At The Library

Chapter one "PTSD"

     There are lights flashing all around me, screaming. I close my locker and turn to my right, a flood of students come rushing. I cant begin to comprehend what's happening, until I hear the boom of a shotgun. The school is being shot up. That's when I turn around and run. In the mist of students, there's merely a slim chance I'm going to get shot, or at least that's what I'm telling myself. Before I know it almost everyone has retreated into a classroom. Just me, and six others running towards the exit, cause as if any teachers are going to let us in now. A young girl, a freshman it seems begins banging at one of the classroom doors, begging to be let in. I'm so close to an exit, now isn't the time to be a hero. I grasp the cold, metal handle, and hear the girl pleading for her life. I open the door and start to run, hearing a scream louder than I think I've ever heard. 

"Katlyn? Katlyn!" 

My mother. I open my eyes, my skin pale, I'm swimming in a pool of my own sweat. 

"You've had another awful nightmare." My mother whimpers, stroking my cheek with the back of her hand. 

I push her hand off my cheek, and shed a single tear. She pulls me into a tight hug, and leaves me alone in my room. Things haven't been the same sense the shooting. Whether we're taking about my bullet wound, or my ptsd. I'm being homeschooled, but that doesn't seem to be helping. Thank god I woke up when I did, I don't want to relive being shot in the abdomen again. After I left the school, after that poor girl was shot, he came after me. He decided to go out of his way, to shoot me once. He opened the door, shot me, and went back to his retched murder spree. If he had shot me even a centimeter above where he did, I would've died. A centimeter below and I would've been fine. 

I leave my bedroom, and journey into my bathroom. I look myself in the mirror, and stare at my awful wound. I wouldn't dare look at it raw, its not done healing. I look up at my long, deep brown hair, and pull it into a bun. There's a small razor in the drawer I keep my scrunchies, brushes, things like that. I pull it out, and cut off the bandages containing my wound. I look down at it, dry blood staining the skin around it. I turn the bathroom light on, and begin to fold toilet paper around the wound. I just wanted a peek, I hope the doctor doesn't mind. My amber eyes stare precisely at the wound, as I firmly wrap it up. I leave my room and go back to bed. Ever sense the shooting I've been keeping in touch with the families of the children who didn't make it. Like poor old Danni. She was talented, she could sing I've been told. Or Tyler. Had the potential to be the next football superstar. Speaking of, I need to get to rest. I'm going to visit Danni' mother tomorrow. 

"Mom, I'm off to Mable's."

"Why, isn't that poor old Danni's mother?"

"Yes."

"Send her my condolences." 

"Okay, I'll be back before noon. I love you."

"Love you too, dear."