Pulling up to the school was not easy. I physically could not look at it without a sick, twisted feeling in my stomach. Tears welled in my eyes but I blinked them away softly so the kid in the beat up Honda Accord parked next to me would not see, even though I knew he was doing the same thing. I parked neatly next to him, in my spot, as I had done nearly every single day of the past three years. Grabbing the crutches next to me in the passenger seat, I hobbled over the wet grass to the front door.
The door was still the same door, yet it was completely different now. The glass in the top window on the left door was shattered, but the glass had been swept up. I pulled it open enough to fit myself through, cast and all. My broken…show more content… The hallways quickly filled up with students and then the gunshots were heard just a few yards ahead of me. I ducked and ran into the nearest supply closet. I locked it and huddled in the corner behind a dripping mop. As the water from the mop mixed with my tears on my cheeks, I listened as my fellow students were shot. I could hear screams and people would bang on the door. I almost thought some of the people screaming might have been some of my friends, but I could not tell for sure. The sound of the gunshots had merged down another hallway, and then silence. All of the students that could not find an open classroom and were still stuck in the hallways were now dead, or severely…show more content… I had needed a steel rod in my thigh so I had a chance to walk again without a limp. They explained what the surgery did and then about what happened at the school. But I heard everything that had happened myself. And they told me what she had done when she left. She had put the gun in her mouth, and missed her brain. Her brain stem was severed though, and she would be on life support for the rest of her short life. Her parents were now debating if they wanted to let her go, because although she was their daughter, what she did was unforgivable.
Fifteen out of seventeen people that had been shot died that day. Only I and another boy had survived, with serious injuries. We were lucky to be alive apparently, but with the weight of what I had kept hidden in my brain, my feelings of doubt, and the signs that she showed me, I should have stopped it.
Now after a three week break, and a week already back to school, I still thought about that. Everybody else was still shaken, but I was forever devastated. I could have stopped it. I should have said something. Anything to anyone. But I let the opportunity slip from my fingers, and now I have to deal with the
