Victim of the Florida Shooting
Victim of the Florida Shooting realistic stories

duffysam Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
Narrative from the point of a victim.

Victim of the Florida Shooting

One day I will be known by everyone, I will probably make the cure for cancer, but who knows where I will be in ten years. Today, I am just a high school student paying her dues.

Although high school can be a pain, Douglas high is one of the bests around. Most days are predictable, cant really say any days really stand out, except for February 14, 2018.

As usual, my alarm sounds at 5:30, and as most mornings, I get out of bed and start my hair and makeup process.

After I finish what seems to be the best makeup I have ever done for myself and curl my hair I pick out a super cute outfit.

I make my way downstairs to make food; I was a little bummed my parents weren't up already as they usually give me a valentines day present, although they did leave a note.

"If we are not up before you leave, have a wonderful day and be ready to go out to dinner once we get home, Love Mom and Dad." "They are so adorable," I thought as I finished packing my lunch.

It is now time for me to go, and without saying goodbye or telling any of my family I love them, I leave for school.

As I arrive at school, everyone seems to be a little on edge. Some kid had been posting some weird things towards our school this past week, but it is all good now, he got expelled.

As I get to first period, I see a group of my friends.

We all chat for a few minutes and part our ways, I now think what would I have said to them if I had known that was the last time I would have said anything.

First period was going just fine, we went to the library this day to learn about credible websites and how to find them.

About two-thirds of the way through, we hear a very loud bang, no one thought it was anything that bad: maybe a pipe exploded, someone else said something big was dropped, yet we were all wrong.

Not too long after the first noise we heard more, and that was when the overhead speakers went off about a dangerous man, I didn't hear too much,

as I was looking through the glass doors of the library at the shooter who was making his way towards this room.

Panic is what we thought, and panic is what we did..

I was barely behind a bookcase, I was frozen as I heard this man's gun go off several times, and just once you thought it was over, it wasn't.

Everyone screaming for this man to spare their lives and he had no mercy. Not only did blood stain the carpets, but so did tears.

This man seemed to have no fear, as his gun would not stop flooding the rooms with bullets. And once all the people in sight were on the ground, he turned towards me.

I don't know why I didn't run or try to do something. I just stood, stood there as I was shot multiple times, bleeding out. I was a 16-year-old girl just shot at school, and now dead.

No longer a student, or a daughter, or an active member of my community; I was just a thing that now was to be put in a box and lowered six feet under.

After the shooting, my phone flooded with texts. Most from my family, a lot from my close friends, and some from my teachers. None of them got texts back. Although I was gone, I was still there.

I saw my parents faces when the police told them I was no longer here. I also saw my friends, clinging to each other as they learned the news.

And although I know no one will completely forget who I was, I will not be something or someone thought about daily or weekly.

Soon enough I will just be their memory that floats in their head every so often. I will never make a cure for cancer.

All I will ever be or ever was was a 16-year-old girl who went to school one day and died.

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