Since When Did Classrooms Become Battlefields?
The same cries, time and time again.
You hear that fearful alarm blare over the auditory system.
You’re told to hide underneath a desk.
You shudder as you scooch into the corner,
huddling against the cold, unforgiving floor.
Tears claw at your eyes,
and you watch your teacher’s hands tremble uncontrollably
as she fumbles to lock the door.
You text your parents goodbye.
You pray to God for the first time.
You made it out alive.
Yet every time a water bottle drops,
your mind escapes to that night.
The night you held your best friend’s body in your hands,
watched as life drained from her eyes.
The night her blood stained your trembling palms,
her last breath scarred your soul.
You light a candle for her the next year,
but the flame only flickers in the shadows of your mind.
Her laughter silenced. Her future, stolen.
Your community gathers around her grave.
A sea of faces, weeping, mourning, remembering.
And yet, amidst the grief, an unimaginable anger rises within you.
Because how many candles must we light?
How many graves must we dig?
How many prayers must we whisper
before the world decides
enough is enough?
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