Different colored minds

Post traumatic stress disorder

PAMELA POV

Outside on the lawn, police are spewed throughout the groups of students. I just finished telling them.

I tell them they're in the library. The shooter," but now the police have moved away from me. There are police cars, fire trucks, phones, and all together too much noise. I'm standing in the lawn. I'm standing in the lawn, but my brain's not working right. There's blood, there's half strewn guts, there's sobs, screams, police fighting to get inside. I find a tree and I ball up under it, willing myself to live through this. Faces keep leaving scars across my consciousness, my mind can't help but think about all of the bodies I've seen. All of the things I've never wanted to see. All the things I can't bear to feel, they're all here. Everything is here. It's so loud. And people are so close.
I'm nauseous, I lean over. The half eaten lunch I had just put in my mouth moments earlier is now on the ground. Was that moments ago? Was that only seconds ago. Was that really only minutes, only brief minutes ago? Minutes before this, when my life as I knew it was whole.

It's cold. The tree is cold against my back. The grass is cold against me sitting. I can't fall apart now. I was doing so well just a few minutes ago. I was helping people get out of there. But I can't move. I can't think. I'm frozen. I can't do it. This is it. Is this where my mind dies? I lie on the cold grass and let myself sob. That's what I let myself do. That's all I can let myself do. I can't do this. This is horrible. I can't believe that anyone would do this. That anyone could do this. I'm alone. I'm alone I can't do this. I can't do this, and there's a voice. There's a voice screaming. There's a voice screaming, who is it? A shiver runs down my spine. It's me, I'm the one screaming. I'm the one screaming.

And then something else sears through me. Some other horrible unfortunate feeling is tugging at me. Is he okay?