April 30, 8:17 in the morning. Quiet. Without warning, the police scanner wails. "All units, shots fired on Third Avenue."
             The listening police officer sits up in his seat. "A little early for a shoot out," he mumbles, "especially in this city."
             The radio re-awakens after a short rest. "All units precede to Central Middle School. Proceed with caution."
             The police officer doesn't quite know what to think. "What kind of a low-life would shoot up a school?" He proceeds to the crime scene, siren howling. He hops out of his car and joins a few other officers at the school's entrance. Another shot is fired. Weapons drawn, they slowly make their way inside.
             About ten feet from the door, a body lies motionless, a gunshot in the back. Apparently he was trying to escape. They roll the body over, hoping to find some signs of life. They find only an eleven-year-old, dead, the look of fear and surprise frozen on his face for all eternity. Such is the scene deeper inside the school. Bodies are randomly strewn about like leaves deposited by the wind on a fall afternoon. Seven bodies total. Creeping further in, the police officers finally find life, locked behind door after door in classrooms. The rest of the school's population is safe. At the end of the corridor, however, one more body waits to be discovered. This one is different from the others: it is firmly gripping a gun, THE gun.
             Tragedies like this baffle the nation. They leave everyone asking "why?" As society struggles to answer this question, fingers are pointed at all aspects of society, especially those involving the culprit. Blame is passed about like a big game of "hot potato." It bounces back and forth between suspects like "Family Life," "Friends," and "Drugs," until it reaches is final destination: "Media." This raises a...