My brain no longer felt sensations to love, or happiness. My heart started to feel like a weight that I had to carry around. Why them? Why not me? How had I survived? Did they catch that man? Were my neighbors okay? My eyes started to tear up, and when they started to fall, it did not stop for at least two hours. The room began to spin, and questions started to run through my mind once again. She responded with a sorrowful face, “I’m afraid I have some bad news, the only one who did not die was your Grandmother. Finally, the lights adjusted to my eyes and a young nurse walked in the room, smiled, and asked, “How are you feeling?” I responded with a wince because I tried to move my arm that had been shot. It smelled like old people, and I heard beeping, which must have been my own heart beat. When I opened my eyes, I had to flinch because of the bright room I was in. I remember screaming, blood, the pastor’s lifeless body, and that man’s face. The gun shots seemed to be getting louder, and louder, until my head grew fuzzy, and finally nothing… Shooting my neighbors, and everyone around me. My Grandma was shaking my Grandpa, who seemed to be as lifeless as the Pastor. I looked to where my grandparents had gone, but they were on the floor too, and hurt. I tried to help my sister up, but she screamed even louder as I tried to pull her up. I looked at where my family had stood, but they were all on the floor screaming. I gripped my arm, squeezing it as hard as I could, because that’s what you do when you get hurt, right? I looked down only to see blood gushing down my bicep. Those thoughts did not stop until I was screaming in pain. Why was this happening? Why here? Why us? What made him do this? Who was this man? Did someone call the police? What will happen to the pastor? And so on. My heart sunk, I froze, and a million thoughts ran through my mind. After seeing his reaction to what was happening, it finally clicked in my mind of how I was supposed to react. So I had not known that I could have done so too. All my life, he had been the perfect father, who didn’t cry, was the “man of the house”, and did not show us his emotions. I didn’t know he could be scared I didn’t know I was allowed or supposed to be scared or even show emotion. That was a side of my father I had never seen before. I glanced at my father who had thrown himself on my mother, and sister, his face filled with fear. The thing was, no one was safe, no matter how much they wanted to be. People screaming, running, and ducking for cover. “This is for you Jesus! These people will suffer just like you had to for them! Your life for theirs, and their lives for yours!” What he said next sent chills down my spine. His voice was heavy, scary and memorable. Just as my father got up and forced us to stand up too, a man yelled. Fathers picked those other children up, and pushed their entire family out of those big wooden doors that kept us all in. They all started to leave, mothers dragged their children up out of their seats, causing them to drop their Sippy cups and church books. But the people in the back of the church caught my eye before I could look up. I saw my father turn around and look up to where the noises were coming from, and so I did too. My mother must have saw it too, because she grabbed my fathers leg, and put her arm around my little sister. His grey hairs seemed to turn whiter as the seconds went by. Who was up there, and why? I looked up at the Pastor, who stood frozen. But that was a home matter.Įveryone was confused what the loud clicking noises were, since no one was allowed in the balcony anymore after some kids in my Catechism class started one of the pews on fire. If my sister was in tears because of me, so was I. There was only one other time I accidentally hit her. As I ran over to her to apologize she ran away from me and went bawling to my parents. I must have hit her and bruised her clear, pale face. My hand hit something hard, but I was too into the game to notice. One of the neighbor kids was “it” and almost got me, but I ungracefully got away by flailing my arms. I guess I was so caught up in the game that it didn’t really matter to me. I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off while being chased, not watching where I was going. When we got to church my parents were greeted by some neighbors, and my sister and I found some neighbor kids to play with before we had to go inside. Something definitely felt different about that morning. But when I walked outside to the car, the wind didn’t ruffle my golden hair, the air felt more stiff, the sun didn’t shine as bright, and the bird’s songs didn’t sound as pretty. The day started like any other Sunday, we woke up and went to church.
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