shooting Blog and Journals

“Sweetie,” My mother cooed while stroking my hair.

I lay face down on my bed. It had been a week since the incident. 10 students had been killed and 45 injured. Unbelievably Bob, I, and about 15 other students were the only ones not shot at. It scared me …especially since the guy had been my neighbor. He had lived 2 houses down…and according to the paper he threw at me, he liked me, to the point of practically stalking me; hence why he was in my room that morning.

The police had taken away my book of poems because it contained “evidence”. It was kind of embarrassing to have people read it…all the personal stuff I had written was out there for the entire police force to read and go home and tell their families “hey this weird chick wrote this really lame poetry about no one understanding her and how her life is horrible! Can you believe it! She’s a teenager for gods sakes, how bad can her life actually be?!” Then the family would laugh and laugh till someone asked to pass the peas.

I cuddled under my blankets. This had to be the lowest I have ever felt in my life. I felt guilty that all those people had died and I had been sparred. My best friend Brooke had been one of those injured people and is now in critical care. The thought of her and everyone else in the hospital tainted my thoughts. I had to leave…to get out of here, somewhere where no one knew me.

“Mom…”She stopped stroking “I want to move, like, now.” She got up from my bed to walk out.

“Don’t worry…you father and I have already spoken about it. We’re looking at real estate around your grandparent’s home. It would be nice to go visit my roots sometime.” She closed the door and left me wallow in suffocating thoughts.