If I'm crying out, don't listen to it

I've turned back and I'm rushing through the building, knowing full well that I might never come out again. The only thing that's going through my head is to get everyone out before the building collapses. I smash the glass of the first fire alarm I see and activate it.

The alarm is deafening but I can't hear footsteps rushing to leave. Shit. They think it's a drill. I rush into the nearest classroom, screaming that it's not a drill. Smoke clouds are billowing from the top level of the eastern block. Everyone needs to get out, now. 

3 classrooms later, I'm beginning to doubt the usefulness of fire drills. Everyone seems immune to the mind-splitting screech of the alarm. The dance classes are proceeding like nothing is happening. Tears streaming down my face, the guilt starts setting in.

People start taking the alarm more seriously as more and more rush through the corridors, coughing. The smoke is being ventilated through the ventilation system. As one classroom full of tutus and sequinned leotards start to evacuate, the guilt must be showing on my face. One of the snarky tutus remarks "Why would you come back to save us, if you had nothing to do with it?"

The bombs in each of the four blocks are going to go off any minute now. I rush through to the next level of classrooms. Ms. M is teaching. She'd never let something so petty as a building that's about to blow up disrupt her class. As I burst into the room, our eyes lock and in that instant, she knows. Wordlessly, she has gauged what I've done in my moment of insanity and desperation. And in that instant, I know I'll never be forgiven.

The tutus rush out, while I stand there, shell-shocked and weeping.