"The thing I remember most from the shooting at my high school is the screaming. I got "lucky" in the sense that at the last second, I had decided to go straight upstairs to class instead of hopping in the breakfast kiosk line or running to give my economics teacher something before I forgot. Both of those decisions would've put me right in the epicenter, but ultimately, I was upstairs when the shooting started."
"Both of those decisions would've put me right in the epicenter, but ultimately, I was upstairs when the shooting started. I was spared seeing the shooter or his victims. I was spared having to run. What I was not spared was hearing the screaming of my peers as our world was knocked off its axis by the business end of a gun."
A student narrowly avoided being in the center of a high school shooting by deciding at the last second to go straight upstairs to class instead of waiting in the breakfast kiosk line or running to give an economics teacher something. Those choices placed the student upstairs when the shooting began, preventing sight of the shooter and victims and removing the need to flee. The memory that endured was not images or running but the screaming of peers. The sound of classmates' screams became the defining sensory imprint, a vivid reminder of how a gun can violently upend ordinary school life.
Read at BuzzFeed
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