It Was...

January 19, 2011
By maddymcc17 BRONZE, Westport, Connecticut
maddymcc17 BRONZE, Westport, Connecticut
4 articles 0 photos 3 comments

We walked into school that day. Happy, bored, tired, and very much still alive. As the day proceeded that all changed. Within 30 minutes of arriving at school "We" turned to "I" and happiness was broken into painful, stifled sobs. It was not just people that hurt. Even the air in the stuffy classrooms, and the water from the water fountains hurt with the lack of one person breathing and drinking them.

It was just a normal day at school; I talked to my friends about the math homework.

"The math homework was hard"

"Yeah, problem #2 was weird."

I settled into homeroom and further discussed what was going on. Today was going to be a good day. At least that's what I had told myself that morning upon hearing the birds chirp. It was a good day so far. I didn't notice the guidance counselors enter the room, and if I had I wouldn't have cared. Even when they started to hush us down, I still didn't really care, but when I started to see their faces, and my teachers face I did.

"Something terrible has happened,"

What do you mean terrible, did someone vandalize the school? Are we in trouble? What does she mean by "terrible?" Does that mean one of the teachers or students are deathly ill, or something like someone selling drugs? I was attentive now I wanted to know what was going on.

"Someone has committed suicide,"

What? My face was rocked with confusion, and my classmates faces were too. Suicide? That word is barely in our dictionary. We looked around a bit. Who could have done that? Who was missing? Who could have committed... I couldn't bring myself to say it. I had only heard it mentioned on TV or on the news.

"In your team, your homeroom"

... Nothing ... Within 30 seconds I had gone from wanting answers, to confusion, to wishing I could have closed my ears. I couldn't bring myself to think it. It's sad to think that if It wasn't someone I knew well, that I would have cared less, like the people you hear about on the news who die.

"It was..."

A couple of seconds passed with nobody saying anything, and then people started to regain some of their strength, and they slowly blinked, and moved their fingers. They moved their arms or legs. Acting like the room just got too hot, and their thighs were sticking to the chairs making it uncomfortable. The whole room felt uncomfortable. Some of us that knew her better were still in shock after 30 or so seconds passed. Her...? How could...? She never seemed depressed. She was...happy. She had a lot of friends, including me. Could I have done something?

"We'll be offering someone to...."

I couldn't hear what she was saying, my ears rung like a bell. I didn't want to do anything. It felt like that moment when you first wake up and you don't want to get out of bed. You're just so tired. That's how I felt, tired, like I had been walking for days. Like I had limbs made of cinder-blocks. It was like I couldn't wake up. It was a bad dream. The bell rung. It was a bad dream. I walked out of class. It was just a bad dream. I looked down the hallway. It was a...No, this was real the look on her face was real. The look on one of my living friends was very real. It was distorted, it was gone, it was sad, it was terrified, it was lost, and it was death.

Why would someone have a reason to hurt everyone around them, to end everything? Never will I think the word suicide and not be overwhelmed with nausea, hate, and utter disgust, and that is just the word. Whenever I think of her I think stupid, why would you waste your life? The thing is, I don't want to hate her, and it was just a stupid decision, a stupid decision that ended her life. It sucks that people make that decision all the time. She has taught me something very important. To appreciate the beauty of life, because life isn't really all that long. It flies by so fast, so you have to love the little things, and appreciate just living.

The author's comments:
This is a memoir about an experience that I had in 6th grade, before I moved to where I currently live. I write alot about this specific topic, because it is the most powerful and tragic day of my life.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book