things. But Microchips heard it again. And again. And again. Microchips just could not accept it.
Not until a bullet hurtled through the door. It is special shatter proof glass, it won’t shatter out on us. Wait! A gun! A bullet! Oh stupid stupid stupid! It was really happening! At least the bullet hit no one.

Still, there were more bullets, zooming faster than he could see. Microchips’s vision blurred. I can’t believe it. He thought. I’m going to die. And I have not even discovered cold fusion yet.

Then, Microchips witnessed the most amazingly noble act he had ever seen. Ever will see. Mr. Cranky-doodle leaped in front of the students, protecting them with his body.
Microchips watched with growing horror as bullet after bullet hit Mr.Cranky-doodle’s body. Mr. Cranky-doodle’s body went limp from the pain. Microchips heart screamed. Mr.Cranky-doodle, the meanest teacher of them all, was dead. And he had died for the students. Mr.Cranky-doodle had died for Microchips.

Microchips grabbed the nearest backpack and chucked it at the gunman. He hated her more than anything he had ever hated in his life. Then he grabbed a chair. Anything he could throw at her. The other students joined in. The gunman took off.

Microchips had no heart to chase her. He knelt at Mr.Cranky-doodle’s side. “Someone get the first aid kit!” He shouted. Toe Tapper pressed his hands to the gun wounds, trying to hold back the blood. The sight of it welling through Toe Tapper’s fingers made Microchips feel sick.
“Mr.Cranky-doodle!” He cried, tears coming from his eyes.

Mr.Cranky-doodle shushed him. “I don’t want you kids to get upset over me. I am old and do not regret my sacrifice one bit. It is my job to protect you. You have your full lives ahead of you, kids. You are going to do wonderful things. Wonderful things.” Mr. Cranky-doodle coughed and closed his eyes.

Microchips realized that he was holding Mr.Cranky-doodle’s hand. All around him, students were either crying, shivering, or staring with stunned, blank expressions.
Letting go of Mr.Cranky-doodle’s hand was painful. Microchips had been gripping Mr.Cranky-doodle’s hand so hard that both hands were bleeding. Microchips wiped the blood on his pants and stood up.

He grabbed a bunch of quizzes, including his own, and taped them over the window to keep anyone from seeing in or the glass shatteringly He wanted to do something, but there was nothing left to do now but huddle in the corner with the rest of the students.
When the police arrived, Microchips was the first to tell them everything that happened.

Maybe Microchips cannot change what had already happened, but he can change now. He reminds himself that he happened to life, not life happened to him. The time is now. He turns back to the computer. Click. Clack. Click. Click. Clack. He sends an email to a state senator. Click. Click. Click. He posts on a blog. Clack. Tap. Click. Click. A new website is on the internet. You know the purpose.

Vinyl Scratch

Everyone is looking at Vinyl Scratch expectantly. Her parents, the police, the investigators. Though there were so many people in the investigation room, she is lonely. Vinyl wants to speak so badly. To communicate from her lips like so many other people could. Everyone takes the gift for granted, but Vinyl knows how important it is. I am DJ Pon-3! She thinks. I stun audiences with all sorts of wonderful music and sounds. Yet, that does not matter now. She needs to speak. Vinyl’s eyes start getting watery, but thankfully her shades hide it. I can’t! She thinks bitterly. I can not speak.

Vinyl Scratch in a magical, musical world full of colors and light. Rather, she was walking down the hallway, bopping her head to music from her earbuds. The music that came from their tiny speakers seemed enhance everything amazing in life. Vinyl’s earbuds were essential to her, almost like an organ in her body. She would rather give up a kidney than her earbuds. The time Principal Celestia had confiscated her headphones had been torture. Ever since then, Vinyl had opted for her less conspicuous earbuds. Grabbing her books and getting to her next class was all a choreographed dance.
Art class. Vinyl’s haven. In art class, she was no longer Vinyl Scratch. She was DJ Pon-3. In art class, the teacher let her create music and song backgrounds and playlists and all sorts of wonderful things.

The class room was always alive with Photo Finish taking photos, Drama club kids acting, and the Pony Tones singing. All of the sounds made a wonderful music.

But something was breaking the rhythm. “Code Red...Code Red...this is not a drill...this is not a drill.” The song of the class was gone. A new song, a sinister sound.

As per procedure, the class gathered in the corner, leaving their projects unfinished. The music playing in Vinyl’s earbuds seemed fake now, the sound tinny and strange in her ears.

Bam! Something was wrong...That was a gunshot and does NOT belong in the school song. It was not right and it scared Vinyl. If there was a gunshot...things must be really bad...

Vinyl’s mind raced, the music from hearbuds failing to keep her ears safe from the terrifying, loud noise of gunshots. Vinyl hates loud noises. They hurt her ears and send stakes of fear and petrifyingness everywhere in her body. And the gunshots were getting louder. And louder. And closer. Until finally, the climax was reached. The blood roaring in Vinyl’s ears drowned out the sound of her earbuds.
The gunman stepped into the room. Photo Finish lifted up her camera and took one, single, perfect shot. The sound of the camera’s flash rang in Vinyl’s ears. Bam! Photo Finish toppled backwards, bullet gone straight through her heart. Vinyl opened her mouth in a silent scream. Photo Finish fell on top of Vinyl.

She watched the scene unfold out from under Photo Finish’s dead body, petrified by fear. Too many times the gun boomed. Too many times children fell to the ground. The only reason Vinyl was untouched is that is that Photo Finish’s body hid her from sight.

Even as the gunman ran out the door, she just lay there, listening to the music that her earbuds were still playing. Somehow, the music did not seem so great anymore. At one point, she tried to get Photo Finish’s corpse off of herself, but she could not move. Must be shock. Vinyl gave up on moving and just waited, unaware of the time ticking by...
And then the police arrived, and they made her shock leave. A pretty officer helped her up and asked her name. Vinyl flashed the mute wristband she always had to wear.

“You can call me Officer Centri. I am going to interview you on what has happened at this school. Ok?” Officer Centri asked her a couple questions and Vinyl wrote them down for her on a notepad.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Scratch. Let me know if there is anymore information you can give me.” Vinyl nodded. She stretched her mind trying to identify the gunman’s face. Still, Vinyl never got a good look at her. A tear slid down her cheek and her hand began to tremble. Vinyl wished she could be tough, but she just was not. She was just a stupid mute, relying on everybody else for help.

“Please do not cry. You have been a great help. And by the way, I really enjoy your beats, DJ Pon-3.” Vinyl smiled. Her voice was louder than anyone else’s. She could make wonderful music, she could make a difference too. DJ Pon-3 spoke. “Photo Finish’s camera. Photo Finish managed to get a shot of the gunman.” Officer Centri’s eyes widened and she hugged DJ Pon-3. “Thank you. That will be a great help.”

Vinyl Scratch was doing what she did best. Her music boomed all around the dance party. DJ Pon-3 was doing what she did best. Her sounds made the greatest difference.

Wallflower Blush

Author's Note

Before you read this chapter, I want you to understand that in this story Wallflower has some serious mental issues, and what she does is in no way justified.

Wallflower Blush

Wallflower Blush was lonely. All throughout her life she had been abused by her parents and ignored at school. Everyday she went to school, she felt as if a bubble separated her from everybody else. She was just what her parents had always told her she was. A worthless nobody.

No one was there to tell her when she did something right. The only time Wallflower got attention was when she did something wrong. The cruel words of her peers made her sink deep into dispair.
Sometimes, when she was in the deepest depths of her loneliness, she called on an imaginary friend. The whispery voice offered little confort though.

When she first entered Canterlot High, everybody seemed to have their clique of friends that they shared common interests. Wallflower did not fit into any of the cliques. She liked gardening, but there was not really a gardening clique. She tried to join in, but the cliques were just so hard to fit into.

The only girl who did not have a clique was Sunset Shimmer, and that was because she was the Biggest Meanie. But now, a couple years later, Sunset was popular and had tons of friends. Wallflower didn’t get it. Sunset had never done anything nice to her. Sunset had always treated Wallflower the same way. Ignoring her. If only there was a way that Wallflower could prove that Sunset was still the Biggest Meanie!
Wallflower walked to the back of the school once class had let out for Garden Club. She sighed. Why did everything she did have to be alone?

She began to dig a whole for a new seed, but her shovel struck something hard. What could it be? She pulled the cool metal object out of the soil. It was a gun and a couple magazines. Wallflower stared at it.

She stood up and held it in front of her. No one was in listening range. She squeezed the handle. Bang! Wallflower jumped as a bullet embedded itself into a tree trunk.

Wallflower liked the gun. It listened to her, and when she told it to shoot, it shot. It gave her a power she had never had before. With this gun, she could kill. Wallflower though about all the people that had always ignored her. This would make them pay attention! Sunset Shimmer would regret her meanness!

Wallflower reentered the building and hid the gun in her locker.

As Wallflower walked home that night, she imagined what she could do with her new gun. The ideas circulated in her head, getting bigger and bloodier with every new thought.

She decided that she would take action during third period after lunch. Lunch was Wallflower’s least favorite part of the school day. She sat alone with no one to talk to. Then, she would pull out a book and read for the rest of her lunch.

Today, however, she was to excited to read or eat. Wallflower just squirmed around on the bench.
As the students walked to class, she took a brief stop at her locker. Click spin click spin click. There the gun lay, like a poisonous, rainforest frog. Dangerous and attention-capturing. Wallflower wrapped her hand around the gun. It felt so good! Eyes darting around like a rabbit’s, she grabbed the gun and slipped it into her pocket. She hid in the restroom until the bell rang.
When she was sure that everyone had gone to class, she struck. She had to find Sunset Shimmer and punish her for everything she had done. This was right because Sunset Shimmer was the Biggest Meanie. And everyone between her and Sunset had to go too. Wallflower was sure that they had done something bad in their lives at least once. They all must pay!
Once she started, she could not stop. Wallflower was cleansing the world of evil, right?

When she heard Principal Celestia’s Code Red announcement, she felt a little triumph in side her. Not just a harmless wallflower, huh!?!
Even when Sunset Shimmer’s head jerked back with a bang, Wallflower did not feel better. She felt even worse. Maybe she needed to kill off the whole school before she was satisfied. So Wallflower did not stop. Even when she felt the first stabs of remorse, it was too late to stop now. Too late to change what she had done.
When Flash Sentry and Twilight Sparkle wasted her last bullets, she did not want revenge anymore. Wallflower felt horrible. She needed more! It was the only thing to make her feel better!

When the police started questioning everybody, she was so ashamed. There was no hope. She told a couple lies. No one would notice her, or think that she could have done anything.
She was Wallflower Blush. Forgettable Wallflower Blush. Worthless Wallflower Blush. A Nothing. A Nobody. She just gave up. Nothing felt good anymore, not even gardening. The weight of her guilt was just too much.

Wallflower was actually happy when she was arrested. Wallflower agreed to all her crimes, fully aware that at the least she would be punished with a life term in jail.

They told her that someone got a photo of her while she was shooting. Wallflower cried, but there was no use in crying over spilt milk. There was no way to fix her mistakes. No way to got back in time. At least she had learned her lesson.
Flash Sentry, Derpy, Snails, Microchips, and Vinyl Scratch had too. They are all teachers now. They teach lessons that we all must learn. It is our job, as students, to learn. Life is school like Canterlot High. From each mistake or trial we take, there is a lesson to learn, and a life theme to teach.