Never in my life had I seen a more beautiful winter morning than on February 14, 2018. There was not a cloud in the sky and a slight breeze rushed through the air, which was a fitting environment for Valentine’s Day. My mom dropped me off to school that day. I gave her a quick “I love you” and ran to my best friend. Little did I know what would unfold.

As the morning passed, my friends and I cringed at the sixth graders giving each other flowers and teddy bears for Valentine’s Day. “They are literally in sixth grade,” I repeated constantly. Besides the cheesiest gifts I ever laid my eyes on, it was a relatively normal day. I ate lunch with my friends, laughed with my teachers, and zoned out in math class. It was finally fifth period, my multimedia class. My friends and I were sitting on a picnic bench next to our class, editing our new iMovie about bullying. The way this table was arranged made it so that it was out of view from the classroom door. We ignored the loud kids filming behind us in the courtyard area as we added Shawn Mendes songs into our credits. Then, I saw a stream of ambulances and fire engines zoom down the street towards Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.

Although I am a worrier, I nervously brushed it off and assumed there was a brush fire in the Everglades. Then even more ambulances passed, along with police cars. I asked my friends to check the local news to see if there was a fire or something, and they said everything was fine, so I believed them. Just in case, I texted my mom this chilling message: “There’s a lot of police and fire trucks going past the school- did something happen at Douglas?” My mom answered with, “No. nothing happened there. Not sure why”. I then responded with, “Ok bc like 15 police cars and 5 ambulances went past school and they still are I’m scared”. My mom then called me, and said not to worry. Unknowingly, she was scared too, and began to call the police department. Nervous, I tried to focus on my work. Then I heard a pop.  This was around 2:25 PM, and I had no idea that one of the worst mass shootings in history had begun. 

The gunshot sounded like a distant fire cracker, or one of those “toys” kids throw at the ground to make a pop sound. Then, we heard five more. Expecting the worst, I blurted out, “Was that a gun?” I have used BB guns before, but I had never heard a sound so ominous as the one I heard that day. My friends anxiously shrugged it off and kept working. Then, the two most chilling sounds of my life entered my ears: I heard up to 15 consecutive pops and a young boy scream. It sent a chill down my back, and my friends and I stared at each other. We agreed to tell the teacher what we heard, and our fears heightened when we turned around to find the courtyard empty. Little did we know, our school was put on lockdown, but they did not turn on the sirens. Because of the positioning of our table, my teacher was unaware that four students in her class of about 30 kids were missing. We raced to the door, and our hearts sank when the window was covered. Shaking, I banged on the door, screaming and begging for someone to let us in. Yet, no one answered. My friends began to cry, and I had a panic attack. I ran to the courtyard and screamed, “Help us! We are going to die!” My feeling of doom kept me from thinking through the situation rationally. My friends began to scream as well, but then I remembered something our sixth grade advisor told us at a safety assembly a few months back: if you are ever stuck outside during a lockdown, go to the front office. So, we dashed to the door, but no one answered. My panic attack was a blessing in disguise, however, because it got the attention of a nearby security guard, who ushered us into the office. We were then told there was a shooting next door. I began to sob. As they tried to probe us for answers, I told them how we heard around 20 pops and a scream. Our sixth grade advisor and the principal stared at each other grimly. The principal ran to another room with the police on the line and the advisor pushed us into a small room. Our advisor, a loud and brave woman, told us something I thought I would never hear: text your loved ones that you love them just in case something happens. I quickly whipped out my phone and texted my mom: “I can’t text rn bc of the radio but I’m fine love you”. My mom, who just got off the phone with a police officer who told her there had been a shooting at Douglas, was shocked. After explaining there were gunshots heard from Douglas, she replied with, “Love you too. All will be fine.” I then texted back, saying, “I love you I’m okay but I love you”, and “I wish it would end [I’m] so scared”. That day, I truly understood the meaning of life and death. I faced the grim realization that I would have died if the shooter came to my school. I sobbed with my friends, realizing the harsh reality of the situation: we were living through a school shooting, the one event we had practiced for all these years.

Once the shooter was arrested in a nearby community, SWAT officers brandishing large weapons ran into the office, and ensured us everything was okay. No one had truly realized the extent of the situation. My friends and I sat down in the teacher’s lounge and checked our phones, relieved it was over. We were texting our parents and checking social media when one of my friends stared into space with a glazed look over her eyes. When we asked what was wrong, she merely handed me her phone. I watched a Snapchat of injured teenagers, scattered bullets, and scared friends. I looked at my friends, and we began to cry. We realized our friends, mentors, and siblings were in danger. As we read the news, we began to see death tolls. One dead, said one source. Four dead, said another. My heart sank as the numbers increased. Finally, I stumbled upon an article titled: “'I'm sick to my stomach': 17 dead in Florida high school shooting; former student in custody”. I began to sob. 17 children and educators in my small town of Parkland were gone. How could it happen here? Why now? I showed the article to my friends and the truth set in: 17 innocent people were killed at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.

Days passed, and my community mourned. Teens stood up for change and inspired the nation to do something about gun violence. Yet, there was an elephant in the room: we were traumatized. Many could no longer function in school. Homework was absent for the rest of the year. Walkouts and threats became a norm. After months of fear, I began to have nightmares, so vivid I felt as if I was reliving the shooting. My life changed during a lockdown three days before school ended, when I had a flashback to that fateful Valentine’s Day. I realized I had PTSD, also known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I can no longer enjoy fireworks and concerts or pop bubble wrap. My old life, a life of innocence, was replaced with a life of trauma and grief. Yet, I persevered. I am glad to say that I am able to go to school without the fear of never making it out. Although my life has changed in drastic ways, I have learned to cope with my trauma. 

I witnessed a school shooting.