Paulina, a Thai-American girl who was three days from her thirteenth birthday, took the hall pass from Mrs. Long and headed out the door.

"Don't take too long, Miss Suttikul," Mrs. Long yelled as the door closed behind Paulina.

Paulina walked down the hall, the hall pass dangling from her hand and a river of brown hair flowing down to her waist with her stride, and pushed open the door to the girl's restroom when she reached the end. She entered the bathroom, unaware of the middle-aged man, who's eyes followed her as she walked by, that emerged from a trashcan placed along the wall, several feet away from the restrooms.

The restroom door closed behind her and she walked over to one of the stalls. Paulina closed the stall door and locked it, unaware that she would never leave with her own mobility. As she unbuttoned her blue jeans and shoved them, along with the pink cotton panties underneath, to her ankles, she heard the bathroom door open followed by footsteps entering. The footsteps grew closer and stopped in front of the stalls. Paulina tensed up as she noticed that the footsteps were being made by a pair of size 15 boots—either this was a rather large woman, or a dude walked into the girl's bathroom.

"Uhm... Hello... Are you in the right bathro—"

A series of loud bangs filled the restroom in short bursts, while over a dozen holes appeared in the stall door in front of Paulina, and sent large splitting cracks through the cheap wood it was made from.

A deep grunt escaped Paulina's lips, along with a few thick droplets of blood, then her breathing became a laboured raspy sound, as a crushing agony erupted from her torso and consumed her; six punctures were torn through her blue-checkered button down shirt, and her body—four in her chest and two in her stomach. She tried to scream, but blood filled her wind pipe and esophagus, and flowed out of her mouth like from a faucet. She grabbed her torso and collapsed to the floor, and thrashed in the crimson puddle of her blood.

Her head stuck out under the stall door, and she could see the man who did this; he was a towering man in his thirties or forties, with messy blond hair and a stubby beard. In fear, Paulina watched the man set down an Uzi and draw a Desert Eagle. Her eyes clinched shut, never to open again, as he placed the gun against the side of her temple, just above her eyes.

There was another loud bang, and Paulina's forehead exploded into a paste of brain tissue and skull fragments. Paulina's bowels and bladder emptied onto the floor. The man who killed her grabbed his Uzi and left Paulina's corpse, still twitching, to make sure that she was not the only casualty.

In the confusion of the massacre, Paulina's body was discovered four days later, rotting in a puddle of her own filth and dried-up blood.