Adaptation: My Adventures in Paris

Day 86

This day started off quite fun. My class went to a museum and my friends and I hung out later that night and had a great time. But, for some weird reason, everything about this day felt... off. I couldn't put my finger on it, neither could anybody else. Walking home in almost freezing weather I barely felt a shiver. The usually busy streets were oddly empty. And everyone kept heavily sighing.

But that night, around 9 or 10 p.m., the weird, uncomfortable gut feeling that everybody in the city was having, finally reached its turning point, its explanation.

This day was November 13th, 2015;

what came to be one of the worst days in the history of France, yet alone one of the worst terrorist attacks yet. And I, although not firsthand, experienced #PrayforParis...from Paris itself.

I found out about the attacks going on from a phone call I got from Anna. A guy in her sister's class's mother was stuck at the stadium where a bomb was threatening to go off. I didn't really understand what was going on at first, I couldn't grasp what was happening. And then I went online and checked the news.

18 deaths.

After it actually hit me that this event, this tragedy was actually happening I started to feel extremely uneasy. Any hint of my sleepiness vanished as I proceeded to text all my friends in the city to check up on them.

And then I texted this boy from school named Gavin.

Gavin and I weren't very close and I'm not sure what made me text him in the first place, but I'm glad I did. His best friend, a sweet guy named Freddie, wasn't answering his phone. And Freddie lived right next to the Bataclan.

That's where the biggest shooting occurred.

After multiple attempts I finally reached Freddie's cell and everything seemed to settle for a moment. But, it got worse.

34 deaths.

By this point I was constantly refreshing my news page to see what was going on within mere kilometers away from me.

This was when all of my friends from America started reaching out and asking if I was alright.

It's a weird feeling, having tons of people who you've never, or rarely, talked to all of a sudden wondering if you're alive. Telling you to stay safe. Asking about the details of an actual goddamned terrorist attack. Yeah, not only is it a weird feeling, but it also sucks. Horribly.

It was then that I realized... I was completely alone. I mean, I wasn't actually alone in my house but, everyone was sound asleep. And I had to handle the fear and confusion by myself.

And then, social media joined in.

86 deaths.

Aside from refreshing my news page, I kept switching back to Snapchat. Famous for its "Geo tags", Snapchat was keeping everyone in the area updated by adding stickers with announcements from the president himself. One of them read

"Officials tell Paris residents to remain indoors"

and another just said

"Breaking news: Paris attacks"

94 deaths.

The Eiffel Tower turned off its lights. The sounds of the metro, the sounds of the people in cafes, the sounds of the city all faded out. It was silent. And I cannot even begin to imagine how loud and overwhelming it must have been at the areas of the attacks.

100 deaths.

By this time, #PrayforParis had appeared on every user's Snapchat and under everybody's Instagram posts. But the prayers didn't help.

118 deaths.

It's scary how accurately I remember the exact amount of deaths for every time I refreshed the count. With each deceased, my heart ached more and more. My restlessness grew and my uneasiness reached the point where I was afraid to look out my window.

130 deaths.

I woke up to the sound of my parents' confused gasps coming from upstairs. I had a swimming lesson in the morning, but any and every public place was on lockdown, so the pool emailed my parents, assuming they knew about the attacks. I had to explain everything to them.

The next day passed just as uncomfortably. Nobody said much and nobody went outside. Everything was quiet and empty and sad.

That night I was on the phone with my friend from America, while my siblings were taking a bath. All of a sudden, I heard my mom rushing down the stairs and briskly telling my siblings to get out of the tub. I ignored whatever was happening, assuming it was just bedtime and my siblings needed to get out. But then something in my window caught my eye. It was a firetruck. More than one actually. There were multiple trucks and police cars parked right outside my building. My mom rushed into my room and turned off all the lights and told me to hush. And that was when I got my second call from Anna.

The remaining terrorist was near my building.

Everything in my body froze but at the same time managed to shake, to the point where I couldn't move my legs to make it off my loft bed.

The sirens chasing the black car driven by the attacker himself still ring in my ears.

The constant fear that a shooter might make his way into a cafe still creeps its way around the back of my mind.

Although I didn't experience the attacks firsthand, although I didn't lose anybody, after those nights, I no longer feel safe. Ever.

And no, this day doesn't affect the plot of my story, but it affects the plot of the rest of my life.

And to anybody and everybody that lost someone or was traumatized by the acts of terror that happened in the city of Paris on November 13th, 2015, my truly deep condolences.

137 deaths.

#PrayforParis