The Kent Massacre

     It was a sunny afternoon on Monday, May 4th, at Kent College in Ohio. My friend Sandra and I had just left our previous classes before heading outside. The school's victory bell rang out through the air, signaling that another protest was coming together just as they had done days before. Sandra rolled her eyes exasperatedly. 

     "They all look so stupid." Sandra said as we passed through the grass to get to our next classes. I turned my head to look at the group gathering in the Commons. There was about 2,000 of them or so, and all were angrily protesting against the expansion of the Vietnam war into Cambodia. My eyes skimmed over the faces, looking for anyone I knew. The wind was fairly strong, so it was hard to see around all the blowing hair, before I noticed a hand gesturing spasmodically towards Sandra and I. It was Douglas. He stood approximately 20 feet away and was trying to motion us over. Though smiling, I raised my hand in an effort to be polite and shook my head. He seemed dejected at first before a noise distracted all three of us. We simultaneously looked towards the commotion that was starting a few hundred feet to the west of us. The campus patrolman had shown up, riding in a National Guard jeep. He was yelling at the mass of students, telling them to disperse or be arrested. I watched in awe as the majority of the people, including Douglas, picked up rocks and started launching them at the jeep. The patrolman let out a yelp as one hit him in the face and quickly motioned for the driver to retreat. Some of the students let out victory calls while others high-fived each other.

     "Come on, Ellie. We should go before this gets worse." Sandra said, tugging lightly on my arm. I gave her a slight shake of my head.

     "You can go to class, but I wanna see this." I replied, smirking to myself. She sighed but stayed  and watched alongside me. A few moments later, after the crowd had gone back to discussing their frustration with President Nixon and his decisions, the jeep pulled up again with National Guardsmen, calling out the same warnings. Just as before, the students blatantly refused and started throwing rocks. Though, this time, the Guards quickly put on gas masks, and launched a few canisters of tear gas out of the vehicle and into the crowd. Some students, including Sandra and I, panicked and backed up quickly. However, thanks to the wind, the tear gas was easily spread thin and had little to no effect on the body of students. Douglas, grinning like a madman, picked up one of the canisters and threw it back to the Guard. Eventually, more students followed suit, using rocks, tear gas canisters, and sticks as ammo, although they were too far away to do any damage this time.

      By then, it had been determined that the crowd was no where close to acquiescing. A group of 77 National Guard troops descended on us with rifles in hand, and only then did people start moving. Sandra tugged harder on my arm.

      "Let's go!" she shouted. Along with hundreds of other students, we quickly headed away from them and over Blanket Hill, towards Taylor Hall, which was next to the Commons. A loose group of students continued towards and into Taylor Hall, while others, including Sandra and I, moved towards the parking lot in front of Prentice Hall, which was the building adjacent to Taylor Hall. I looked around to the people now surrounding me. A few were listing out profanities and insisting that we go inside. Others were challenging the Guardsmen, saying that they didn't have the guts to actually fire. Sandra and I didn't believe it either. 

    "They can't fire at us. We're unarmed!" she argued, even though we weren't even actually a part of the protest. We both turned and watched as a few hundred of the students actually dispersed into the buildings, giving up on the fight. I didn't want to go in. I wanted to stay outside and watch what was going to happen, but Sandra disagreed.

     "Ellie, they have guns now!" she urged. I just shrugged.

     "You said so yourself, they wouldn't actually fire at us. And even if they did, they'd have to be using blanks just to scare us. No one would outright shoot a college student."

    She went to go retort before we noted movements from the Guardsmen. They continued to pursue us, though instead of heading left, as we did, they continued straight and into the athletic field that was about 100 yards away. Once there, they huddled in a group and appeared to be talking to one another, wondering what to do with us. After a while, some of them started kneeling down and pointing their rifles at us, taking aim, only to stand back up. They're just blanks, I reassured myself. Just then, students started throwing things at the Guardsmen again, angrily confronting them. 

     "They're just making them mad." Sandra huffed, frowning at our fellow schoolmates. I nodded in agreement, but offered no words as we watched them. The Guardsmen, seemingly unaffected by the people's assaults, made their way back over Blanket Hill and towards the Commons. A rather large body of students slowly followed after them, still continuing their assailing.

     Suddenly, without warning, a loud crack resonated in the air. I jumped, and stumbled backwards at the sound along with Sandra. There was a scream that followed as a guy a few hundred feet from the Guards, and only about 50 feet from us, crumpled to the ground, clutching his knee. No one even had time to respond. More bullets just kept coming at us, mercilessly hitting their undiscriminated victims. I heard another loud crack next to my ear, and something warm splattered across the side of my face. I shrieked and allowed my body to drop to the ground, yanking Sandra with me. There were more screams as people that were running for cars were gunned down by the Guards. A sudden gasp for breath next to me caused me to look over. The sight made me scream again. Sandra was down on her knees, clutching her throat. Her eyes were wide, her face now pale, and her breaths were labored as blood dripped from her mouth and down her chin. Scarlet coated her hand as it seeped from her wound and down her skin, soaking her shirt and hair. She had been shot in the neck. My hands shook as I reached for her, unsure of what to do. She didn't respond to my actions, but instead, her eyes stayed fixated on the ground where her blood escaped, staining the concrete red.

    "Somebody help! She's been shot!" I screamed, looking around. As soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized that it was a futile effort. There were people scattered across the ground, others kneeling or standing next to them, screaming just like me. No one was paying any attention to us. I turned back to Sandra, who had leaned in closer to the ground. Her nails dug at the asphalt as she coughed up more blood. I quickly shrugged off my coat and moved her hand from her neck. Not knowing what else to do, I used it to apply pressure to her bullet wound. The scarlet liquid quickly spread through the fabric, covering my hand as well.

     "Oh, God. Please, don't die. Please." I begged through sobs. Her blood covered hand gripped mine tightly as another wave of blood came spurting from her lips and across my arm. I winced and had to look away in order not to get sick to my stomach. My eyes flashed towards the other people. Some were crying, while others were screaming at the Guards. No one was throwing anything or firing anymore. The sounds of sirens filled the air over the cries of desperation from people hoping to cling onto life itself. I looked back to Sandra, who had suddenly gone stiller than she was before.

     "Sandra?" I asked, my breath hardly above a whisper. The grasp she had on my wrist seemed weaker, and as I watched her, her body slumped to the ground, into the pool of blood. She was gone then. I could do nothing for her. I retracted my bloodied hand and cradled it. Sobs rocked my entire body, and I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling hot tears stream down my cheeks. My breathing became more difficult the harder I cried, but I couldn't stop myself. It was my fault she lay there, lifeless. I insisted we stay, when she wanted to leave. A gentle touch caused my head to snap up. A paramedic loomed over me, watching with gentle eyes.

     "Are you all right, miss?" he asked. For a moment, I simply stared back at him blankly. Did he honestly just ask if I was all right? I just witnessed my friend die because of the actions of other people, including me, and he's going to ask me if I'm all right? I opened my mouth to say something witty, but as soon as I did, a strangled cry escaped instead. His frown deepened as he watched me break down all over again, my body convulsing with remorse. I couldn't tell him the truth. That would hurt too much. I couldn't just release the guilt, pain and anger out on this poor guy. So I didn't.

     "Y-Yeah. I'm fine." I managed to force out after I was done crying again. My voice was hoarse, like I had just swallowed acid. The paramedic nodded and then offered me his hand. I placed my bloody one in his and was suddenly oversome with the intense urge to laugh. The irony in front of me was too much to handle. The man before me had clean hands, firm and strong, made for giving and saving lives. Mine were fragie and covered in blood, the blood of a girl who didn't deserve to die just for my own amusement, though she did anyway. The innocent was saving the guilty.