It's a regular Tuesday morning. The rain softly falls onto the fallen leaves and the fall wind nips at your face. The sky is soft grey and the puddles on the pavement grow bigger and bigger.
No one was expecting anything to happen. No one could have predicted that on that day something horrible would occur. Then again, no one ever predicts when something like this happens.
The first shot was at 9:30.
Bang.
There's screams and shouts coming from the direction of the bang. The whole school falls into an eerie silence. Everyone holding their breath.
Bang. Bang.
More screams. The teacher locks their door and herds all the kids into the corner. People are crying. Others on social media. No one dares speak.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Snot runs down someone's face. Someone whimpers from the back. The teacher is on the phone with the police. They've already been notified.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Someone cries loudly, covering their mouth. Someone else is praying. 9 shots. The sirens are heard. So many sirens.
Bang.
The last shot is fired. The police are in. They come to the class. Parents and news people already outside.
10 shots fired. 4 dead. 2 injured. Shooter killed himself. Schools closed for awhile. People are crying in the parking lot. Ambulances being filled with people.
Breathe. Breathe.
Shooter is Chad Corsley.
No.
Jeff Hazel is dead. Hannah Ridou is dead. Mr. Sampson is dead.
No.
Becca Nurse shot in the leg. George Fuller shot in the stomach.
No.
The world is loud now. The buzz of voices and cries filling the air. It's still raining. The rain falls into the puddles, creating small ripples. Close your eyes. Try to not think.
Bang.
Jump from the sound. Look around to all the terrified faces. Just your imagination. Your ears are ringing. The sound won't leave. Plays in your head over and over.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
contains: mentions of violence and mentions of depression and suicide