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Whiz Kid

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My son was a genius. Every advanced class offered by the school, he took. Every piece of literature he could get his hands on, he read.

Everything he didn’t know, he sought to find out.

I was so proud of that kid. At age 12, he finished 1st place in the state science fair, beating out some of the smartest teenagers in the country, with a revolutionary new way of preserving food.

He showed more promise, in my opinion, than anyone in the country his age. But then he started high school.
Freshmen are a cruel group of people, especially to a standout kid like my son. He became more and more withdrawn, reading and studying all night, with a particular obsession with chemistry.

One day, he came home, his face bruised, his nose bleeding. He refused to tell me what happened, but I knew. He was always a contrary little shit, and I wasn’t going to get any talk out of him if he didn’t want to. I let him be.

As he often did during this time, he retreated to his room, coping with his problems by burying himself in books and educational websites, hoping to expand his already vast knowledge of chemistry.

His knowledge of chemistry did not fail him 2 days later, when a masterfully constructed bomb went off in the boys locker room, killing 7 classmates and critically wounding 4 more.

—
Credits to: Diabeatnik

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