Death in schools. Sometime in the not too long ago past, death in schools was seen as something that would rarely ever happen. Now, at the dawn at a new century, we are still doing what we have always been doing. Killing each other. Killing each other has somehow appealed to those demented few who felt that they had no better way to take care of their problems than through taking a life. I was in 8th grade when Columbine happened. I shitted bricks. The very next day, me and my class tried to console a teacher in tears that did not know how anyone could inflict so much pain upon others. Did I feel safe when Columbine happened? No. What was going to stop any disgruntled student from carrying something like that off? The chain-link fence? Now, it is 2 years later, I do not worry about being killed in school. I do not blame the guns or the music or the style of dress or any other scapegoat commonly used by everyone. I still place the blame on parents. Now, with a heavy heart, I am reliving it all. A sophomore now, nothing would stop someone from killing me at school. I do not worry about someone coming in and shooting up the place, but it lingers in the back of my mind. A firecracker goes off and I wince. People find it funny to hear this from me, who often fits the physical description of others who decided to go on a school rampage. I wear black clothes, I listen to music deemed “satanic” in the glory days of the PMRC. What of it? It does not exempt me from the feeling that someday, someone could come by and blow me away.
As I stated before, I place the blame on the parents. If your son or daughter seems to have a problem, try and help them out. Don’t neglect your kids. Keep tabs on your kids, as much as they protest, make sure they are not doing something that could cause harm to them or others. If I was a parent and my kid got hold of pipe bombs and guns without my knowledge, I would place the blame upon myself as well.
I myself find it someone ironic that these words come from me. I have always viewed myself as someone who can deal with anything, as I have had to in the past. This though, this seems to be different. I never find myself to fear anything. I don’t fear animals, guns, death. If I were to die today, I would be okay with it because I feel that I have put my life to good use so far. But this. This. This scares me, not really so much to the point where I can’t stop thinking about it, but as I stated before, it lingers in my head. I can still go about my day and not think about this, not have it come up in my thoughts. It’s not that big of a deal, not now at least. I still though, have a feeling within my chest. Fear. I do not think about it much, but I know if I ever find myself at the wrong end of a weapon, I will. I will.