The X-Men meets Stranger Things in this coming-of-age tale.
I, Nadine Jackson, believe in science and opportunities, not stories out of a comic book.
So as part of a school project, my friends Imogen 'Aria' Zhang, Marco Martinez, James Ryder and I...
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The first time I saw dead bodies was in third grade.
I remember sitting in a classroom, reading TheMagic Treehouse when I hear gunshots coming from the hallways.
Confused, my third-grade teacher levitates from her desk chair, quietly approached the door, then looked directing in the glass when a bullet pierced her skull.
Anna Mason, the teacher's assistant, the classmates, and a nine-year-old me screamed when the bullets sprayed the room.
"Everyone get down!" Anna shrieked, during the hailstorm. "Go underneath the—"
BANG!
A piece of shrapnel soared into her throat, killing Anna instantly.
Screaming, everyone scrambled underneath our desks, covering our ears to drown out the sounds of rampaging gunfire.
Glass shards sprinkled on my third-grade teacher, as blood flowed from her forehead. Horrified by what I saw, I started weeping with the other children.
The gunfire tore through books, windows, and walls, but what haunts me the most is that my best friend, Missy tries to come towards me when pieces of shrapnel ripped through her shoulders and chest.
When the shooter was finished having his fun, I immediately rushed towards my ailing friend. Missy is a Native-American girl with curly dark hair, wide brown eyes. I remember Missy had on a red sweater, a pair of small jeans, and dark gray sneakers.
But as soon as I came closer, I saw bullet holes creating tears on Missy's red sweater.
I didn't see the blood on the cloth, but when I tried applying pressure to her stomach, the sweater acted like a blood-soaked sponge.
"Deep breaths," I advise calmly. "It will all be over soon."
Missy tries to breathe, but she was losing too much blood.
"Come on, " I urged. "Come on, you need to live."
Turning to the rest of my distraught classmates, I tell them to go get help.
"Missy?" I screamed. "Missy?"
Despite the blood on my hands, I try to shake my best friend awake. I stroke her hair, I wiped her tears, and yell her name.
"Wake up!" I demanded. "Please wake up!"
My eyes widened as I awoken from my slumber then find myself sleeping in a white hospital bed surrounded by monitors and the bitter odor of Clorox.
Dark blue curtains separated me from the patients as doctors casually strolled left and right, carrying their clipboards.
In the background, "Ocean Eyes" by Billie Ellish is playing in the speakers.
