“Shut up, Timmy,” I looked at what was basically my mirror reflection; how do we look the same but completely different at the same time? I swiftly turned around and entered my last class of the day, Holocaust History. Scanning the bleak room, I prayed that I didn't meet Hayden’s stupid face; just before I thought I was safe I felt a shoe step on the back of mine. 

        “Shoot, sorry!” I turned around, and Hayden’s ocean-blue eyes stared back at me. Of course it’s him, just my luck. I decided to say nothing and sauntered over to my desk. I couldn’t be bothered to listen today, so I softly laid my head down on the frigid wooden desk and looked down at my phone, 2:17 pm, February 14th, 2018.

        The next few minutes were filled with nothing but the teacher's mundane voice trying to explain the Holocaust to us kids who were just about dying to leave. I was about to doze off when a raucous series of what sounded like shots blared into everyone's ears. The whole class went silent, all of us probably thinking 3,000 things at once. What was that? Surely there aren’t gunshots in our school? Are people okay? Who’s the shooter? Did people die? Timmy? Did Timmy die? Regardless of my hatred towards him, I couldn’t stand the thought of him being hurt or even dead. My thoughts were interrupted by throat-curdling screams of terror and pain, and something else, footsteps, footsteps coming towards our room. 

        My blood went cold; I knew I didn’t die yet, but it felt like my life was flashing before my eyes, all the times I was mean to Timmy, all the times I didn’t hang out with him or opted out of family dinners just to stay away from him, all the times I would disregard anything he said to me just because I wanted to be ‘cool,’all the times I made fun of him like he wasn’t my own brother, my own twin. How can I be so stupid? All he ever wanted was me to be his friend, and I couldn’t even be that. Now either of us, maybe even both of us, could die, and there’s nothing I could do but think and regret. I felt as useless as a dried marker. I’m not ready to die, I’m not ready for him to die. Please don't let us die. I finally popped out of my head and looked at the luminous classroom clock: Stoneman Douglas High School 2:19 pm February 14th, 2018. 

        Seconds later my eyes darted from the clock to a man, not much older than us, standing outside the door with a skewed, smug look on his face. His hair was short and brown, his shirt maroon just like our school colors; before I could even register who this was he pulled out a huge metallic gun and fired off into our classroom. 

        Everything went in slow motion, and once again I got sucked back into my head. This is it, Jeremy, you spent your who- I felt a hand grasp me and yank me out of my seat; I didn’t even have time to look at this unknown savior of mine before he dropped me in the corner of the room and plopped down next to me.  I turned to meet the same blue eyes I did a couple of minutes before. 

        “Hayden?”

        “You wouldn’t snap out of it, I had to,” he said with a shrug. Did he just save my life and then shrug it off? 

        “I know we are supposed to hate each other, but thank you, I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” 

        “Eh, I was kind of a jerk to both you and Timmy, especially after our fight, so I owed you.”  I decided not to question him further and looked around.  It was just then I realized the multiple bodies littering the ground. The room seemed to get smaller as my eyes darted from body to body. Some were moving, praying for help, and others lay motionless. I couldn’t bear to look around anymore, so I closed my eyes and laid back until my head met the hard brick wall.

        BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.  I sprung up to the blaring sound of the fire alarm. I rose up and started to walk out like I’d been taught to for years before something dragged me back down. 

        “What are you doing?” I looked down to see Hayden’s concerned face.

        “I’m leaving, don’t you hear the fire alarm?” 

        “Bro, this is obviously a trick to get people in the halls so the shooter can kill even more people. We have to stay here.” Shooter? Suddenly, everything came back to me, the crimson blood splattered across the floor along with the multiple bodies, the screaming, the wailing, the begging from people in the hallway. How come no one is here to help them? Where are the police? They should be here to help them, to help us. 

        I looked up at the clock: 2:22 pm, February 14th, 2018. It doesn’t take that long to get here. They need to be here soon. Hayden could sense my stress because he put his hand on my shoulder. I knew it wasn’t much, but it was enough at the moment to calm me down. They’ll be here soon. I just need to sit here and wait.

        2:32 pm February 14, 2018. Okay, where the hell are they? It’s been 10 minutes, people are dying and the police aren’t even here? The shooter probably got away by now! Before my thoughts could continue rushing, I heard a booming voice. “PARKLAND POLICE, PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND STAND UP.” Part of me was insanely grateful to hear those nine words, but the other half was skeptical. What if it is another one of the shooter's tricks? What if he’s just trying to lure us out? Regardless, the teacher graciously walked over to the door and unlocked it. The door swung open, and a deep blue-uniformed man stepped through the door. 

        “Okay, everyone, you guys are going to walk out silently with your hands above your head. I would advise you to not look at the floor and stare straight ahead.” We all obeyed and began walking out, though as I passed him I could see him look at my face, and a shocked expression spread across his face as he scanned mine. What’s that supposed to mean? Why did he pull that face when he saw me?

         I cautiously started walking out of the room, trying not to look down, but that too-familiar curly brown hair struck my eyesight, the same hair we’d both had since we were kids since we were born on the very same day, in the same hospital, to the same mother.  He’s going to return to that same hospital alone, alone and dead. I couldn’t take it; I collapsed into someone's arms, and everything that I had kept inside for these past 11 minutes was released. I sobbed hysterically into this unknown person's arms until I had no tears left to cry. I looked up to see those ocean-blue eyes staring back at me, full of worry, sadness, and compassion.

        “He’s dead, Hayden. He’s actually gone.” I sobbed.

        “I know, Jeremy, I’m so sorry.”

        My eyes caught Timmy’s lifeless body again, and even though I thought I was done crying, I fell right back into Hayden and sobbed for what seemed like hours. Why did this happen to me? To us? What did he do to deserve this? I had so many questions, but none of them got answered that day; they never did, and they never will.

3:20 pm May 24, 2022. ABC News Notification: 

Shooting in Texas Elementary School. 

At least 15 dead, multiple injured. 

“How do these keep happening?” I lean back and feel my head hit the cement. “It’s been five years, and they still don’t have themselves put together,” I scoff; I feel a tear roll down my cheek but quickly wipe it away. “You know, I’m really sorry for everything.” I feel more tears stream down; I give up on trying to wipe them away. “I’m s-sorry,” I manage to stutter out. I turn and face him, except there's nothing there, just a few words on a rock. 

-Michaela L.